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She opened the door again after a few minutes, dressed in what appeared to be a small tent. It managed to conceal everything, from the point of her chin down to the tips of her toes, yet the effect was oddly enticing. Such a concerted attempt to conceal her body only made him ten times more curious about it. Oh, hell...
‘I’m ready.’ She seemed to be avoiding his eyes. ‘Shall I wait outside while you undress, too?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. She looked and sounded so sincere that he had to clench his jaw to stop himself from laughing. ‘Get into bed if you like. You must be tired.’
He watched as she fled across the room, uncertain about how to proceed. Usually he slept naked, but considering her somewhat excessive apparel, he supposed he ought to modify his habits tonight. Slowly, he untied his cravat and pulled off his shirt, undershirt and trousers, leaving only his drawers, before moving cautiously across to the bed, extinguishing all the candles so that the only remaining light came from the fireside.
‘May I?’ He felt even more ridiculous asking permission to get in, but she had the covers pulled up to her chin, as if she were afraid her voluminous nightgown wasn’t armour enough, and he didn’t want to alarm her. She gave a tiny nod and he climbed in, resisting the urge to spread out, as usual, in the centre.
>
‘Comfortable?’ He felt the need to say something, anything, to ease the tension he could feel emanating from her side.
‘Yes. It’s just...strange.’
‘Would you prefer me to sleep in the chair?’
‘No.’ She shook her head quickly. ‘It wouldn’t be good for your leg. And we are married.’
‘Yes.’ He hoisted the covers up over his chest. ‘So we are.’
They were silent for a few moments, both staring at the canopy as if there were something of intense interest above them.
‘I haven’t shared a bed with anyone for years.’ She broke the silence finally. ‘Not since my mother died. She used to sleep with me when I was frightened.’
‘My mother used to let Arthur and me sleep in her bed when we had bad dreams, too.’ He smiled at the memory. He hadn’t thought about that for years...
‘It was nice, having someone to curl up with.’ She stiffened suddenly. ‘Not that I mean...’
‘I know what you mean.’ Although he was inclined to agree in either case. The warmth radiating from her small body was already tempting him across the centre of the bed. It would be more than nice to curl up with her. It would be nice to do other things, too. More than nice, in fact... Damn it. Even the thought made his body react in a way that was definitely not in keeping with their agreement. He shifted on to his side and flicked at the covers, trying to hide the evidence.
‘Didn’t you have a nurse to sleep with?’ He tried to distract himself with the question.
‘Yes, for a while.’ She twisted her head towards him with a perplexed expression. ‘Are you too hot?’
‘No.’
‘We can take the covers off if you like?’
‘What? Oh, no, I was just rearranging. You said you had a nurse?’
‘Yes, but she never slept with me. She never touched me if she could help it. My father told her not to. He thought it was bad for me.’
‘To be touched?’
‘Or embraced. Or kissed. He said it was all sentimental nonsense.’
He propped himself up on one elbow to look down at her. Did she sound wistful or was he just imagining it?
‘Didn’t you have other relatives? Aunts? Uncles? Grandparents?’
‘My father didn’t have any family as far as I know, although some of my mother’s family came to her funeral. They said they’d visit me, but they never did.’
‘They never wrote to you? Never invited you to stay?’
‘If they did, my father never told me.’ Her eyes looked very bright in the firelight suddenly, as if there were tears glistening inside them. ‘But perhaps I’m blaming him unfairly. Perhaps they didn’t want me.’
He felt an ache in his chest, a combination of sympathy for her and anger towards her father. How lonely must she have been, growing up in that vast, empty prison of a house without any love or affection, just a miserly old man hoarding her all to himself for company? He had the sudden strong conviction that if he could wind the clock back five years, then not only would he call Jeremy Harper a few more choice words than liar, but he would rescue her, too. He would have refused to leave the ballroom without her. Then he would have gathered her into his arms the way he wanted to now.
