Page 42 of Contracted as His Countess

‘But, my lord—’

‘That will be all, Harper, thank you.’

‘But—’

The door closed with a click and Madelyn opened her eyes. Jack looked very large and splendid in a heavy black-silk dressing robe. He smiled and she smiled back.

‘Alone at last,’ Jack said. ‘You look very beautiful, Madelyn.’ He moved closer.

‘Mmm?’ She did wish he was not weaving back and forth, it was worse than the candle flames.

‘Are you quite well?’ He looked back at the closed door, then came right up to the edge of the bed, leaned over and looked into her face. ‘Madelyn, what have you been drinking?’

‘Jus’ sherry and champagne.’

‘How many glasses of sherry before I came into the drawing room?’

‘Two?’ She frowned with the effort of remembering. ‘Three? It’s very good. Sweet.’

Jack made a complicated sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan and sat down on the edge of the bed close to her elbow. The mattress dipped and she fell against him. ‘You, my lady wife, are drunk. In fact, you are verging on disorderly.’ He put one arm around her and sat her back up again.

What he was saying made no sense, so she ignored it. ‘That’s nice. Don’t go.’

‘Madelyn, you need to sleep this off.’

‘Room goes around if I close my eyes. You come to bed, too.’

‘I think I had better.’ Jack stood up, untied the sash of his robe and let it fall to the ground.

Madelyn blinked. He had no clothes on, just bare skin everywhere she looked. Naked, bare skin. And dark hair on his chest and lower down. Instinct told her fuddled brain not to look lower, so she focused on those intriguing curls and the glimpses of nipple hiding among them and then he was in bed beside her and the covers were over both of them and the weight of his body tipped her closer to the heat of him.

Jack reached out and must have snuffed the candles on the night stand because the room grew dim. ‘Now you cannot see anything going around. Come here.’ She let herself go limp as he pulled her against him and wondered why he groaned when she wriggled to fit her curves around the reassuringly solid muscles.

‘G’night, Jack.’

‘Goodnight,’ he said, his voice oddly strained. But perhaps that was just this feverish cold or whatever it was that was wrong with her.

Chapter Sixteen

Jack was not sure whether he wanted to laugh or beat his head against the bedpost. Perhaps both at once. There he had been, worrying about his virgin bride, trying to get her just a little bit tipsy so everything would be easier for her, and she had been quaffing sherry like lemonade. Lord Dersington could not even keep his wife sober on their wedding night. No wonder his valet and her maid had been so anxious to keep him out of this room.

Madelyn wriggled, pressing those lovely, lush breasts in their thin lawn covering tight against his ribs. He groaned. Then she wriggled some more and flung one long leg over his thigh. Soft, warm, curls caressed him, a faint feminine musk teased his nostrils. Jack gritted his teeth and wished he had a brandy bottle within reach. This was going to be a long, long, night.

* * *

Her head ached, her mouth tasted disgusting and she was much too hot. And very confused.

Madelyn opened one eye, winced at the light coming in through the light summer curtains and recognised the Chinese wallpaper—and something else. She was in her chamber, in her bed, and the heat was coming from the large, naked male body stretched out next to her. Her husband.

Glimmers of the night before came back to her in horribly confused but vivid scenes. The sherry. More sherry. Jack smiling at her down the length of the dining table and feeling he would be hurt if she did not drink the champagne he liked so much. Harper, struggling to get her undressed. Jack looking deeply into her eyes.

‘You, my lady wife, are...’

Drunk! Oh, good heavens. She had been intoxicated and this was a hangover that was hammering nails into her temples. Drunk on her wedding night. Was Jack ever going to forgive her? She couldn’t imagine why he should, even if it had been an accident.

Madelyn opened both eyes and cautiously lifted her head, ignoring the pounding headache and the iron band gripping the back of her skull. Asleep, Jack looked younger, but also harder, even ruthless. That must be the piratical dark stubble covering his chin. He was breathing heavily, but not snoring, his lips slightly parted.

Had he... Had they? No, she would have felt different this morning and it would not only have been her head that was sore. She felt herself blush just thinking it.

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