by Platt, Meara
“Just not tonight. I understand.” She stepped away to retrieve the sheer, white night rail and robe set out upon the rose silk counterpane. “Sweet dreams, my lord.” She appeared ready to say more, but began to hiccup instead.
Gazing at her just now, James was overwhelmed by the urge to toss caution to the wind and take her to his bed, but he quickly tamped down the wayward notion. First, she was utterly inexperienced and if there was ever to be a first time, it would have to be gentle and cautious so as not to hurt her. Second, he’d somehow have to keep his mangled leg from view or she’d be retching into the chamber pot at the sight of it instead of eagerly joining him.
Hell and damnation, those visions of Sophie stretched out before him, her hair a riot of dark waves cascading down her back and splaying across his white sheets, would have to remain just that. Visions. Reckless fantasies that would never come to pass.
Her string of hiccups brought him back to the present and reminded him that Sophie had imbibed too much champagne. “Do you need assistance with your gown?”
“No. I’ll manage as I’ve had to do all of my life.” The retort was more wistful than snide. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She marched to his door and held it open for him, making no attempt to hide her thoughts. If he had no desire to stay, then she was eager to boot him out.
She hiccupped again.
Gad! What was wrong with him? Sophie Wilkinson was the prettiest thing this side of the Atlantic Ocean.
The prettiest thing on either side of any ocean.
That was the problem.
He cared about what she thought of him.
He cared and was too much of a coward to face her disappointment.
SOPHIE LEANED AGAINST the door separating her quarters from that of her husband’s and emitted a ragged sigh. Then a sniffle. Then she allowed the tears to quietly roll down her cheeks. She’d made an utter fool of herself, offering James unrestrained access to her heart and body, and he’d rebuffed her.
Dratted inexperience!
She ought to have known better than to mistake tender regard for something more.
He’d been by her side all day, looking after her and making her feel quite special. She’d even caught him a time or two gazing at her with unmasked desire. Obviously, she had misunderstood. He respected her, but didn’t want her in the way that a husband in love would want his wife. “Oh, Sophie. What have you gotten yourself into?”
She leaned her back against the closed door and idly surveyed her room. To say it was large and splendid, didn’t do it justice. Everything from the oriental patterned silk carpet, to the canopied bed draped in rose silk, to the gold sconces and elegant sweep of curtains hanging from the tall windows, spoke of wealth and power. She’d never known such luxury and would gladly trade it in for a husband who loved her and wanted to fall asleep with her wrapped in his arms. “Stop dreaming, Sophie. Be content with your lot.”
She slipped out of her wedding gown and carefully set it in her massive armoire, which was vast and empty since she hadn’t the clothes to fill it. Sighing, she donned her night rail and hopped into bed, glad that her maid had thought to put a hot stone between the sheets to warm them. Of course, she would have loved to be warmed by the heat of her husband’s body.
No.
She had to stop thinking of James that way.
So she tried to banish him from her thoughts as she lay her head upon the pillow, but that didn’t work at all, so she drew one of the many soft pillows strewn across the headboard against herself and pretended he was beside her and she was nestled against his broad chest. Much better. She immediately fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Sometime in the middle of the night, her sleep was disturbed by the sound of sharp cries that sounded like someone was in pain. Immediately thinking of James, she drew aside her covers and rose to investigate. The sounds continued as she reached the door separating their bedchambers, so she took a deep breath, opened it, and stole in.
The fire in his grate cast enough light so that she could see the shadow of James lying on his massive bed. He was thrashing in his sleep, the covers appearing to be caught around his injured leg. She crept closer and stifled a gasp when she realized he was unclothed. Then stifled another gasp as she studied the hard, muscled planes and magnificent contours of his body outlined in the dim light.
What would he do if he caught her gaping at him?
She forced herself to stop staring at him and wishing for things that would never be. Instead, she got down to business, carefully unwrapping the coil of bed linens around his leg and tucking the covers over him, for his skin was cold to the touch and exposure to the chill night air could not be good for his injury.
She returned to her chamber and quietly shut the door between them. She shivered as well, for the fire in her grate had died out and she was standing in her bare feet. Hearing nothing more, and hoping James had fallen into a gentler slumber, she returned to her bed. “Just a bad dream,” she muttered, still worrying about how James had thrashed and cried out as though struggling against something dire. Knowing there was nothing she could do for him tonight, she fell into a restless sleep.
She awoke shortly after dawn to the sound of soft footsteps crossing her room. She opened her eyes and saw a pretty young woman with bright copper curls sticking out from under her mob cap moving about the room. First, the young woman drew the drapes aside to allow sunlight to filter in, and then she lit a fire in the hearth. Ah, her new maid.
Sophie sat up and smiled at her. “Good morning.”
The young woman turned to her with a start. “Good morning, m’lady. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Sophie set aside her covers and walked toward the warming fire. “You didn’t. I rarely sleep in. What’s your name?”
“I’m Bessie, m’lady.” She gave a quick curtsy.
“Nice to meet you, Bessie. Do you know if his lordship is awake yet?”
The girl cast her a knowing smile. Obviously, she thought James had performed his husbandly duties last night, which he hadn’t and wasn’t ever going to do, but it was no one’s business what went on between them. Or rather, what failed to go on between them. “Yes, m’lady. He’s downstairs having his breakfast.” Bessie’s grin broadened. “He said not to wake you because you were likely exhausted.”
“No, I’m quite refreshed this morning.”
Bessie put a hand to her mouth and giggled. “I’m glad to hear it, m’lady. A husband ought to attend to his duties, that’s what I say.”
Sophie groaned inwardly. What had she said or done to give the girl the impression that she and James had spent the night together? Well, it didn’t matter. The staff would find out soon enough that there would be no visits, discreet or otherwise, to her quarters by the man who had vowed to honor her as his wife.
Bessie helped her to wash and dress – even her best gown, a dark green merino wool – paled beside the grandeur of her bedchamber. She slipped the gown on and then sat on her bed in order to put on her comfortable boots and lace them. There was no help for it, she’d have to make do until she acquired a new wardrobe and elegant accessories to accommodate her elevated station in life. Goodness! She was now a countess.
She still felt like Sophie Wilkinson from York.
“I could polish them a little to cover the scuffs,” Bessie offered, pointing to the boots.
“Thank you, Bessie.” She handed them over. “Do whatever you can. I’ll wear these in the meantime.” She slipped her feet into her fancy wedding shoes, their soft apricot color a hideous clash against the dark green of her gown, but there were no guests about to care.
She patted the soft chignon Bessie had styled for her, and then glanced into the mirror and lightly pinched her cheeks. She hurried downstairs, hoping she wasn’t too late to join James… perhaps she ought to think of him as Exmoor now. Yes, Exmoor was more formal and distant. Exmoor had abandoned her last night.
James would never have done so.
James… no, he was distant and aloof Exmoor now… glanced up from his newspaper. “Sophie,” he said with a genuine smile, setting aside the paper. He rose with a masculine grace, reminding her just how handsome a man he truly was. “How did you sleep last night?”
“Peacefully. And you, my lord?” In truth, he appeared clear-eyed and well rested. Had she imagined hearing cries of pain coming from his room in the middle of the night? Had she imagined creeping in to fix his covers? It seemed like a distant dream now.
“As well as ever. Are you hungry?” He motioned to the elegant fruitwood buffet that ran across the length of one wall and pointed to the silver trays on it. “Eggs, kippers, boiled tomatoes, scones, ham–”
“All this just for the two of us?” She shook her head and laughed. “I’ll quickly grow as big as this house if I eat even half of what’s set out.”
He grinned as he held out the seat beside him. “Feel free to instruct our cook. But she’s a testy old bat and carries a big rolling pin, so I would say nothing unless you wish to take your life into your hands.”
Sophie let out a merry laugh. “Thank you for the warning. I think my first decision as Lady Exmoor shall be to allow Cook to do as she pleases. How’s that?”
“An excellent choice.” Although he’d obviously finished his breakfast, he motioned for one of the footmen to pour him another cup of coffee. He eased back in his chair and watched her as she ate her eggs and kippers. “What’s your plan for today, Sophie?”
She set down her fork and turned to him. “I hadn’t given it much thought. What do countesses usually do?”
“I’m not sure. They fuss a lot, but you’re not the fussy sort. They host afternoon parties and belong to charitable organizations, but I think that your first order of business ought to be acquiring your new wardrobe. I’ve asked my sister for recommendations and she says that Madame de Bressard is the modiste used by all the best ladies, so I think we must send word to her and make an appointment at her earliest availability. Preferably today.”
Sophie shook her head and laughed. “Are my clothes that awful? Oh, don’t answer that. I know they are. Will you come with me to help me choose fabrics and styles?”
He winced. “Must I?”
She stifled her disappointment. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you.” She poked a kipper and shoveled it into her mouth.
“It isn’t so much an imposition as a sense that I would be useless in such matters. One gown is the same as another to me, and the only reason I’m eager to provide you with a new wardrobe is that others will judge you by the clothes you wear. It’s about them, not me.”
She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Ah, so you don’t care what I wear… or if I wear nothing at all.”
He sighed and leaned closer. “You’re still overset about our… sleeping arrangements last night, aren’t you?”
So what if she was?
She tipped her chin up in dismissal. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He cast her the softest smile. “Yes, you do. I wanted you, Sophie. But I have never taken advantage of a woman when she’s drunk.”
She gasped. “I wasn’t… well not all that… were you counting my drinks?”
“No, not intentionally. But I know you had at least six glasses of champagne. We all did.”
Her eyes widened. “No.”
“It could have been more.” He was still leaning close so that she could feel the heat of his body and inhale the subtle scent of musk on him. Was there something in that scent that made a woman want to claw at a man’s body and rip the clothes off him, because she was feeling that hot urge at this very moment?
“So are you suggesting that if I were sober and asked you to… you know… that you’d accept?” She set down her fork and stopped eating, for her heart was beginning to beat excitedly and she was no longer hungry for food but for him.
He said nothing for the longest moment and Sophie thought he wasn’t going to answer her question. She was about to turn away when he suddenly sighed again and said, “Yes. But I wish you’d give it more thought. It was never my intention to impose on you.”
“I never intended it either, but something about us feels inevitably right. I don’t understand it yet, but I know this feeling isn’t about pity or gratitude. I tingle when I’m close to you. Only something deep and heartfelt would evoke that response in me. Do you think my brother was purposely matchmaking? Do you think he sensed we were a good fit?”
James snorted. “Nonsense, he saw me at my worst. We endured cold, hunger, and the most depraved conditions. We rarely bathed, rarely ate food fit to be consumed, and never knew whether we’d survive beyond the next few minutes. I hardly think the Marriage Mart was on his mind.”
She wasn’t quite convinced, for she and her brother had always looked out for each other. She felt a jolt to her heart, realizing that her brother had been thinking of her future even while taking his last, gasping breaths. “Well, I suppose we shall never know now.”
James put a hand over hers, his touch warm and consoling. “It doesn’t matter. We’re together now. From this day on, you will lack for nothing.”
“You see, this is what I mean. You say the noblest things and sincerely mean them. My brother certainly chose wisely for me, but I think he meant for us to share more than a business arrangement.”
“Perhaps it was so before my injuries, but not afterward.”
She saw that irritating sense of resignation wash over him and released a breath of exasperation. “There you go, hating yourself again. Please stop expecting me to feel repulsed by you, because I don’t and never will. James, my room is quite large, too large for just one person to rattle around in it. I have no need for a big, empty chamber nor do I wish to climb into a big, empty bed each night. But I’d be content to share it with you.”
“Sophie–”
“I’m sober now and I haven’t changed my opinion. I understand what I’m asking of you. I know it would require an amendment to our agreement. I also know that this is something we must mutually agree upon. I won’t press you on the matter. I just want to be clear about my hopes for this marriage.”
“Hopes?” He laughed wryly and edged away. “You are an unusual girl.”
“On the contrary, I’m quite traditional.” She squirmed in her seat a moment, unsure whether to continue to press him about their marriage. It wasn’t fair, really. He’d been up front about this business arrangement and she was already reneging on her part of the bargain. Still, it felt like the right thing to do. Her brother had been worried about her future, but he’d also been worried about James. Indeed, Harry must have purposely thrown them together to benefit both of them. “Will you change your mind and accompany me to Madame de Bressard’s shop today? Assuming she will give me an appointment.”
“I can’t today. Truly, Sophie. I have a prior engagement that can’t be rescheduled.”
“Oh, I see.” She shrugged her shoulders, pretending she didn’t care, even though she cared deeply. There was something wonderful about being with James. She couldn’t explain it, she just enjoyed being in his company. “Will it take you long?”
“No, not too long.”
She waited for him to say more, hoping he might feel the same way about having her around and invite her to join him. But he said nothing. Indeed, when she hinted further, he ignored her to the point that he was being quite mysterious about this appointment of his. “What shall I do if Madame de Bressard isn’t available? Would you mind if I visited the Allworthys while you’re out?”
“Not at all. That’s a nice idea.”
“Would you drop me off there on your way to wherever you’re going and then pick me up on your return home?”
He nodded. “Yes, it’s on my way
.”
“Thank you, James.” This was the first day of their honeymoon and she wanted to take advantage by spending as much time with him as he would allow. How else were they ever to get to know each other? She cast him a beaming smile. “It shall be our first excursion as husband and wife.”
He cast her an indulgent, and slightly impatient, glance. “Sophie, it’s merely a five minute carriage ride across the park.”
She understood that she was making too much of it, but how else was she to convince him that they were meant to have more than a marriage of convenience? “It doesn’t matter. We’ll be together for that five minutes.”
He shook his head and chuckled softly. “You’re an odd little thing.”
“No, I think I’m quite sensible. But I will admit to having opinions, and unfortunately, an inability to keep from stating them when I think they’re important. Did you know that I helped tend the wounded soldiers at York’s Royal Hospital?”
He arched an eyebrow. “That’s a question, not an opinion.”
She nodded. “But it’s to let you know that I think your desire to hide your scars and leg injury from me is misguided. I understand that your wounds might be hideous, but those concern a patch of skin or a body part, not your brave and noble heart. That’s the point I wish to make clear. If I wince or look away, it is because of my revulsion to the festering skin around your injury. Not of you.”
His features remained expressionless. “Duly noted. And no, you may not go with me to my appointment.”
She frowned at him, not bothering to mask her indignation. “I did not ask to go with you.”
He squeezed her hand gently. “Yes, you did. Sophie, you are terrible at hiding your thoughts.”
“Perhaps, but then you ought to see that I sincerely meant what I just said.”
He nodded. “Even so, your good intentions are no less misguided simply because they’re good. You will be repulsed. My leg isn’t just a body part. It’s a part of me. Part of what defines me. Let’s put an end to this discussion. I’ll hear no more of it. I mean it, Sophie. Do not bring it up again.”