Page 55 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"It's a shirt. That's all that matters."
"Your standards really have lowered."
"My standards have drowned. Along with everything else today."
She set down the comb. "The bath water's still warm, if you want it."
A bath meant undressing. In this tiny room. With her here.
"I shall manage without."
"You have mud in your hair."
"I do not."
She stood, crossed to him, reached up and pulled something from his hair. A dried leaf with mud attached.
"You were saying?"
He stared at the leaf. "That's been there all evening?"
"Probably."
"And no one said anything?"
"Would you have wanted them to?"
"I... no."
"Then be grateful for the discretion."
She was standing close enough and he could smell the soap she'd used. Her hair was down, still damp, curling slightly. Without the elaborate styling, she looked...
"I'll take that bath," he said abruptly, stepping back.
"I shall... turn around."
"Or you could go downstairs."
"Where everyone's drinking and will want to talk to the new duchess? I think not."
She had a point. She curled up in the chair, which was ridiculously small for sleeping in, and deliberately faced the window.
Alexander bathed as quickly as possible, trying not to think about the impropriety of the situation. His wedding night, bathing in tepid water in a small tub while his wife sat three feet away pretending he didn't exist.
His ancestors were definitely disowning him from beyond the grave.
"You can look now," he said once he was dressed again in his dried trousers and the borrowed shirt.
She turned, and they faced each other across the tiny room. The bed loomed between them like an accusation.
"This is ridiculous," she said finally.
"Which part? The broken carriage? The inn? The shared room? The..."
"The awkwardness. We're married. We survived the wedding. We've been rained on, muddy, stared at by strangers, and forced to dance. Surely we can manage sleeping in the same bed without dying of propriety."
"Can we?"
