Page 17 of Never Tempt a Widow

“I’m taking Edgar to my room, where I have a normal, comfortable bed wide enough for two. How you’ve coped with sleeping in here the past few weeks, I’ve no idea. Forgive me for putting you through it. Now, open the door, if you please.”

Speechless, she watched him sweep past her and stride down the corridor, carrying the hefty oak cradle as if it weighed nothing.

“You might want to put a dressing gown on,” he threw over his shoulder. “Unless you want the servants to see you in your underwear.”

I’m not sleeping in your bed! For that was what he was implying. What could she do? Make a scene right here in the passageway, where the servants might hear? They were definitely still up and about—she could hear the clatter of dishes below and the sound of shutters being closed. Someone would be up to their passageway soon to douse the lamps and ensure all was safe and secure for the night.

She didn’t have to follow. She could express some milk and give Rowland Edgar’s pewter feeding bottle. But she’d never liked the smell of that container, and it seemed so unnatural to feed an infant from a metal vessel. Curse the man! He had her caught in a cleft stick, and he knew it!

Throwing her dressing gown over her shoulders, she shot after her husband and entered his bedchamber for the first time since arriving at Morden Hall.

The room was darkly masculine but elegant, with embossed paper on the walls in a pattern of ripe fruit and foliage. There was no other adornment, just the items necessary for a gentleman’s toilet. A door led off to one side, presumably into a dressing room. Terra incognita.

As Rowland set the cradle gently down, she scanned the room. There was no chair that looked comfortable enough for her to sleep in. The bed, on the other hand, was luxurious—and easily wide enough for two.

He must have seen where she was looking. “I’ll sleep on this side. You may have the other.”

He threw off his banyan and pulled the bedclothes down. “We’ll leave that lamp burning low in case Edgar needs a feed in the night, as he undoubtedly will. I don’t want you tripping over anything.”

Still, she hesitated. Why should she trust this man? If she shared a bed with him, she’d have lost the battle. Wouldn’t she?

He heaved an extravagant sigh, then reached for something that hung from a hook in the wall.

His sword. He unsheathed the rapier and flung it on the mattress.

“There,” he said gruffly. “Like an Arthurian knight and a chaste damsel, we’ll have a sword between us when we lie down. I swear to keep to my side of the bed, or you may use that weapon against me.”

She felt a sudden hysterical desire to laugh. Rowland didn’t know that she could use a sword, and she wasn’t about to tell him. Its presence was strangely comforting so she lay down, and pulled the covers to her chin.

Only to have them disturbed again when her husband threw them back and went to the door.

“To preserve your modesty, I’ll lock this. I don’t want my manservant bursting in on us in the morning.”

To her horror, Fina heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.

She was trapped.