Page 9 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
Chapter 5
Tia found herself pulled from the sweet oblivion of sleep by the stomping and shuffling of what must have been the worst maid at Somerton. She resolved herself to ignore it, snuggling deeper into the pile of blankets that she'd stacked atop herself and wiggling her toes under the layers of fluff and warmth.
This was, without question, the most comfortable bed she'd ever slept in, and she would not be rushed from her sleeping to other, far less pleasant matters until she was good and ready.
She had dreamt ofhim,of course. How could she not, after learning that this was his suite? Everything was freshly laundered, but she imagined she could smell traces of him in the pillows and blankets, like pine needles and woodsmoke and thunder, and she'd fallen into oblivion remembering that one moment of weakness on the morning that Nell had run off, when she'd thrown herself into his sturdy, strong arms.
Oh, what a kiss. What a morning. What a simpler time!
She could not suppress the urge to yawn, tugging the down-stuffed coverlet up to her nose, squeezing her eyes shut in protest of the inevitable grip of consciousness. She was already imagining all the things she would say to Glory about this flat-footed maid and her sloshing pail of water.
She retreated under the blanket to rub the sleep from her eyes, extending her legs and pointing her toes to stretch and warm the muscles in her thighs and hips that screamed in protest after so many days astride a horse. She hoped that the sloshing water she was hearing was a nice, hot bath, which she direly needed.
She rubbed her palms across her eyelids, dark lashes gritty against her touch, and sighed, pulling the blanket down to greet the light of day. She blinked, coming into the room from her world of dreams, and for a moment was certain that she was still dreaming.
There, across the room, was the Marquis of Moorvale, in all his glory, lathered with shaving cream near a basin of water, carefully sculpting the edges of his beard. His shirt was discarded, tossed onto a nearby chair, leaving his broad back facing Tia in a fascinating display of muscle and movement as he guided the straight razor over his throat, head tipped slightly back so that his mess of dark hair brushed his shoulders.
She drew the blanket back up over her mouth and nose, only her wide, dark eyes blinking out lest she alert him to her presence. There were glinting beads of water on his shoulders where he had rinsed himself off, and the way the droplets wound their way down the honey-colored ridges and lines of his shoulders as his arms moved was mesmerizing.
It hadn't been a maid at all, she realized, but a man who thought he was in his own private space, preparing for a new day. Why had no one warned him that his room was occupied?!
She knew she ought to alert him, but had never wanted to do anything less in her life … except perhaps go through with her wedding day. She told herself she only wished to avoid the confrontation, that perhaps he might finish his toilette and leave her and she might sneak out, never detected nor discovered for this voyeuristic indulgence.
She shifted her eyes to the mirror, glimpsing the glossy curls of black hair on his chest as his heavily muscled arm moved, shaping the razor's path along his jaw and wiping the dregs of foam from his bare throat. It made her mouth go dry, though she could not fully account for why.
He lowered his face, adjusting the mirror so that he might see to the top of his beard, near those high, well-defined cheekbones. If he'd just left the mirror as it was, she might have continued on, undetected. As it was, his fawn-brown eyes settled into the reflective glass, falling onto her tiny form in the ocean of blankets and pillows, and widened in a half second of shock before he let out a yelp, blood blossoming on his cheek where he had lost control of his razor.
"Oh, no, oh, no." Tia gasped, scrambling from the sheets with an apologetic fervor and looking around wildly in search of some means of aid. "Oh, Lord Moorvale, you are hurt! I am so sorry!"
"Miss Everstead?" he replied in befuddled awe, too stunned to resist as she snatched up the towel near his water basin and shoved it into his cheek, attempting to staunch the injury he'd given himself. "What in the blazes?"
A commotion in the halls drew their attention away from one another as Moorvale's giant bloodhound came tearing down the hallway in a clatter of paws on polished wood and concerned growling barks after hearing her master cry out in pain.
"Ah, bollocks," Moorvale muttered, eyeing the door, which sat somewhat ajar as Echo came crashing into the room, heading directly for them at a gallop.
Tia attempted to step out of the way, but not nearly fast enough. The dog's heavy, golden-brown body grazed her at the ribcage as she leapt past, knocking Tia to the floor in a sprawl that must have been reminiscent of a squashed spider.
This predicament did not merit even a glance of apology from the large dog, who was instead attempting to heal her master with laps of her tongue over the incision of his cheek, despite his pleas otherwise, and oblivious to the shouting contingent of servants arrived in the doorway to observe the aftermath of this latest upset.
Tia squeaked in mortification, shoving herself up to sitting and taking the hastily offered hand of Sheldon Bywater to assist her back to her feet, so that she might present herself in the flimsy modesty of her borrowed night rail to half a dozen servants, gaping at them through the doorframe.
"Oh, what now,what now?" came Gloriana's voice, the clip of her heels on the floor punctuating her maneuvering through the gaggle of servants. She popped out of the crowd up front, looking remarkably well put-together for sounding so harried, her red-haired husband just behind her, grinning ear to ear as though this were just the most amusing thing he'd ever beheld.
"Sheldon!" cried Alex Somers, glee evident in his voice. "Welcome back! Happy Christmas!"
"Er, Alex," Sheldon replied, pushing his dog off him and attempting to stand in such a way as to at least partially shield Tia from everyone's view. "Happy Christmas."
Echo whined but did not otherwise protest, sticking close to his legs, as though he might be attacked again at any moment.
"Oh my God!" Glory gasped, catching sight of the smeared blood along the side of Sheldon's face, where Echo had lapped at it. "What happened here?"
"Yes, do tell us," Alex prompted, hands in pockets and evidently enjoying himself very much. "Shall I fetch the doctor? Or perhaps a bottle of whiskey? Maybe both!"
"Alex!" Glory snapped, though it looked suspiciously like the corners of her lips were twitching at the suggestion. She turned to shoo the servants away, exasperation in her voice. "Good God, all of you, get back to work! Now! And not a word of gossip! I shall know if you gossip!"
"My love," Alex said with a chuckle, stepping around his bride to stride across the room and throw himself on the foot of the bed. "If the servants here were prone to gossip, we'd all be ruined by now. Several times over."
"Oh, shut up or I'll kick you out too," Glory said, though there was no venom to her words. She strode into the room and retrieved the dressing gown she had laid out for Tia the night before from the wardrobe and walked it quickly over to Tia's shrinking form.
