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Chapter Seventeen
“Nicholas!” she breathed, her heart stuttering in her chest.
He closed the door and locked it before facing her, his expression unreadable. “The old crone is staying the night.”
“Old crone,” she murmured to distract herself from his broad shoulders and strong arms when he crossed them over his chest. He had shed his evening coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “I did not know you had such a moniker for her.”
“It is either that or call her the devil and that would not be nice of me.”
“Is she the reason you are here?” she asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
“She has decided to spend the night here to make sure we consummate this marriage.”
Jenny drew the covers up to her chin. “Are you…”
“I made you a promise and I have no intention of breaking it.”
His words slapped her. She was being rejected again. And here she’d been, giving him the benefit of the doubt and supposing he was avoiding something and that she was only caught in the crossfire.
“I will have to sleep here, however,” he continued. “It is the only way we can be rid of her. She has no way of proving anything.”
“Very well.” She swallowed the lump of disappointment in her throat. “You can sleep on that chaise.”
He did not move. She proceeded to lie on the bed and turn her back to him, closing her eyes. Several seconds later, the sound of the fire poker stirring the fire met her and she raised her head. He was crouching in front of the fire.
“I cannot sleep when there is noise,” she said. “Please be quiet.”
He rose. “Don’t mind me.”
“I won’t,” she heard herself return and the words were meant to convince herself to not mind him. She closed her eyes again, willing her erstwhile weary body to sleep. His presence had awakened her.
The minutes ticked by and sleep did not come. Instead, she was being gifted with very vivid images of their encounter in the Addbury library that night. The memory of his touch had her biting down on her lower lip to keep from shamelessly calling him to her even though she knew he didn't want her.
Jenny wished she could feel him again. If only things were different. She turned to look at him: He was standing by the window with the edge of the curtain between his fingers as he looked out. “I can’t sleep,” she whispered.
“Hmm?” He turned around. “What did you say?”
“I can’t sleep with you hovering around,” she replied. She had almost asked him to help her sleep.
“Good Lord, woman!” He strode to the chaise and sat down. “I am sitting. Now, sleep.”
“I will.”
A beleaguered sigh reached her, then he said, “Goodnight, Jennifer.” He stretched out on the chaise and closed his eyes, leaving her to feel guilty for her treatment of him.
She tried to tell herself that he deserved it for rejecting her so blatantly but deep within, she knew it was not fair. One must never thrust themselves upon another. He did not want her and she would have to live with it.
Sometime in the night, Jenny stirred, snuggling into the warm hardness behind her. Her hands found something encircling her, something like an arm. Her eyes flew open and she was jolted awake at the realization of the presence in her bed. She made to leave but the strap of her night rail caught on something behind her and she turned to see it caught around her husband’s waistcoat button. He stirred.
“Nicholas, wake up.”
A moaned groggily. “What?”
“What are you doing? You were on the chaise before.”
He drew her closer to him with the arm encircling her, mumbling, “Precaution.”
“What precaution?” she squirmed, alarmed at how her body was already responding to him.
