Secrets Of The Marriage Bed

Slowly her head seemed less inclined to spin. Her eyelids felt weighted. Sleep beckoned.

* * *

Something deliciously cool pressed against her forehead. ‘Julia.’ A male voice. ‘Julia, wake up.’ A demand.

She forced her eyelids open. A face wavered in and out of focus. ‘Alistair?’

He muttered something under his breath that sounded a little like a prayer. Or not. He looked irritated rather than prayerful. She glanced around. Why was it so dark? And where—? Oh, yes, the inn. Robins had closed the curtains.

She stretched. For long seconds her husband gazed at her chest, his hard thin mouth softening sensually. There was no mistaking his interest in that unguarded moment. Was this then the way through his armour?

His gaze rose to her face, full of concern. She offered a smile of apology. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’

‘So it seems,’ he said. His voice sounded rougher than usual. ‘How do you feel?’

She pushed herself upright. Everything stayed where it should. She felt refreshed and her headache was gone. ‘Much better, I must say. The tea helped enormously.’

‘I’m glad.’ For once he sounded relieved, rather than bored.

‘I do beg your pardon. It was not my intention to sleep so long. I wonder that Robins did not wake me.’

‘You aren’t late. Yet.’ He grimaced. ‘I told Robins to let you sleep a while longer, but when I didn’t hear any movement, I thought I should look in on you.’

An unlooked-for courtesy. One that made her heart stutter.

He rose from his seat on the edge of the bed. He had exchanged his riding coat and boots for evening dress, whereas she still wore her carriage gown.

‘I must change.’ She began undoing the buttons. He watched her hands with a peculiar intensity. Her face warmed. ‘Will you ring the bell for Robins, please?’ Oh, now why had that popped out of her mouth? Wasn’t being alone with him exactly what she had wanted?

She pinned what she hoped was a seductive smile on her lips. ‘That is unless you don’t mind doing the honours?’

Surprise warred with another expression she could not read.

She held her breath. What would he choose?

‘I will ring for your dresser.’ He strode to the bell.

Chapter Four (#ub6d12f0c-a495-5da1-abe6-79aa3b78ad19)

Julia watched her husband leave with a sense of frustration. And sadness. Whatever passion he had felt for her that night at the brothel had gone as if it never existed. That was a disappointment she did not want to examine too closely, because it hurt too much.

Her stomach rumbled. Oh, goodness, she really was hungry. Whatever had ailed her earlier was clearly over and done.

Robins strode in and gave a heavy sigh. ‘Your Grace, your hair! We must start again.’

Julia wanted to cut the whole lot off. She forced a pleasant smile. ‘No, Robins. You will find a way to repair the damage. After all, we are in the country and dining en famille. I am sure His Grace will not care if my hair is a little less formal.’ He might, however, care if she kept him waiting for his dinner.

Robins made an odd little noise.

Julia frowned. ‘Did you sniff at me, Robins?’

The woman started. ‘Naturally not, Your Grace,’ she said and her mouth softened and, yes, almost smiled. Perhaps there was a human being behind the façade of dresser after all.

‘Very well,’ Julia said. ‘Do your best to salvage what you can, but for heaven’s sake do not fuss for too long. I do not want to keep His Grace waiting.’ A man hungry for his dinner was likely to lose his temper. And that was not something she wanted to witness.

* * *

As instructed, Robins had swiftly made her look respectable and with half the usual number of pins, and she was on her way to dinner in less than half an hour.

A swarm of butterflies flapped around in her belly. Did butterflies swarm? Perhaps they flocked. Or buttered. Grinning at her foolishness, she entered the dining room set aside for their private use.

Alistair, rose. He arched a brow. ‘What has you smiling so mischievously?’

Oh, dear. What would he think of thoughts brought on by a bad case of nerves? ‘I was trying to recall what one would call a group of butterflies? A flock? A swarm?’

His eyes widened. She winced inwardly. Now he would think her perfectly stupid.

‘I would call it a flutter, I think,’ he said perfectly gravely and yet there was a twinkle in those intense grey eyes.

Her heart warmed to see it. ‘The best I could come up with was a butter. I like flutter much better.’ She laughed at how wonderfully foolish the words sounded coming out of her mouth.

‘A butter of flutterbys.’ He grinned. ‘I mean butterflies, though they certainly do flutter by, I suppose.’

They exploded with laughter.

The transformation was almost magical. In that moment, he seemed younger, almost boyish. And sweet. An odd little pang pulled at her heart.

‘May I offer you a sherry before dinner?’ he asked, the laughter still in his voice, giving it a warmth she had never heard before.

‘No, thank you.’

He sent her an enquiring glance. ‘You do not object if I pour one for myself?’

‘Not at all.’

After pouring himself a drink, he seated her on the sofa and sat at the other end, half turned towards her. He raised his glass in a toast. ‘To my lovely and exceedingly speedy wife.’

She inclined her head in acknowledgement of the compliment. It seemed that her illness today had brought out the compassionate side of her husband.

‘Butterflies remind me of stained-glass windows,’ Alistair said musingly after sipping from his glass.

‘They do, don’t they?’

‘If I remember correctly, they are called a swarm.’

‘How dull for such...an explosion of colour. One only has to think of the peacock butterfly, or the red admiral, to see it does not fit.’

‘Mmm. More like the view through a kaleidoscope, don’t you think?’