Page 51 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“I don’t mind it.”

“Don’t you?” His smile faded faster than it had appeared.

He knew what he was going to do only a fraction of a second before he did it.

“Move over,” he said.

“What?” Helena touched a hand to the collar of her makeshift nightdress. It was a modest gesture, rendered somewhat comical by the fact that she was already wearing his shirt.

“Helena, today I traveled to and from Abbot’s Holcombe in a thunderstorm. I was married. I was visited by the magistrate. I rescued two dogs and one new wife from over the side of a cliff. If you wish me to remain, you’re going to have to move over.”

She looked at him for several seconds.

Several seconds during which his heart teetered on the brink of an abyss.

“Very well,” she said at last. She edged over slightly on the mattress. “Though I don’t see why it’s necessary for me to move. There’s plenty of room for you already.”

Justin’s heart resumed beating in a rather erratic fashion. More erratic still as he watched her pull back the blanket for him. “Yes, well…it was the abbot’s bed.”

“Was it? I didn’t realize Elizabethan abbots were quite so large.”

“This one was. Either that or very grand.”

He took a moment to turn down the oil lamps. A fire was still crackling in the hearth. It provided plenty of light for him to see his way back to the bed. He’d already removed his boots when he changed his clothes. There was nothing to do now but climb in beside her.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he lay down. They were so close that he could feel the warmth emanating from her body.

Devil take it. She was wearing absolutely nothing under that linen shirt of his.

He’d been concerned about her health when he’d removed her wet clothing. And then he’d been focused on the bruises, seething with anger at whoever had hurt her. But he wasn’t blind, for God’s sake. And though he lived in an abbey, he sure as hell wasn’t a monk.

She shifted onto her side to face him. The faint fragrance of jasmine tickled his nose.

“Better?” His voice had deepened to a husky undertone. He hardly recognized the sound of it.

“Yes,” she whispered back. Her long lashes were already fluttering closed. “I have so much more to tell you, Justin.”

“I know.”

“So much more to explain.”

“Rest now,” he said. “It will keep until tomorrow.”

It had been a harrowing day. She was exhausted and, very probably, still in shock. He’d seen the symptoms before. Frankly, he was amazed she’d managed to stay awake and coherent for as long as she had. He would lie beside her for a short while and then—

“Will you stay with me?” she asked.

His chest tightened. It was a bad idea. Things were far from settled between them. Besides, he hadn’t shared a bed with another person since his days in the orphanage. Not to sleep, at any rate. It would do nothing but confuse the issue and—

“I think I can bear it,” he said.

She murmured something then as she drifted off. It sounded vaguely like another apology. Or possibly a few words of thanks. He didn’t know which was worse. He didn’t want her guilt and he had no use for her gratitude. What he wanted…what he needed…was something else altogether.

Justin woke well before sunrise. The fire had gone out in the hearth and the room was cold. Helena had huddled against him for warmth. Her cheek was on his chest, her arm draped over his midsection. His own arm had somehow managed to insinuate itself around her. His hand was resting, rather possessively, on the swell of her hip.

It should have felt presumptuous. She was a lady. The niece of an earl. The daughter of an earl and the sister of an earl, as well. When he’d cleaned the scrape on her knee last night, he was frankly amazed the blood he’d swabbed away hadn’t been blue.

As a boy, the closest thing to a title he’d ever encountered had been in the person of Sir Oswald. A mere baronet. The first time he’d seen him riding through the gates of the orphanage on a magnificent black hunter, Justin had been in awe. It was an emotion that hadn’t lasted long.