Page 47 of The Miracle of Love
The innkeeper’s wife emitted a shriek. “I knew ye’d find yerself the loveliest lass! And it is a love match, too. Did ye hear what the naughty man just said? Warm enough? You devil. And she’s such a sweet thing. Aw, Mr. Harcourt, just look at the way they smile at each other. Lovebirds, for certain.”
She left them a moment to bring in their soup. “I hope you like it. Nothing fancy, just a potato pottage with some greens and pork mixed in. The bread is a day old and not as fresh as I’d hoped, but it is good for dunking.”
Grace smiled at her. “It is the best meal I have tasted in an age, Mrs. Harcourt.”
“Why, thank ye Mrs. Driscoll.”
Deklan could see that Grace was dead on her feet, so he led her upstairs as soon as she finished her soup. The Harcourt’s son had tended to their horses in the meanwhile and now brought in their pouches.
Deklan took them from him and bade all the Harcourts a good evening.
Grace fell onto the bed with a breathy sigh the moment they were alone in their chamber. “I was fine until about half way through my soup and then exhaustion set in.”
“I know the feeling. It is like a wall suddenly rising up in front of you and you slam straight into it. You did magnificently, Grace. I’m very proud of you. But we both need a solid night’s sleep or we’ll collapse again before midday tomorrow. Let me help you out of your gown. Did you bring any nightclothes?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He chuckled. “Bundle yourself up in them. I’ll keep my back turned as you undress.”
“It would be better if you stepped out of the room.”
“No, we are married.”
She sat up and stared at the bed. “How are we going to share this? It doesn’t look very big.”
He arched an eyebrow. “We will simply have to manage. I am not sleeping on that icy floor. However, I will keep my trousers on for the sake of your delicate sensibilities. I don’t need you to panic. You’ll be safe enough with me.”
“We’ll see just how safe.”
“No, Grace. I would not harm you for the world.” He assisted her with the ties of her gown then turned away to light their hearth fire while she slipped everything off, including her chemise.
His ears were attuned to the sound of material sliding down her skin. The gown first, the woolen fabric then neatly set upon the bed, and soon followed by her light breaths as she worked the front ties of her corset and set it atop her gown.
Last, the chemise came off. He knew the exact moment when she stood naked because she made a little shivering sound and quickly tossed on her sturdy nightclothes.
Blessed saints.
Had he been cold before?
He was burning up now and it had nothing to do with the blaze he had started in the fireplace.
It felt like an eternity before he heard her slide between the sheets. “Are you done?”
“Yes. Oh, my. The sheets are cold. We should have asked for a warming brick.”
“Our body heat will warm us up soon enough.” He removed all but his trousers and slid in beside her.
The bed had a fine, plump mattress and the bed linens were clean.
He also had the most beautiful woman in all of England beside him, her hair appearing more amber than gold under the glow of firelight, and her body exquisitely soft.
She was once again buttoned up to her throat, having gone to bed not only with her fortress of a nightgown but also a thick, woolen robe for an added layer of protection. He drew her into his arms so that she rested her head against his chest. “You need warming, Grace,” he said when she tried to pull away. “This is a necessity, not a seduction. Frostbite is no jest.”
She eyed him warily, but ultimately complied.
He liked the feel of her in his arms, but almost shot out of his skin a few minutes later when she lightly began to trace her finger across his chest, seemingly fascinated by the dusting of hair on it.
She then traced that same finger along the contours of his arm, obviously curious about the sculpture of his muscles. “Stop that, Grace.”
