Page 13 of The Earl Takes All
Plowing both hands through his hair, he hissed a vile curse before admitting, “I don’t know how to sleep with her.”
Locke stared at him. “Christ, Edward—Grey—you’re not a virgin.”
“No, but what do I do with my hands?”
“Pardon?”
He splayed his fingers. “Do I cradle her breast? Cup her backside? I don’t know what she expects.”
Locke shrugged nonchalantly. “Just hold her.”
Easier said than done. Albert had never shared the intimate aspects of his relationship with Julia. Wouldn’t she be suspicious if he did something his twin had never done, reacted in a way that Albert never had? The intimacy of being beneath the sheets with her, even if his body wasn’t joined to hers, made him break out in a sweat. “I’m going to give myself away.”
“Don’t overthink it. Assume she’s in need of comforting, reassurance that nothing changed between her and her husband while they were separated.”
“Everything changed. That’s the bloody problem.” Giving his ear a hard, unforgiving yank, he shifted his gaze toward the foyer that branched into multiple hallways, one that led to the library and solace. With a deep sigh of longing, he turned back toward the bedchambers and, with Locke beside him, began trudging up as though climbing a treacherous and demanding mountain. “Will you be departing early as well tomorrow?” he asked.
“Long journey back to Havisham.”
“I haven’t even asked after your father,” he said as he came to a stop outside his bedchamber door. He’d call for a bath before going to his brother’s wife for a long, interminable night.
“He deteriorates a bit more each day,” Locke said. “You should come to see him once Julia delivers the babe.”
“Are you going to tell him the truth of things?”
He nodded. “I want to ensure that during whatever time remains to him, he’s mourning the proper loss. Your secret will be safe. Out on the moors, he has no one to tell.”
“Except for the ghost of your mother. I thought I saw her once.”
Locke gave him a laconic grin. “Everyone thinks they’ve seen her. It’s just a wisp of fog. Ghosts don’t exist.”
“Still, I can’t help but believe that if I look out toward the mausoleum, I’ll catch a glimpse of Albert watching. I don’t want to let him down.”
“Then tonight hold his widow a bit more tightly than you think you should.”
With that bit of advice, his friend turned on his heel and headed toward his bedchamber, leaving Edward to stare after him. In all the days, hours, and minutes since Albert’s death, he’d been so consumed with his own guilt for his role in what came to pass that he’d never once thought of Julia in that solemnized term: a widow.
Chapter 4
Witha low fire simmering on the hearth and one lamp casting a low glow from its place on the bedside table, Julia lay beneath the blankets, her hands clutching them to her chest as she listened to the familiar noises coming from Albert’s bedchamber. Was he having a bath prepared? There were so many comings and goings that she didn’t see how it could be anything else.
She would have dearly loved to slip out of bed, go into his room, kneel behind him and scrub his back, would have enjoyed feeling the quivering in his chest with his satisfied groan. Eventually she would move on to more interesting aspects of his body. He would kiss her, his nimble fingers working free the buttons on her nightdress. Before long they would be in his bed, with his still-wet body gliding over hers. She loved contemplating the notion of how badly he would want her.
But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not when she’d never done it before, and there seemed to be this odd strain in their relationship. While she had not expected it to be so, she was experiencing butterflies worse than the ones that had fluttered about on her wedding night. This was Albert. She knew what to expect. Only she didn’t. Four long interminable months had passed since he’d been in her bed. If she were honest with herself, she’d forgotten things that she had thought to always remember: the feel of him, the scent of him, the warmth of him.
They weren’t quite as comfortable as they’d been with each other before he left. She knew grief was a consideration, the upheaval in their lives created by the death of his twin. Always, Edward was there hovering, so they’d been unable to relax into each other.
Then there were the changes in her, in the shape of her body as well as in the fabric of her being. She could be laughing one moment, weeping the next. Her lady’s maid had begun treading lightly around her because she never knew when Julia might lash out. It was unsettling to feel as though sometimes she had little control over herself.
Perhaps the changes in her deserved more credit for this distance between them.
As the minutes stretched out, she began to wish she’d called for a bath, although she’d bathed that morning and washed up before donning her nightdress.
Why was he taking such care in his preparations if they were merely going to sleep? Yet she couldn’t deny the little shiver of pleasure that coursed through her at his thoughtfulness. Albert was always thoughtful, sometimes too thoughtful, as though he feared with a misstep that he might lose her love. That was impossible. She would never love another as she loved him. She’d begun to fall for him the moment he’d first waltzed her over the dance floor.
The door separating their bedchambers opened, and the butterflies launched into a frenzied flight moving from her stomach into her chest. She watched as her husband walked into her room, wearing his dressing gown sashed tightly at his waist. He gave her a small smile before striding over to the fireplace, taking the poker, and stirring the logs on the fire.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
