Page 10 of Joy to the Earl
She couldn’t help but wonder if he was sneaking looks at her too.
Later, Beatrice brought in the tray with the final course of sweet pudding and some mulled wine.She placed the little puddings on the table between the two armchairs in front of the fire, and set the copper pot holding the mulled wine very close to the flames so that the wine would remain steaming hot.The two of them rose from the table and took their seats in the armchairs without any hesitation, as if this were their usual practice.
They ate the puddings, they talked.Douglas’s dark green eyes seemed to glow with a warmth that was not due to the fire.The mulled wine was absolutely delicious, brimming with spices and more than a hint of citrus.The rich liquid seemed to warm Joy from inside out, and she kept sipping it as much for comfort as for thirst.It wasn’t until she found her head spinning that she realized she was on her third cup, which was too many for her.
Under normal circumstances, she never would have indulged so much.But floating underneath all of the cinnamon and clove and orange rind was an idea that she was too scared to face.And that idea was simply that if she chose to, she could ask Douglas to join her in a bed and then she would learn just what it would’ve been like to be married to him.
She did not ask.Every time she thought she might have the courage, she quailed and took another sip of mulled wine instead.It was easier to do that than to speak the fatal words and risk his rejection.And it would be a terrible rejection, because she knew by now it would be so kindly rendered and gently spoken, that she could not even be offended at being turned down as a one-time lover after having been turned down as the choice for a wife.
Now the glass sat empty in front of her, and she knew she certainly couldn’t pour more, and also that she was confused and very tired and strangely aroused even in her frustration.She turned to Douglas, and said, too abruptly, “I must go to bed.”She couldn’t manage to speak aloud the second part of her sentence, which was:will you join me?
“It’s late,” he agreed.Then he looked at her empty glass and back to her nervous and lopsided smile.“Did you have two glasses of wine?”
“Three.Or four,” she admitted.For what good would come of lying at this point?
His brow furrowed.“Hhhhm.You never did well with wine.”
He stood over her and pulled her up to a standing position, and naturally she overbalanced and fell against him, only to be cradled in his arms as she sagged against his chest.Why did he have to be so solid and comfortable?
“I could carry you up the stairs,” he said, his voice shockingly close in her ear.All kinds of ideas rushed into her mind when he said those words.If only he would carry her, holding her close, as he made his way to bed, and then lay her down upon it, and lean over her and kiss her deeply as he confessed that this too was what he wanted more than anything.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered, not fine at all.
He did carry her up the stairs, because she was unequal to the challenge of putting one foot above the other.But he set her down once they reached the upper floor, and wrapped an arm about her waist as he guided her to her doorway.She admitted that she did not lock the door, only to be told that all travelers should lock their doors, for there was no such thing as a completely safe accommodation at an inn.
She retorted that they were in the middle of a snowstorm, and any thief foolish enough to attempt stealing anything would surely know that they’d be caught because they could not run away.She was extremely proud of herself for such logic in spite of the mulled wine and her increasingly intense wish to be kissed—firmly, authoritatively kissed—by Douglas.
He opened her door and walked her to her bed.Wren wasn’t there, and Joy speculated aloud that she was keeping their coachman warm wherever he was sleeping.“They’re in love, you know.”
“I guessed,” Douglas said with exaggerated patience.He pulled the covers back and guided her to sit on the edge of the bed.Then he said, “I don’t believe you’re in a state to undress yourself and change into…whatever it is you wear at night.”
The obvious offer hung in the air between them.Why did she not say the words?You could undress me, sir.You could perform that great favor of removing my clothing and then doing whatever it is a man would like to do to an unclad woman alone in a bedroom.I want you to.
But though she thought those words very loudly, she did not speak them.What came out instead was a mumbled “I’m sorry.I didn’t mean to drink so much.”
But hadn’t she?And didn’t she mean far more than she was saying?
Douglas smoothed her pillow and then laid her back on it, his face a study in emotions.He looked incredibly interested in every minute action he was performing, and she told herself that meant he was interested in her as well.But if that were so, why did he not kiss her?
Douglas lowered his hand to her gown, and said in a voice made thick with an emotion she wanted to call desire, but feared was only pity, “Can you sleep in stays?”
“I’ll wake up wishing I hadn’t.I mean, wishing I hadn’t slept in stays,” she said, also wishing words came easier.
He leaned over, his hands pressing and touching in all kinds of interesting, interesting places.But then she inhaled deeply as the stays that had been fastened around her chest suddenly loosened.How had he managed that, with her gown still on?
“Are you a magician?”she asked.
“Yes.I conjured the snowstorm,” he joked, except he didn’t laugh, and neither did she.
“You…rogue.”She could barely keep her eyes open, except that she so badly wanted to see Douglas, and to feel his mouth on hers.She lifted up her hands and encountered his chest, earning a startled intake of breath.She slid her hands upward to his neck, and then his jaw, rough with stubble.It was only a few hours till morning, when he would undoubtedly be shaving again.
“You feel like a man,” she said, which was surely the most inane observation she’d ever made in her life.Of course he looked like a man, and he felt like a man, because he was a man through and through.He was the only man who she had ever loved, and the only man she was even faintly interested in exploring.
“I can assure you I am most definitely feeling like a man,” he told her, his eyes flickering all over her face.“Why did you drink all that wine?Why did I let you?”
“I poured myself more when you left the room once.”
“Joy.”
