Page 97 of Dukes Are Forever
"There, there, Malloryn." Gemma patted him on the shoulder, grinning at him unsympathetically. "This is one of the joys of marriage."
* * *
Adele awoke with a groan.
Oh. My. Goodness.
She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. There was far too much light in the room. What had happened? Where was she?
"Why," purred a dangerous voice, "if it isn't myfavoritewife. How are you feeling, Adele?"
Malloryn.
She was in Malloryn's bed at the safe house. Adele rolled onto her side, realizing she was naked under the covers. With a squeak, she hauled them up to her chin, and then clapped a handful to her mouth as her stomach rebelled at the sudden movement. "What are you doing in here?"
Light streamed through the curtains he'd just jerked open, highlighting the dangerous smile on his mouth. "Well, I certainly wasn't sleeping, unlike others."
She managed to sit herself upright. Very slowly. "Where are my clothes?"
"Clara has very kindly removed them from the room, along with the chamber pot."
The chamber pot?
She groaned. There was a vile taste in the back of her throat. Faint recollections rose of lots and lots of brandy. Had there been singing at one stage?
"Apparently I'm not as good at hair as she is, though I did manage to braid most of it out of the way."
"Braid it back?" she asked in a horrified whisper, as images of the chamber pot resurfaced to haunt her. "Oh, no."
"Oh, yes, my favorite wife." Malloryn's smile was pure evil. "It was quite an eventful night. I have learned rather a lot about you. Including what you ate for dinner last night."
The only way to deal with such a statement was to ignore it.
"Why am I your favorite wife? I thought I was your only wife?" The world was spinning too much for her to put the pieces together.
"Well, apparently, I am yourfavoritehusband. I am avery goodhusband, indeed." He said the titles simply, as if speaking them to a three year-old. "Am I a good husband, Clara?"
"The very best," Clara said promptly as she stepped into the light.
Adele hadn't even realized she was there.
"I hope you're feeling better, Duchess." There was a faint note of sympathy on Clara's face. "I've bought you up some tea. I wasn't certain if you were quite ready for breakfast."
The very idea of baked kippers made her stomach revolt again.
"Tea will be fine," she managed to whisper.
"Clara, would you be able to assist my wife with her toilette this afternoon? I don't want her to drown in the bath, and we have an important meeting to attend downstairs. Some of us have been putting together the pieces of what we learned at Angel's Fall."
"Certainly, Your Grace."
Malloryn strode for the door, and then paused, one hand on the knob as he glanced over his shoulder. "You may have to wash her. Thoroughly. Along with my boots."
"Your boots?"
Please tell me I did not....
"My very big boots," he replied, a strange glitter in his eyes, "which are suddenly the topic of discussion among the female Rogues, though I can't quite work out why."
