Thinking of carnal pleasures immediately brought Bronson to mind, and she wondered where he was. She had not seen him since the incident. He had not even come in for the evening meal, and she wondered if he was struggling with his feelings over what he’d done—and what she’d done. She blushed thinking of how she’d returned his kiss, even if only on the pretense of regaining her mustache—which was firmly pasted back into place. She longed to tell him he need not worry over his masculinity, that she was a woman, full grown and eager for the marriage bed in necessity and desire. Her courage was not so great, however, nor could she begin to imagine where he might have stormed off to or how long he would remain unseen. It was as the servants were bringing out tureens of steaming water for cleansing that Bronson came into the dining hall. It fair stole her breath to see his long, powerful strides and the fluid movement of his body in motion. She hurt to look upon him, in that same achy place as before that throbbed to life whenever he was near. He should not have affected her thusly, but if naught else, she should have the ability to restrain her physical desires. That she could not refrain from experiencing a thrill on seeing him boded ill for her continued ease of mind.
