The Scoundrel

Hmmm. Maybe he hadn’t dreamed the feeling of her arms around him. What, exactly, had happened when she “got back”? For the life of him, Daniel could only remember stripping off his clothes, hastily washing, then collapsing on his bed, done in by the unusual events of the day.

“You clearly know more about being a good husband than you’ve let on, Daniel. I don’t know where you learned it, but I’m glad.” Looking contented, Sarah dragged the quilt over herself again. “A gift on our wedding night? So generous of you. I’ve never owned anything as beautiful as this nightgown.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt. He was an honest man, and Sarah deserved the truth. He needed to tell her he hadn’t given her that gown. But when she looked at him that way, all appreciative and sweet, he just couldn’t do it.

“It’s very lovely,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

It was. Especially on her. But it ought to have been in her own bed, along with the rest of her.

“It doesn’t look very warm,” he grumbled.

She smiled, her whole face shining with a mysterious sort of feminine wisdom. Likely she believed him to be teasing her, as usual. Daniel stewed.

He still couldn’t figure out why Sarah wasn’t across the hall where she was supposed to be. The question occupied most of his thoughts, leaving room for little else. Had he, in a whiskey-fueled bout of stupidity, invited her to sleep with him instead?

“Ahhh. I’ve just realized why you’re so grouchy this morning.” Sarah peered at him, apparently confirming her suspicions. “But you needn’t look so troubled. I understand about last night.” She offered him a gentle pat on his shoulder. “Mama warned me that some men have…difficulties when they’ve been imbibing.”

“Difficulties?” He all but choked on the word. She could only mean…no. That kind of talk absolutely couldn’t continue. “I never have difficulties.”