Page 16 of Never Tempt a Widow

Moving as jerkily as a marionette, she placed the heavy clay lid over the embers of the fire and made sure there were no glowing sparks in the grate. She doused the two lamps on the mantel-shelf, then lingered by the nursing chair as shadows filled the room.

Only one candle remained alight, the one next to her bed. Her bed, which was now only three inches away from his.

With the fire now covered, cold invaded the room, urging her to prepare for bed, too. But how could she undress with Rowland so close? Why had both the men decided to turn in well ahead of their usual bedtimes? Shouldn’t they have been smoking and drinking in the parlour, putting the world to rights, leaving her plenty of time to get ready, and hide beneath her bedclothes, feigning sleep?

Her nightgown was under her pillow, a mere foot or so away from Rowland’s head. Maybe she should wait until he was asleep to get undressed. Damnation! Why did he have to make things so difficult?

“You can get ready for bed. On my honour—I won’t peep.”

It was as if he’d read her mind. Her cheeks flushed hot, and her pulse quickened.

“Then I must trust to your honour.” Curse it. Why did she sound so breathless?

“If you don’t trust me by now, I fear you never will.” Bitterness laced his tone. He rolled further away, keeping his back to her, and pulled the covers up around his ears.

Muttering imprecations, she hurtled out of her clothes, thankful that the gown Rowland had given her to wear for their wedding had lacing at the front. The stays beneath it, however, did not.

What was a lady expected to do about disrobing on her wedding night? She had never had the opportunity to find out—both her sisters were still unmarried when she’d eloped. Of course, Mama had seen no reason to impart such knowledge to her youngest daughter.

“I need to ring for a maid to undress me.”

Her new husband rolled over and sat up. “You should have thought of that earlier. You were supposed to be already abed, in your nightgown, when I came in.”

“I haven’t been given any lessons about wedding nights,” she returned crossly. “I’m not sleeping in these stays. I’ll suffocate.”

He slipped out of bed and rose. “I’ll help you. I was married before, remember. I do know how it’s done.”

She tensed, but there was no hint of seduction or flirtation in his expression. In fact, he looked utterly melancholy. Recalling his previous—and doubtless, far happier—wedding night.

Steeling herself for his touch, she turned her back. He’d be undoing her lacing—nothing more. She could manage the pins, ribbons, and ties of her petticoats and stomacher.

Fortunately, the man’s warm hands at her back, gradually releasing her rib cage from constraint, offered relief rather than terror. This was the first time since arriving at Hadham that she’d worn so much corsetry, and it was devilishly uncomfortable.

As agreed, Rowland returned to his bed as soon as she was undone. She wondered how much it had cost him to do so, then chided herself for her ridiculous vanity. She didn’t want him, and had forbidden him to take her, so why should it smart when he obeyed?

When she turned around again, he was sitting up, hands around his knees, watching her.

She still had her chemise to cover her modesty. Thank goodness.

“I refuse to continue undressing in front of you.”

“Where else do you plan to do it?” Was that a smirk on his face?

She was going to sleep in her chemise and under-petticoat. Nothing would induce her to strip naked in front of him so she could get into her nightgown. She had plenty of linen undergarments now—he’d had them made for her before the wedding—so fresh underthings could be found for the morrow. Assuming he would be gone by the time she needed to rise…

Suddenly, this marriage of convenience didn’t seem so convenient after all.

Turning her back on him again, she started untying her quilted outer petticoat.

“No, wait.” Rowland was out of bed again, pulling on his banyan.

She paused, confused and anxious.

“This is madness. I’m never going to sleep in that blasted uncomfortable thing.” He gestured at the truckle bed.

Then, to her enormous surprise, he heaved Edgar’s cradle into his arms.

“What are you doing now?” She couldn’t let him take the baby away.