Page 38 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
As he pulled himself to sitting, wrapping the wrinkled edges of the coverlet around his waist, his gaze swept the corners of the room once more, a frown building on his face. Flashes of their encounter began to surface, bobbing to the front of his mind like chum, with the same sickening plops and ugly underbellies. He had quite lost himself upon her, he recalled, though the lady had not seemed hurt or otherwise unhappy with the circumstances at the time, at least if his memory was reliable. So where the devil had she gone? And how long had he been asleep?
In immediate answer to his silent query, the bedroom door creaked open, a shadow falling inward through the dark room from the flickering lights without. He considered hiding, lest it be a maid or worse, a returned Somers checking upon their guest. But no, to his immense relief, it was none other than Miss Everstead herself, using her hip to keep the door ajar as she wedged in an assortment of items, piled onto a tray.
She had put her clothes back on, he noted, though of course it would be an entirely different sort of alarming if she hadn't, and had done a slapdash job of restoring the braid down her back. She nudged the door closed again as quietly as she could and flipped the lock, her shadow cast in large relief in a diagonal slash across the shuttered windows.
She muttered something to herself, fussing with the stoppers on the cart's wheels, and then hissed a triumphant curse at them once they'd obeyed her commands and flipped into place. Only then did she turn to find that her companion had awakened, and had been observing her entire pantomime.
"Oh!" she gasped, touching a quick hand to her chest. "You startled me. I thought you were dead asleep."
"I was," he confessed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Is ... erm," he hesitated, a pained expression crossing his face, "are you ...?"
What?his mind demanded.Is she all right? Is she disappointed in your brutish performance? Does she wish you to leave?
"I'm perfectly well," she assured him, as though she could hear every insecure lament that crossed his mind. She gestured to the tray, her brows pulling together as though she were still insulted by her difficulty in anchoring it. "I took the liberty of getting us some food, a bit of washing water, and, as an additional precaution, some items to keep the room warm, since I've dismissed the staff for the evening."
"You have, have you?" he said, immediately intrigued. "And why did you do that?"
She cut her eyes to him, halfway between annoyance and amusement. "I believe," she said slowly, "that I was promisedmore."
He coughed to hide his instinct to gasp, amazed to find his cheeks had gone hot at her reminder. "Right," he managed with a curt nod, wondering where on earth his dignity had gone. It was hardly sporting for the man playing seductive devil to sit in a lady's bed, blushing and blustering after a poor performance.
Her back was to him, though she turned her head so that he might see the curve of her smile in profile. "I do believe that you once told me there isalwaysmore, in fact," she said sweetly enough that he was certain he was being teased. She giggled to herself, shaking her head, and touched the tops of the containers she'd stored on the cart. "Are you cold? Hungry?"
"Thirsty," he confessed.
"Yes, I was rather parched too, after," she told him, pouring a glass of water from a carafe and climbing into the bed to hand it to him, seemingly still fond enough of him to wish to continue this discourse.
After.
He gulped down the water to avoid having to meet her eye. Were women generally so casual about the loss of their purity? She seemed entirely unbothered both by the monumental thing they'd done and by the fact that he hadn't pleasured her to completion. "Did you ... erm," he wiped his mouth, setting the empty glass aside. "Did you put a pillow 'neath my head?"
"Mm, yes," she confessed, drawing a finger down his bicep and to the palm of his hand. "I did not wish for you to catch cold or rest in discomfort. If you had awoken in unpleasant circumstances, you might very well have gone back to your own rooms, and where would that leave me?"
"I wouldnever," he sputtered, but she shook her head, smiling, to let him know that she was not overly serious, either way.
"I told the servants that we like as not had a brutal task ahead of us when the storm passes," she said, drawing her braid over her shoulder and fussing with the messy plaits. "They ought to rest, I said, to prepare for it, and they all agreed, so long as we were both amenable. I could not say for certain whether or not they saw through my ruse, but they have agreed to leave us alone for the evening, regardless."
Sheldon thought it rather unlikely that any canny enough servant did not at least suspect what the two of them had gotten up to, though he was wise enough not to voice it. Instead, with considerable doubts as to his own ability to converse like an educated man, he asked, "And you? How do you feel?"
"Light," she said dreamily, raising those indigo eyes to meet his. "I feel as though I have stolen a most precious slice of freedom and hidden it away to enjoy, though I do not deserve it."
"That is good," he replied slowly, "but I also meant ..."
"Oh. A little sore," she said without hesitation, "but it really isn't bad. I should like to try again later, in any event, if the idea pleases you."
He blinked at her, forcing out a stiff nod, which made her smile widely and fling her legs back over the corner of the bed, hurrying to her tray of mysterious sundry.
"Mrs. Laughlin says the storm does not sound as though it will let up tonight. I asked her if that meant it would rage for days, and she said it was possible. Surely if it did, we would be buried under ice until spring, which truly, I do not think I would mind." She sloshed a bit of water over the edge of a wide-brimmed bowl, steam curling up from its center. "I washed already," she explained, digging a chunk of soap out and setting it on the edge, "and thought about washing you, but again, did not wish to disturb you. I thought you might wish to refresh yourself, in any event, as I did."
He opened his mouth and closed it again, entirely at a loss for how to respond to this. He supposed the only appropriate reaction was gratitude, and with a bit of reluctance, he left his nest of blankets to take advantage of the water while it was still hot, while Miss Everstead retreated to the bed, perching herself on the corner to watch him at his task.
He felt a little bashful, he realized, at the way her eyes roamed the curve of his buttocks and the heavy width of his thighs. She was not even particularly focused onthatpart of him, though he was keenly aware that it was not at its most impressive in this particular moment. In this moment, he felt rather like some cumbersome beast being coddled by a fair and charitable maiden. He hoped sincerely that she did not feel sympathy as she watched him, lumbering about like an ox.
He dragged the soapy cloth over his chest and under his arms, attempting to soap off his delicate bits quickly and without much scrutiny.
She had already washed, he recalled with a sudden jolt of panic. Oh, God, had he forgotten to withdraw? He could barely remember the specifics of that frenzied encounter, but searching for a moment of prudence in his pleasure, he knew that there was none to find.
It won't matter,he told himself silently.If she agrees to keep you, it won't matter at all.
