She had eyes only for her husband, too.
Ambrose waded through the crowd toward his wife and brother, his eyes never straying from Willow’s face. Candlelight shimmered on her pale skin, her lips curled into a small smile. Jealousy curled inside him, like a wave of swirling knives jabbing in his gut. It was entirely irrational, but damn it all to hell, Jonathan was thecharmingbrother, thelikableGriffin. Not anything at all like Ambrose.
He cursed at the direction of his thoughts.
From the moment he left Willow’s side—and he had barely managed that—he’d found his eyes returning to her, again and again, wanting nothing else but to toss her over his shoulder and return to his bed.Theirbed.
Thoughts of her soft body pressed up against him, his lips against her bare skin, her wandering hands shooting every thread of his control to hell were never far from the surface. Bloody hell, he had almost lost all restraint and taken her home, expectations be damned.
But he’d managed to keep his head about him, even if the impulse had been hard to control. He’d been content to admire her beauty and bide his time until it was acceptable to leave.
He slowed as he reached them, capturing Willow’s hand and setting it on his sleeve. Her eyes lifted to meet his.
“Ambrose,” Jonathan said. “Good of you to join us. I almost did not recognize you without your mask.”
“Masks are for pups,” Ambrose drawled. “Though I am overjoyed to see you are trading your old haunts in for more respectable events, brother.”
“Nothing as mundane as that, I assure you, but since you married, these events have begun to hold more appeal.”
Ambrose scoffed.
Jonathan motioned to the crowd in way of explanation. “You have the entiretonconvinced you are the besotted husband. Splendid work, old chap. You pulled the wool right over their eyes.”
Ambrose tensed. The urge to punch his brother swamped him. He did not require a reminder they were putting on an act, when, in fact, he had never been more in earnest. A fragile bond had formed between him and his wife. The last thing he wanted was for his brother to ruin that.
Not after last night.
Not after Willow had admitted to their mutual attraction. And certainly not after Ambrose was the most at ease he had been in ten years. He was determined to discover where their attraction, their dawning bond might lead them.
“The ton has nothing better to do than create wild stories to gossip about,” Ambrose said, clipped.
“What about me?” Willow queried to Jonathan, batting her lashes at Ambrose. “Do I resemble a smitten wife?”
His belly knotted. Suddenly there was no one else in the room—only her, only Willow. She smiled up at him, and his heart clenched. And for once, he didn’t give a damn. He welcomed the sensation.
“Oh, you are the personification of a loving wife,” Jonathan said merrily, snapping Ambrose out of his spell. “Such a charming creature you married, brother. You must be delighted to have fallen into the parson’s trap.”
“I did not fall; I was pushed over the cliff by father’s will.”
Willow turned her eyes heavenward. “Honestly, let that go already, Ambrose. Your father meant well in his own way.”
“Listen to your wife, brother; it was still the best thing that happened to you, in my opinion, and me, since I was pushed into a hefty purse.”
“You were what?” Ambrose demanded.
Jonathan shrugged. “I might have wagered that it would be a woman, not ripe old age, that’d bring you to heel.”
“You placed a wager on me?” Ambrose bristled.
“I didn’t start it. The busybodies of White’s did. You were an unattainable bachelor; it was the best sort of wager. And I won a hefty purse.” Jonathan waggled his eyebrows. “And now if you will excuse me, I shall squander my winnings at the gambling tables.” With a parting wink, he wandered off to the card rooms.
“Well, I daresay your brother is a cheerful fellow,” Willow murmured, her lashes lifting to him.
Ambrose grunted. “At the moment, he is basking in my misery. It will pass soon enough.”
“You are miserable?”
He dropped his voice an octave. “When I don’t have my hands on you, yes.”
