Page 62 of The Unwilling Bride
Merrick gave her a questioning glance.
“The sheets. I fear our uncles and the others may not be early risers after a night of such festivity.”
Merrick let out his breath slowly. “I suppose I must stay here until they do their duty.”
His tone dismayed her a bit. “Only if you wish,” she said, trying not to sound hurt.
He came to her and ran his hands through her hair before raising a lock to kiss. “I would gladly spend all day with you, Constance, every day. And not just in bed.”
“Then why not linger a little longer?” She thought of something else. “Are you hungry?”
He smiled slowly. “Not for food.”
As her blood warmed again, she couldn’t resist teasing him. “For conversation, then? About what, my lord? The king and his court? The hall moot in a fortnight?”
They were interrupted by a tentative knock at the door.
Constance wrapped her bedrobe about her more tightly and stood by the window as Merrick went to the door. He opened it to reveal two very bleary-eyed, unsteady noblemen. Behind Lord Carrell and Lord Algernon were Sir Jowan and Sir Ranulf. There were more people, too, but she didn’t want to take an inventory of those who’d arrived to witness the evidence of her lost virginity, with one exception. She didn’t see Kiernan, and was glad. Casting her mind back, she didn’t recallnoticing him in the party that escorted Merrick to his bedchamber last night, either.
“We’ve come…” Lord Algernon began. He stopped, swallowed and swayed a little before continuing. “We’ve come to examine the…” He fell silent and turned a little paler.
Merrick opened the door wide and gestured for them to enter, then moved out of the way.
Although this was to be expected, Constance blushed and stared at her feet as they went to the bed.
“Satisfied?” Merrick asked evenly.
“Yes, absolutely,” his uncle quickly replied, shuffling backward.
Still blushing, Constance let out her breath and raised her eyes—to encounter the unexpected, unwelcome, angry gaze of Kiernan. Pressing her lips together, she met his glare with one of her own. It wasn’t as if she’d done something shameful and dishonest. She’d made love with her lawful husband. She’d married in accordance with the betrothal contract, and she didn’t regret it.
Kiernan’s face reddened, but he continued to stare at her until Merrick stepped between them. He ushered the men out of the door, exchanging a few quiet words with Ranulf.
When they were gone, Constance sank onto the stool near her dressing table, wincing a little. Perhaps they shouldn’t have made love a second time so soon.
“Are you unwell?” Merrick asked.
“A little sore.”
He went to the side table, poured a goblet of wine and wordlessly held it out to her.
“No, thank you,” she said, picking up her ivory comb.
“That was necessary.”
“I know.”
A strong, firm hand took the comb from her and, to her surprise, Merrick began to run it through her hair. She closed her eyes, enjoying this unexpected intimacy, as well as the gentle tugging sensation on her scalp.
“Are you going to let that boy upset you?” he asked after a moment.
“If you mean Kiernan, I was simply taken aback to see him here this morning.”
“I was glad. Now he knows that we are truly wed and he has no hope at all. You are mine, in every way.”
She opened her eyes and studied her husband’s reflection in the silver plate in front of her. “Yes, I’m yours, to do with as you will,” she said slowly, a sliver of her old fear returning.
“Bound to me, for good or ill.”
