Page 104 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

She kicked off her coverlet and rose from the bed. This was maddening. Her thoughts were dancing all over the place. He either loved her or he didn’t. There was one quick way to find out.

On tiptoes, carefully lifting the hem of her nightdress off the floor so she wouldn’t trip over it and give herself away, she exited her chamber and crept down the dark hallway. Light seeped from under Trentham’s door. He must be awake. Or else afraid of the dark.

She knocked quietly.

“Come.” His voice was low, almost inaudible.

Ophelia’s heart beat fast enough to make her light-headed. This was not something she should be doing. She would end up either humiliated or ruined. Nevertheless, she opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it quickly.

The room was lit by a single lamp on the mantel. Trentham stood by a tall window, looking out. His hair was mussed and damp, and he wore only a banyan. She could see his calves and bare feet! A dizzying wave of longing swept over her, along with a magnetic pull that brought her three steps closer. Until he turned from the window. She caught a glimpse of the top of his chest, with a mat of dark hair, before he clutched the edges of the banyan together and belted it tighter. His eyes were like saucers, and she was certain hers were as large as dinner plates.

“Good God,” he swore, then seemed to wrench his gaze from her to turn back to the window.

“Trentham—”

“I thought you were Jeffers with another asinine question. You need to leave.”

“We have to talk.”

He snorted. “Not at three in the morning. ‘Talk’ is the last thing on my mind.”

“I half expected you to come to me,” she admitted.

Without facing her, he said in a cold, flat tone, “I more than half intended to.”

“Well then?” He didn’t answer, so she pressed. “Talk to me. Look at me.”

“Miss Delancey,” she heard the wince in his voice, “that nightdress is more revealing than I suspect you realize.”

“Oh!” she gasped, then glanced down. She hadn’t realized. Although covering her from toes to neck, the fabric was thin. Not translucent—she would have noticed that—but snug about her breasts, and without her corset or layers of underskirts…

“Yes, ‘oh.’ And you cannot have failed to note that I am not prepared to receive callers.”

“No, but…” She raised her eyes. His banyan was as revealing as her nightdress. She had never before been tempted to imagine a man naked, but now couldn’t help it. An odd tension rippled through her body and scrambled her wits. What would it be like to touch him? To stroke that silk? She clenched her hands into fists. “Are you—are you still angry with me?”

He made an impatient noise, a tsk of his tongue. “Not with you. I’m angry with myself. For being the kind of man that led you to think—”

“I don’t!”

“But you did.” He pressed his head against the windowpane. “And if I had gone to your room tonight, it would prove that I am that kind of man. That I still cannot control my passions.”

But he hadn’t come to her room. She’d come to his.

“Get out, Miss Delancey. I’m not a stone. You are minutes away from ravishment.”

Dessie and Lynch hadn’t waited for marriage. They had decided together… “You aren’t ravishing me if I am willing.”

“Don’t!” He sounded anguished. “Please. Go.”

So it was to be humiliation, not ruin. She went.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The sun was shining. It would be a fine day for traveling. They could dawdle a bit on the road. Trentham wished there was more time; time to tour Miss Delancey around Lannington—the house, the grounds, the little village nearby—but that would have to wait until she returned as his duchess. He trotted down the stairs, a smile on his face that he couldn’t have suppressed if he tried.

Dressing without Simms had been an amusing challenge. Trentham had a day’s growth of facial scruff that made him appear disreputable, and he’d had to settle for tying his own schoolboy knot in his necktie. Moreover, although he’d managed his left cufflink, the right cuff gaped open. Hopefully Jeffers could fix it, but he was not a valet. The only servants at Lannington were those who needed to care for the property and each other. Usually, when he visited the country, he came with an entourage that would quadruple the staff.

He should send one of the chambermaids up for the Delancey sisters, an inadequate solution, but they’d have to make do.