The bed, though... Lucy’s eyes widened as she stared at it. “Goodness, that must be a very old bedframe.” Heavy red drapes hung from the paneled four-poster.
“Indeed. King Charles the First is supposed to have slept in that bed—if you believe all the family legends.” Devlin smiled crookedly. “It is probably best to take those stories with a grain of salt, though our housekeeper, Mrs. Dunham, is a firm believer. She will tell you all the family legends, if you show the slightest interest.”
“I ought to learn them, since this to be my home.”At least for now, Lucy amended. They had agreed to try living together, but there was no guarantee that they would succeed.
If her husband shared her doubts, he hid them well. “Welcome home, my lady.” He lifted her hand to his lips.
Lucy would never have guessed that such a brief, formal touch would set her heart a-flutter. Devlin was almost too handsome, too courteous, too good to be true. How would she ever become accustomed to being his wife?
Chapter Eight
As Dev preparedfor bed that night, he could think about only one thing. There was a lush, curvaceous woman—a woman who was his by the laws of both God and man—sleeping in the next room. She lay mere yards away, separated from him by only a door and a promise.
He had promised his new wife that they’d take time to get know each other before consummating their marriage. But when he agreed to that condition, he had no idea how frustrating it would be.
Before eloping, Dev had never considered what it would be like to sit by his wife’s side in a chaise, hour after hour, with his thigh casually bumping into hers. At least, they’d slept in separate bedchambers after the wedding. That ought to be enough distance between them, right? But Dev could not stop thinking about Lady Colfax. His wife.Lucy!So close, but so far out of reach.
Dev lay awake for what felt like hours, spinning fantasies about being invited into his wife’s bed. Imagining how good it would feel to have that deliciously rounded body beneath him.
He must have fallen asleep eventually, because something woke him in the middle of the night. He blinked his eyes and tried to remember what had roused him. A voice, he thought, or a cry.
A cry for help?
Cold fear kicked him into motion. He shoved his bedclothes aside and rolled out of bed. He landed with a thump that could probably wake the dead. After that, he tiptoed cautiously towards the door separating the bedchambers.
That door stood ajar, though Dev knew it had been shut when he crawled into bed. That gave him pause. Had Lucy entered his chamber? Why on earth would she do that?
He could only think that she must have needed help. Or wanted his company, though that seemed unlikely.
“Lucy?” he called softly. “Did you need help?”
A sleepy voice emerged from the darkness. “What?”
“I said, did you need help? I thought I heard your voice.”
Lucy pushed back one of her bedcurtains, allowing moonlight to illuminate her sleep-bewrinkled face as she sat up in bed. Her hair was tied in a loose braid and she wore a flannel nightgown that regretfully covered her arms and most of her neck. She looked like a blanket-covered lump.
Dev still wanted to jump into bed with her.Was there something wrong with him?
“Oh. No. I didn’t say anything. I only woke up when you opened the door.” She yawned mightily. “I don’t know what you heard. Could it have been a dream?”
He frowned. “Ididn’t open the door. It was already open. I assumedyouopened it.”
“Me?” she asked, as indignant as if he’d accused her of murder. “I most certainly did not. Why would I do that?”
Her question landed like a stone tossed into a pond, creating ripples of awkwardness that slowly spread to fill the entire room.
“Why, indeed?” Dev asked softly.
“That is not to say that I wish to avoid your company,” she quickly clarified. “But I was merely trying to sleep. There was nothing I needed. A draft must have moved the door?” The rising inflection of her voice turned it into a question.
“At Hethersleigh, when things like that happen, we blame the Veiled Lady,” Dev told her. “She likes opening doors and hiding objects.”
“Oh, yes,” she said doubtfully. “I remember that legend.”
Dev snorted. “I advise you not to refer to the ghost as a mere legend. The servants here are convinced that the ghost is real. In fact, I suspect—” He caught himself in the nick of time. “In any case, if there is nothing amiss, I’d better return to my chamber.”
But Lucy pounced on the hint. “What do you suspect?”
