Page 63 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Chapter 13
Paulette sether light on the bedside table. Her travel bag rested on a bench, her writing case perched on top. Mabel had laid out her nightrail on the wide bed. She’d had a chance to freshen up before dinner and had seen that big bed, her body quickening with the possibility she might share it.
Mabel and Jenny’s chamber was just down the hall. One of them would sleep on the narrow bed there, the other on the floor on a pallet.
Unless they switched rooms.
She paced to the window and looked out into the dark dale beyond. This room was quieter, and Jenny, after her brutal bruising, needed the quiet and the comfort of a bed, even a shared one.
She draped the nightclothes over her arm. Perhaps Mr. Gibson’s chamber would have a wide bed, and he would be alone in it, wouldn’t he?
Heat rose in her, her jaw tightening painfully. The buxom serving wench had cast him an eye, several eyes actually, and her bodice had dipped lower with every platter delivered.
Not that he’d noticed. He hadn’t noticed Paulette tonight either, almost as though he was losing interest.
Like Papa had lost interest. He’d ignored her and Mama, as had her guardian, Lord Shaldon.
In those letters to Shaldon, she’d asked first to visit him. She could feel him out about the treasure, but there was more she wanted.
She wanted a purpose. She wanted a life.
When his man put her off, she’d dared to put the offer in writing—her services to the crown. If Mama could do it, so could she.
Instead, Shaldon had given her this husband. She couldn’t let the man lose interest before the wedding night. He’d promised to take her to London, and the way he’d kissed her in the corridor outside her chamber…Warmth unfurled in her. Now that her path was set, shewouldsee it through, at least through the wedding night.
A knock announced the flirting maidservant with a bucket of steaming water for her and a stack of bedding tucked under one arm. “Some hot water, miss. And I’ve got the pallet for your girl right here.”
Paulette took the bucket and set it near the cold hearth. “We won’t need the pallet. We are switching rooms.”
The girl’s mouth dropped. “This chamber’s much nicer, miss. Ye’ll have the noise of the courtyard there.”
“Never you mind.” She ushered the girl out and down the hall to Mabel and Jenny’s chamber. “If anyone asks, I’ll be in this bedchamber.” In fact, it would place her further from the room where she planned to spend the night, but if anyone should suspect, the maid’s testimony would preserve her reputation.
A safeguard if after bedding her, he should decide to change his mind about marriage.
While the house settled, Bink stripped off his coats and his neck cloth and sat down to write Hackwell a report on the roads. He would send it south with the morning mail.
The public rooms quietened, and here, on this dark side of the building, only the distant hoot of an owl and occasional snorting of horses in the back stalls of the stables filtered through the wide open window.
It had been a warm afternoon, and the breeze still had not swept the heat from these upper story rooms. He yanked his shirt over his head and went to the basin, splashing himself with the cool water.
Outside, a horse was being led to the stables, the shuffle of hooves muffled.
He froze, and strained to discern what had raised his hackles.
Whispers in the hall slithered over him and he threw aside his towel. Paulette was abed, and someone was creeping along the corridor, close to her door. As he reached for his pistol, his own door latch creaked.
The scent of flowers wafted in on a draft that sputtered the flame of his candle and eased his breathing.
“Mr. Gibson?”
The husky, whispered voice sent him to half-mast and his chest tightened with a different kind of wariness.
He set the pistol aside, grabbed for his shirt and groped his arms into it, catching them in the tangled sleeves.
A set of small hands worked the linen up his arms and down his body and pulled the hem into place, covering the evidence of his arousal—before she noticed it, he prayed.
He looked down into two dark, intense eyes, and then noted the robe with its slack belt, the fringing of lace at her creamy neck, and her hair flowing in waves past her shoulder. He fisted a hank of hair and tried to catch his breath.
