by Brenda Hiatt
Young Sue exclaimed with delight. "Wedding night? My congratulations to you both. I must go tell Mother —she'll want to fix you a special dinner to celebrate, I'm sure." She bustled out again and they could hear her shouting the news to the farmers in the taproom.
Thor frowned at his sister. "Was it really necessary to share our private concerns with the whole village?" Dina, he noticed, was looking acutely embarrassed.
"Private? A wedding should not be kept private," Violet protested. "I should think you would both want to celebrate."
"Why must you persist in treating this like a love match?" he snapped, before realizing how that might sound to Dina. Not that either of them had pretended the least bit of fondness for each other, of course. Still, he sent her an apologetic glance.
She did not meet his eye, however, only saying to Violet, "Your brother is right. Given the unusual circumstances of our marriage, the fact that we did not even know each other yesterday, I can't help feeling that the less said to strangers, the better."
"Hmph. No matter how it began, you'll be spending your lives together now. Why not eke as much romance —as much fun— from the situation as you can? That is what I would do, in your place."
"No doubt," said Thor acidly. He hoped more than ever that they would be able to travel farther that day.
Unfortunately, when the driver and other men returned to the inn half an hour later, it was to report that one of the wheels had been damaged in their efforts to free the coach from the mud.
"They already have the village wheelwright working to replace the broken spoke, but it won't be ready before morning," the postboy informed them.
"Early morning," the innkeeper chimed in. "Mr. DiMartino is very good at his craft, for all he's a furriner and a newcomer to our village."
"A newcomer?" Thor wondered that anyone would intentionally settle in such a remote place.
"Aye, he's only lived here some twenty years or so, when he come as apprentice to old Mr. Noseworthy what died a few seasons back. But Mr. DiMartino, he's starting to take to our ways now, and he's a bang-up blacksmith and wheelwright. Now, let me see about your dinner —and your bedchamber. I hear it's a special night for you two." He waggled his thick eyebrows at Thor and Dina.
They exchanged alarmed glances, then Thor shrugged slightly. "Er, yes," he said to the innkeeper. "Thank you."
It was likely to be an interesting night, at the very least.
Chapter Five
Though the dinner was excellent, simple country fare that it was, Dina could scarcely eat, she was so nervous about what lay ahead. Why had Mr. Turpin not insisted on his original suggestion that she and Violet share the inn's one guest chamber? It would have led to awkward questions, true, but surely no more awkward than the situation they would face once they retired.
It was as well that Violet carried on the bulk of the conversation over the meal, for Dina was almost too preoccupied to talk.
"What is Staffordshire like, Dina?" she asked at one point. "I have never been there, though it is but two counties away. Do they hunt foxes there?" She gave her brother a sly grin.
"Why, yes, I believe so," she replied, jarred from her disturbing thoughts. "I seem to recall—"
"The Atherstone hunts there," Mr. Turpin put in. "A fair-sized hunt, I understand, though I've never ridden with them."
"Perhaps now you will have a chance," Violet suggested. "We could stay there until Christmas, could we not?"
Dina tried to imagine what it would be like to live at Ashcombe Hall with her new husband and his sister, as well as Silas. Strange, at the very least. But he was shaking his head.
"I promised in my letter to Mother to bring you home as soon as may be— much as I know you would like to tarry."
Violet grimaced, then shrugged. "That's just as well, I suppose, for our neighbors will have all manner of parties in the coming weeks, and I should not wish to miss them."
"You will be lucky if Mother allows you to attend any of them, after the way you have behaved," he cautioned his sister, but she merely tossed her head.
"She will scold and threaten, but I'll talk her 'round —I always do." She went on to speculate on the various entertainments likely to occur and who was likely to attend each one, allowing Dina to lapse back into her thoughts until dinner was over.
Violet yawned as the plates were cleared away. "Goodness, I'm tired."
"Poor thing," said Sue sympathetically, balancing the empty dishes and mugs on a tray. "Soon as I dump these in the kitchen, I'll show you to our room —and you two to yours, as well," she added, with a saucy wink that made Dina blush.
A moment later, she led them up to the second floor. "This here's the guest room —or, I should say, the bridal chamber." She giggled. "Me mum and dad are across the hall if you need anything. You and me are upstairs," she said to Violet.
"Good night," Violet said. "See you in the morning." With a mischievous wink, she followed Sue up the next flight of stairs.
Dina watched her go, her heart thundering in her chest. Behind her, she heard Mr. Turpin turn the handle to their chamber.
"We can't very well stand about in the hallway all night," he said softly, "much as we might wish to." His addendum reassured her that he was no more eager to spend the night alone together than she was.
Nodding, she walked through the door he held open. A small but cheerful fire burned in a tiny grate, helping two candles to illuminate the chamber. The room itself was even smaller than she had expected, barely accomodating the bed, a three-legged stool near the door and a narrow wash stand.
He followed her in and closed the door. "Hm. If there were a proper chair, I would offer to sleep in it, but I can't quite see myself balancing on that stool all night. I suppose it will have to be the floor."
Dina eyed the narrow strip of bare boards visible between bed and wall. "The bed is much bigger than the available floor space. It would make more sense for you to have it, given our relative sizes."
"Don't be absurd. I would never be able to call myself a gentleman again if I agreed to that."
A hurried glance revealed the glimmer of a smile, but then she quickly looked away. This situation was far too intimate for comfort —and likely to become more so.
"I presume we will both sleep in our clothes?" She felt a pang of regret for the only gown she had with her, already showing the ravages of several days' continuous wear.
"I'd prefer not," he surprised her by saying. "I've been wearing these things for two full days now already. I can't imagine you would prefer to sleep in a corset, either."
That much was true, though she was slightly shocked that he would mention such an indelicate item. "But—"
"I'll just step downstairs, say we want more hot water or some such thing, and give you a chance to change. You can be safely under the covers before I return."
And then? she thought, but only nodded. She could turn her face to the wall while he stripped off his boots and . . . other things, she supposed. The moment he was gone, she unbuttoned her gown and draped it over the stool. Her corset took a bit more time, making her worry that he might return before she was finished. Nervousness made her fumble-fingered, so that it took even longer to unlace than usual.
Finally she had it off, however, and tucked it under her dress. Then, listening for returning footsteps, she gave her face a quick splash from the basin, quickly unlaced her boots, peeled off her stockings and climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. A moment later, the door opened.
"Sorry to take so long." He set a small pot of hot water on the wash stand. "The innkeeper's wife wanted to add her congratulations to the others we've received."
A mercy, Dina thought, for if he'd returned a moment earlier, he'd have caught her standing in her shift.
"I must say, I'm looking forward to a real bath, once we arrive at your brother's house," he said then. "Since the privations of war, I've grown inordinately fond of cleanliness."
Dina th
rust away the image that arose at his words. She was looking forward to being clean again herself, of course. And their respective baths would have nothing to do with each other.
"It must have been very difficult, serving in the war." That was a much safer topic. "The marching, the camping, the fighting." Had he ever killed anyone, she wondered? Most likely, since he had been a soldier. The thought sent a chill through her.
"I didn't have to do much marching, as I was Cavalry, but it was nothing like living in Town —or even the country," he admitted. "Our camps were generally of the most primitive sort and it was common to go weeks at a time without a proper bed or bath. And I won't even mention the food."
She tried to imagine such a rugged, dangerous existence, one so many men had endured. Not Silas. There had been some talk of a commission, she recalled, but nothing had come of it. "What of the fighting? Did . . . did you have to do much of that?"
"My fair share, I suppose. That's the worst of war, of course. The rest could be regarded as an adventure, but getting shot at, and being forced to kill— that changes a man. But why are we discussing such an unpleasant topic? The war is over, and I, for one, am very glad of it."
So he had killed. Not only that, he was able to speak of it almost flippantly. And she was married to this man.
"I . . . I suppose we had best get to sleep. We will want to get an early start in the morning."
"I suppose so." He stripped off his coat and draped it over her things on the stool, revealing a white cambric shirt underneath. "I'll, um, have to sit on the bed to remove my boots, if you don't mind."
Dina swallowed, staring at the broad expanse of his chest, seeming even more massive without the coat, and at the vee of skin revealed by his open collar. She shook her head. "No, of course not."
"After that, well, I suppose you'll just have to promise not to watch, while I change. Unless you want to, of course," he added with a grin that made her whole body flame with embarrassment.
Instead of replying, she turned onto her side, away from him, and pulled the covers over her head.
Behind her, she heard him chuckle. "It would appear not. I'll try not to take offense."
She tried to relax, but it was impossible. Every nerve in her body seemed as taut as piano wire, her senses preternaturally sharpened. The bed shifted as he sat on the edge, but she had been expecting that. Even so, she tensed further at his proximity, given her own state of undress.
First one boot, then the other hit the floor, then the bed leveled again as he stood. She breathed a bit easier, but an instant later she heard splashing. Screwing her eyes tightly shut, she tried not to imagine him bending over the basin, his big hands moving over his face, his strong jaw, his neck. Would he have taken his shirt off entirely by now? A part of her longed to peek, to find out.
No! She had no desire for that sort of relationship, she'd made that clear. And so had he. His teasing just now only underscored it. She was a woman grown, not a silly schoolgirl to be undone by a man's mere proximity.
Without warning, the bed shifted again, and for a wild moment she thought she would roll toward him. Frantically, she clutched the edge of the mattress, bracing herself against the sudden slope. What was he doing? She twitched at the covers, half tempted to peek, to make sure he wasn't actually climbing into bed with her, when she heard a slithering sound.
His stockings. He must be removing his stockings. The bed shifted back and she heard louder slithering that she realized with a shock must be his trousers. She swallowed convulsively, unable to completely rein in her wayward imagination.
"If you've no more need for the candle, I'm going to blow it out now," he said softly, as though he didn't want to wake her if she were sleeping.
At first she didn't answer, thinking to pretend just that, but then decided that was cowardly. "All right," she said. "Good night."
"Good night, Dina."
Though she still had the covers over her head, she knew when each candle went out from the soft puffs of his breath, almost like sighs. That would be the one on the wash stand . . . and the one on the mantel. She risked a peep now. Yes, the room was lit only by the dim glow of the coal fire.
She took a deep breath of the cooler, fresher air of the room, a relief after the stuffiness under the covers. There was no real need to hide her eyes now that the candles were out. But then a shape loomed up in the darkness, almost making her gasp. As she watched between nearly-closed lids, his large form disappeared into the narrow space between the bed and the window.
Dina began to relax at last, only regretting that she hadn't waited a minute or two longer to pull back the covers, as that would have spared her that disturbing silhouette of his near-naked torso. A bump made her tense again. Then came another.
"Damnation." The curse was a mere whisper, followed by two more bumps in quick succession.
With a start, Dina realized that poor Mr. Turpin had nothing to lie on save his cloak, and nothing to use as a blanket. How could she have been so selfish?
For a long moment punctuated by more bumping, she struggled with the conflicting demands of decency and courtesy, then said, "You may have the blanket, if you like. It seems only fair, as I have the bed."
From beneath the edge of the bed, he asked, "Is there more than one?"
"No, but it is quite thick and should cushion you from the hard floor."
"I can't take the only blanket. You'd freeze."
She was warmed by his concern, but of course could not say that. "I would still have the linens. Or, we could ask the innkeeper for an extra blanket."
"That would mean getting dressed and undressed again, with all the attendant awkwardness. Not to mention the speculation it would cause, that a newlywed couple should need more than each other to stay warm," he added with a chuckle.
Dina felt her face prickling in the darkness and was glad he could not see her. Already, his bumping about on the floor had likely been noticed by those downstairs. What would they think was going on? Poor man, it was her fault he was in such uncomfortable straits. If not for her, he would be safely on his way back to Lincolnshire with his sister.
She bit her lip, struggling with her conscience as well as her nervousness. "Please allow me to take the floor, then," she finally said. "I can fit in that space with no trouble, and will wrap myself in the blanket. That way, you can sleep under the linens as well as your cloak, and we should both be warm enough."
"Very well," he replied. "I suppose there's little gallantry in keeping you awake half the night with my tossing and turning down here." With a few more bumps as well as a grunt or two, he heaved himself to his feet. Dina was relieved to see that he'd wrapped his cloak about his body.
Following his example, she attempted to wrap the blanket about hers, only to discover that was trickier than she'd expected. First, she had to extricate herself from the linens —and the blanket was tucked in at the foot of the bed.
"Drat it!" she exclaimed under her breath, tugging at the blanket. Should she ask him to help her? Even as she thought it, he moved to the foot of the bed and deftly released the blanket.
"Thank you."
"I should warn you that floor is harder than it looks."
"I . . . I'm sure I will be fine." It simply wasn't fair to make him sleep in that awkward little crack.
"You know, this bed is quite large— large enough that two could sleep in it quite comfortably without touching."
Dina froze, the blanket half wrapped about her. She opened her mouth to reject the scandalous suggestion, before realizing that in truth it wasn't scandalous at all. They were husband and wife, married in the eyes of the law and the world. And it wasn't as though he were suggesting any actual intimacy.
Still, it was a frightening prospect, sharing a bed with a virtual stranger for an entire night. What if he—
"I give you my word, I will not take advantage of the situation," he said when she did not answer.
Suddenly Dina felt foolish. He had alre
ady made it perfectly clear that he did not desire her as a woman. Why should she deny them both a good night's sleep over some sort of misplaced modesty? To him, it would no doubt be much the same as sharing a bed with a comrade —or a sister. As it would be for her, of course.
"Very well. That does seem to make the most sense, given our situation." Her voice, she was pleased to note, held more confidence than she felt.
Scrambling back under the linens, she let him rearrange the blanket, which she had pulled askew in her attempt to wrap herself in it. Surreptitiously, not wanting him to think she was afraid of him, she inched away, to the very farthest edge of the bed.
In a moment, he'd righted the blanket and moved back to the side of the bed. "I can sleep on top of the linens, if that will make you feel better."
Yes, that would make her feel much better, she realized, but only said, "If . . . if you'd like." Where was that confidence now?
The shifting of the bed when he'd sat on it before was nothing to what it did when he put his full weight on the mattress. Though she'd thought she was braced, Dina found herself rolling helplessly toward him, fetching up against his broad back.
What a mercy he was atop the linens —and facing away from her.
"I'm sorry," she gasped, scrambling backwards under the covers. "The . . . the bed—"
"Isn't as stable as I'd thought," he finished. "The fault is mine. I should have lain down more gradually."
Thor was pleased to note that he was able to keep his tone brisk and impersonal. The unexpected contact had been by no means unpleasurable —or particularly unwelcome. He did regret her embarrassment, however.
He fought against instinctive arousal at her soft sounds and the little bounces of the bed as she moved back to the opposite side. He wouldn't be male if he weren't affected by such close proximity to a pretty woman in a state of undress, he told himself. It didn't signify any particular attraction or affection.
Still, it probably hadn't been wise of him to suggest sharing the bed. The rational part of his mind said that it was the only realistic solution to their problem, but he couldn't seem to keep the wayward part of his mind from imagining the possibilities their current situation offered. Once asleep, they might well both roll toward the center of the bed, then—