Page 101 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

“Oh, quite recently,” Ned replied, evading the question and turning to move on.

“Wait,” Howarth said, frowning. “I know you. Miss Honeyfield, isn’t it?”

“It was,” Grace said, smiling politely, though her expression was strained, her face pale, and her grip on Ned’s arm tightened.

“I’d heard you were to marry Carrington,” Howarth exclaimed, and then reddened as he realised he’d have been better off keeping his mouth shut.

“Ye heard wrong,” Ned said, aware that he sounded murderous, enough so that Howarth took a step back.

“Yes, of course,” the man said in a rush. “My mistake. Do forgive me.”

Ned nodded, trying not to glower and instead made an effort to rearrange his face into something less than homicidal. “If ye would excuse us,” he added, striving for good manners and guiding Grace towards the innkeeper, who had been waiting patiently for them.

The meal was excellent, and their good spirits were revived by an excellent claret and the warmth of the fire that crackled merrily in the grate. The innkeeper’s wife bustled in and cleared away their empty bowls and the remains of a delicious almond torte, which had been served with thick cream.

“Your room is ready for ye, Mr Hardy, and the bath for Mrs Hardy,” she said as she loaded a tray with the dirty dishes. “I’ll send our boy Thomas in to show ye up, if that suits?”

“Aye,” Ned said, feeling suddenly breathless.

He didn’t dare look at Grace as Thomas arrived, but took her hand and led her in the lad’s wake.

The room wasn’t large, and Ned discovered he couldn’t stand upright at all beneath its low ceiling, heavy with beams. There were thick curtains covering the windows and shutting out the freezing weather beyond, and it was warm and cosy. He knew he’d made the right decision in bringing his wife here for the first night of their marriage.

A massive four poster took up most of the room, piled so high with thick mattresses he’d have to lift Grace onto it. That idea made him breathless. The air was damp with the perfumed scent of the hot water from the large copper bath before the fire.

“Shall I send a maid up to help the lady?” Thomas asked, giving Grace a look which Ned wanted to clip him around the ear for, as the lad accepted a coin for his trouble.

Ned shook his head. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, holding the door open so young Thomas knew in no uncertain terms that he was no longer required.

The lad hurried out and Ned closed the door before turning to look at Grace.

She had her back to him and was investigating the room with interest.

“Will it do?” he asked, wondering if this was fine enough, or if perhaps it was shabby compared to what she was used to.

“It’s beautiful, Ned,” she said softly. “Perfect,” she added, as one elegant hand slid around one of the pillars of the four poster.

“Gracie?” he said, finding his voice sounded odd, rough and uneven. “If I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me.”

Her expression was sweet and happy as she moved towards him and wrapped her arms about his waist, laying her head on his chest.

“It feels like a dream to me too, Ned.” She looked up at him then, her blue eyes so bright it felt like staring at the sky. “I want to dream this dream for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, love.”

He kissed her then, the kiss he’d been longing to give her since the moment he’d seen her that morning, tousled and sleepy, the delicious curve of her shoulder bared to him as she sat up in his bed. The kiss was slow and deep and full of promises, both for the night to come and all the nights to follow.

With difficulty he let her go, breathing hard. “That bath will grow cold. Ye had best make use of it.”

“You had best undress me then, sir,” she said tartly, laughter glittering in her eyes. “As you have decided to be my maid this night.”

“With the greatest of pleasure,” he murmured, allowing himself one last kiss before he turned her and applied himself to the myriad ties and fastenings and the mysteries of a lady’s clothing.

Sarah had worn nothing so fine, and would have scorned to do so, in fact, considering it a waste of money. She’d seen to her own clothes and Ned had never even seen her in a state of undress, let alone naked. His conjugal rights had been given to him begrudgingly, in the dark and with Sarah clothed to the neck in a voluminous cotton nightgown, and so Ned had little experience with such complicated details. His hands seemed too big, too rough and clumsy, and he muttered curses whilst Grace giggled at his frustration.

Finally, he appeared to have come to the end of his travails and only her chemise and stockings remained.

“Turn around, Gracie,” he said, barely whispering the words. The moment seemed too precious, too sacred to speak at all.