She winced. “Oh. You heard that?”
“I did.” He shrugged off his jacket and hung it beside her dresses, as though they belonged side by side. “Do I really snore?”
“I wouldn’t know. I had only one night with you, and you were gone by morning.”
He turned, and the sight of his pained expression cut her off at the knees. “Lily, please—”
She held up a hand to still him. “I can’t argue with you any more tonight. I was up before dawn helping Reggie find that blasted puppy.”
“Of course you were. You’ve always had a kind heart for animals.” The corner of his full lips pulled up, transforming him into the charming rogue he’d been when he’d courted her.
No, that wasn’t right. He was different now, and without his coat, she could see how his shoulders were fuller, his arms and chest broader than she remembered. His jaw seemed sharper, moredefined with his neat beard, his navy irises even more dazzling. This man was sturdier, more of a presence than the one who had married her.
He cleared his throat, and heat rushed up her cheeks to her hairline as she realized she’d been studying him like she did a piece of horseflesh before adding it to her stables. “I’m not leaving, but I also won’t cause you discomfort. I’ve done enough of that already.”
He’d pulled her retort from her lips, and her chest was oddly emptied by it, as if he’d doused some of her fury without her consent. Her mouth worked, but she couldn’t find anything to say. “Thank you” finally emerged, but it was weak.
She hated being weak.
As though he knew that about her—and, by God, he did—his brows notched as he assessed her. “I can sleep on the chair tonight.” He motioned towards the ancient piece of furniture beside the bed, the upholstery worn and stuffing flattened to the wood frame.
A snort escaped. “You’d have to fold yourself in two to fit. You’ll never rest.”
“The floor then.”
The air between them grew charged, sparking like the sky before a thunderstorm. He was daring her to invite him into her bed, and, most humiliating of all,she wanted to. Loneliness had become such a persistent shadow that the notion of companionship, even fromhim, enticed her profoundly, a craving she was nearly weak enough to indulge.
The Lily she’d once been would have welcomed him, tossed aside yet another barrier of intimacy between them.
But she was no longer that woman.
“The chair.” She marched to the armoire that smelled suspiciously like his pine scent from his blasted clothing and pulled out a quilt some distant relation had made her as a girl. Shoving it into his hands, she lifted her chin and held his gaze as though this entire horrid situation had no effect on her, thathehad no effect on her.
His lips parted—she’d forgotten how beautiful his lips were, how wonderful they felt against hers—but he said nothing, nodding at the pitiful chair. She hurried to the other side of the bed, fumbled with the tie of her robe, then dropped it and threw herself beneath the covers as quickly as she could. She didn’t wait to see if Philip had settled before turning off the gas lamp on her nightstand.
Her ears thrummed with the uneasy silence, then the shuffling started beside her.
“Lily?”
She wanted to put her blanket over her head and hide. “Yes?”
“May I have a pillow?”
Grinding her teeth together, she tossed one of her spares in his direction and was rewarded with anoofwhen it landed. Histhankswas muffled.
A moment later, he spoke again. “May I take off my clothes?”
She sat up and glared at him. “Take off your clothes?” she hissed.
She couldn’t see him well enough to read his expression. “I’m fully dressed, Lily. You turned off thelights—”
“Fine.” The gas lamp, still warm, ignited quickly, but as she prepared to deliver some petulant remark, she froze.
He’d stood and was pulling off his boots, one by one, without even sitting or holding the bedpost for balance. His back was to her, but the muscles were visible shifting beneath his clothing, fabric taut as he dropped his waistcoat and began working on the buttons of his shirt. It fell off his shoulders first, then he shook it from his arms and set to work on his trousers.
She wasn’t the same Lily, but he wasn’t the same Philip, either. She didn’t remember him looking likethiswhen they’d married. Admittedly, they shared only one night together, but she’d felt his shoulders and legs pressed against her as they danced, traced her fingers over his arms while they stole kisses in the gardens behind Boar’s Hill. He’d once been a man more inclined to drinking in his club and racing curricles than boxing or swimming, and his body reflected the leisure due to a gentleman of his station.
This version of her husband was powerful instead of lean, muscles stretched over his shoulders and flexing in his arms in ways she didn’t recognize. As he turned, she caught the trail of hair stretching from between his pectorals, over his flat stomach to where it disappeared into his open trousers—
