Page 90 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

After dragging himself from bed, Simon rang for Brown, his usually sunny mood foul. Married four days and he still hadn’t bedded his own wife. He began to lose hope that Charlotte would capitulate to his—questionable—seduction tactics.

When Brown arrived, he assembled everything for Simon’s morning shave. “Sleep well, sir?” he asked as he finished lathering Simon’s face.

“Not especially,” Simon said.

His valet wisely remained silent.

The woman would be the death of him. The irony of the idea and his precarious future slammed Simon in the chest like a hammer.

“Ha!”

Brown drew back, the razor—the edge lined with soap and dark beard stubble—poised above Simon’s chin. “Sir?” The valet gazed down to where he’d just scraped Simon’s face. “I don’t see a cut.”

“It’s my wife, Brown. I’ve never known a woman so . . . so . . . difficult.”

Brown chuckled, lowering the razor to continue his task. “I like her. She seems like a no-nonsense type of woman.” He flicked the soapy film off the razor into a bowl of warm water. “Just what you need. Now, lift your chin while I get your neck.”

“She’d sooner slit my throat with that razor than let me touch her. How the hell am I supposed to produce an heir with a wife who won’t let me bed her?” Simon hated admitting that—especially to his valet. But with Drake unavailable, he had little choice in male confidants. He certainly wouldn’t confess to his father the reason he married Charlotte.

“Hold still, sir, or you’ll be in no condition to bed anyone.”

“Ha. Ha.” Yet Simon remained frozen while Brown scraped soap from his throat.

However, talking and wielding a razor wasn’t a problem for Brown. “From what I hear from Miss Rose, Lady Charlotte has had little reason to be happy. Rose said Lord Edgerton’s cruelty extended to his own family.”

“You don’t have to tell me about the blackguard Edgerton.” Still, what type of cruelty did Charlotte endure under her brother’s roof? More than an attempt to marry her to another blackguard and shredding her clothing in spite? Had Edgerton laid hands on his own sister? Simon shuddered at the thought.

“Sir!” Brown shot him a warning, then scraped the last bit of soap from Simon’s face.

“Have the cook prepare some coffee, if she has it on hand,” Simon said as Brown finished tying his neckcloth.

His valet cocked an eyebrow, but nodded, taking the bowl of—now soapy and whisker-dotted—water away and left.

Dressed and shaved, Simon made his way to the dining room, grateful to find it empty. He wasn’t quite ready to face his wife.

The hearty breakfast of sausage, toast, and—yes—coffee revived his spirits. When Charlotte entered, looking almost as haggard as he felt, an unhealthy satisfaction warmed his chest. Well, that might have been the coffee, but Simon wasn’t going to split hairs.

“Good morning, Wife. Sleep well?” He added an extra dose of sarcasm to the same question his valet had asked him.

She grunted a response.Grunted!Excellent.Simon mentally rubbed his hands together in glee.

She darted a glance toward his cup. “Is that coffee?”

“Yes.” He lifted his chin toward the elegant silver container on the sideboard.

She poured herself a cup, then took a seat several places from his.

Yet, even at that distance, the dark smudges under her eyes were visible. Suddenly, the idea of her tossing and turning the majority of the night didn’t please him as much as it had moments before.

You’re growing soft.

Regrouping, he marshaled a comment sure to vex her. “I know something guaranteed to help you sleep.” He took a sip of his own bitter beverage. “If you’re interested.”

“Hmph. What might that be? Hit me over the head and render me unconscious?”

“Heavens, no. Violence is the opposite of what I have in mind. Although it can be...vigorous.” Not quite a leer, he flashed her a sultry look that sent most women swooning.

“What is it?” she asked, staring into her coffee.

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