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“I can understand Mrs. Crumb’s consternation,” Godric said gravely. “She seems a very orderly woman, and puppies in the clean linens is the antithesis of orderly.”
“Mmm,” Megs murmured distractedly, glancing into the hallway again. Was she looking for the pug?
Godric felt a pang at the thought of her leaving him again. “Is that a new frock?”
“Yes.” Megs’s cheeks warmed prettily. She looked down at her skirts, smoothing one hand over them. “We’ve received our order of new gowns from the modiste. Do you like it? I wasn’t sure about the yellow. It so often makes one look jaundiced.”
“Not you,” he replied truthfully.
The spring colors made the peach of her cheeks glow against the dark mass of her hair. A lock was working itself free of her coiffure, slowly tumbling down her elegant neck, and oddly the sight made him want to pull the pins from her hair, tug the mass down, spread it with his fingers, and bury his face in the glossy waves.
He casually flipped the skirt of his coat over his lap. “You’re beautiful.”
“Oh,” she said softly, glancing up and catching his intent gaze. “Oh, thank you.”
Her Grace came into the room with her last puppy and headed directly to the dressing room.
Godric smiled. “You should shut the door to my bedroom so that she doesn’t move them again.”
Megs looked uncertainly at the bedroom door. “I suppose I should leave you to rest.”
“I’ve rested quite enough these last weeks,” he said smoothly. “I could use the company. That is”—he made himself look bravely forlorn—“if you don’t mind sitting with an invalid.”
He may’ve been laying it on too thick. She gave him an odd glance before shutting the outer door. “I’ll get a chair from my room.”
“No need. You can sit on my bed.”
She looked at the bed, her brows drawn together with dawning suspicion.
“In fact,” he said, rising from the chair, “I might join you for a nap.”
She transferred her suspicious look to him. “A nap?”
“Hmm.” He sauntered toward her, careful not to make any sudden moves. “When one lies abed in the middle of the day and sleeps. Surely you’ve heard of it?”
“I’m not sure you’re interested in sleep,” she muttered.
“Perhaps not.” He reached up with his good hand and gently worked loose a hairpin. The escaping lock of hair immediately slithered down her back. “Do you have any other ideas?”
“Godric,” she whispered.
“Hmm?” Two more pins fell to the floor.
“You haven’t recovered sufficiently.” Her brows were knit in worry.
His gaze darted to hers and he smiled gently. “Then you’ll have to do most of the work, won’t you?”
Her sweet lips parted soundlessly, her eyes rounding.
He couldn’t help but bend his head to hers, covering her mouth with his, tasting again the wild strawberry sweetness of her tongue. Something seemed to settle in his chest, relaxing from an anxiety he hadn’t even known he’d felt.
Her hands rose, fluttering by his shoulders, but before they could alight, he broke away, circling to her back, drawing the rest of her pins from her hair. The entire dark mass came tumbling down, a glorious tangle, and he stroked his fingers through it, leaning down to inhale the scent of orange blossoms.
“Godric?” She stood stock-still, save for a fine tremble running through her shoulders.
“My love?” He lifted her hair in his hand, watching as the sunlight from the bedroom windows filtered through the locks.
“What …” There was an odd catch in her voice. “What kind of work do you want me to do?”
