Innocent in the Regency Ballroom. Christine Merrill
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game if he wished to succeed.
He looked to his brother again. ‘I do not mean to abandon this life just yet, so you need not fear an inheritance. I had no idea that you felt so strongly about it.’
‘I do.’
‘Very well, then. No matter what may occur, you will not be the next duke. But neither do I intend to abandon my current plan just yet. The heir situation will sort itself out eventually, I suspect.’
‘Do you, now?’ His brother laughed. ‘If you think it can sort itself out without some intervention on your part, then you are as cloth-headed as I’ve come to suspect. You wife is waiting in your bed, Adam. Let the sorting begin.’
Chapter Seven
Penny tried to put the mess downstairs behind her as she climbed the stairs to her room. William Felkirk had made little effort to disguise his distaste for her and was no doubt pouring poison in his brother’s ears on the subject of marriage to upstart title hunters.
There was little she could do about it if Adam chose to listen. An acquaintance of several days and a trumped-up marriage were not equal to a bond of blood. She could only wait to see if he came to her room to explain that it had been a mistake, that he was terribly sorry, and that they would be undoing today’s work in the morning.
She looked at her bedchamber and sighed, nearly overcome with exhaustion. No matter the outcome, she needed a warm bed and a good night’s sleep. But the room in front of her was as cold and dark as it had been earlier in the day. If there was fuel available, she could manage to lay her own fire, but she could see by the light of her candle that the hearth and grate were empty. Not an ash remained.
She looked in trepidation at the connecting door to her husband’s room. If she could borrow some coal and a Lucifer from his fire, and perhaps a little water from the basin, she could manage until the servants came back in the morning.
She knocked once; when there was no answer she pushed the door open and entered.
The bed had been turned down and a fire laid, despite the servants’ day off. It was warm and cheerful, ready for occupation, and nothing like the room she had just left. There was a crystal bowl on the night table filled with red roses, and stray petals sprinkled the counterpane. Their fragrance scented the room.
Her portmanteau was nowhere to be seen, but her nightrail lay on the bed, spread out in welcome.
The door to the hall opened, and she looked back at her husband, leaning against the frame.
‘My room is not prepared,’ she said, to explain her presence.
He ran a hand through his hair in boyish embarrassment. ‘The servants assume …’
She nodded.
He shrugged. ‘You can hardly expect otherwise.’
‘And what are we to do to correct the assumption?’
He stared at her. ‘Why would we need to do that? That a man and a wife, newly married, might wish to share a bed is hardly cause for comment. But that a man and a woman, just wed, do not? That is most unusual. More gossip will arise from that than the other.’
She looked doubtful. ‘I wondered if that might not matter to you so much now you have spoken to your brother.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘That perhaps, now that you are back in your own home, you might wish to call a halt to our marriage. It is not too late, I think, to have second thoughts in the matter. And I would not fault you for it.’
‘Because my brother does not approve?’ He made no attempt to hide the truth from her. Although it hurt to hear it, his honesty was admirable.
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘What business is this of Will’s? When he takes a wife, he will not wish me to trail along, giving offense and offering advice where none was requested. I recommend that you ignore Will as I intend to.’ He moved across the room to a chair, sat down and set to work removing his boots.
Very well, then. There had been no change in her status. But what was to happen now? Did he mean to change in front of her? She was torn between embarrassment and a growing curiosity. How far did he mean to take their marriage? They had discussed nothing like this on the road from Scotland.
Then he stood up and walked across the room in his stockinged feet, locked the door and dragged the heavy comforter from the bed across the room to his chair. ‘It shall not be the finest bed in London, but I have had worse.’ He gestured to the rose-strewn mattress on the other side of the room. ‘Be my guest.’
She sat on the edge of the bed and watched him as he divested himself of coat and waistcoat, untied his cravat and undid his cuffs. He sat down again, slouching into the chair, long legs stretched out before him, wrapped the comforter around his body, and offered her a sketch of a salute, before closing his eyes.
She blew out her candle, placed her spectacles on the night table beside the bed, removed her slippers and stretched out on top of the sheets, arms folded over her chest.
From across the room, her husband’s voice came as a low rumble. ‘Is that how you mean to sleep? It cannot be comfortable.’
‘For you either,’ she said.
‘But at least I am not fully dressed. Shall I call someone to help you out of your gown?’
‘I can manage the gown myself, for I am most limber and can reach the hooks. But that would leave the corset, and I fear the lacing is too much for me. If we do not wish the servants to gossip, then I think not.’
He sighed and got out of his chair. ‘I shall help you, then.’
‘That would be most improper.’
He laughed. ‘For better or worse, madam, I am your husband. It is the most proper thing in the world.’
She hesitated.
‘It will look much stranger to have the maid undo the laces tomorrow than to let me do it tonight. Here, slide to the edge of the bed, and turn your back to me.’
She sat up and crawled to where he could reach her, turning her back to him. She could feel his touch, businesslike, undoing the hooks of the bodice and pushing it open wide until it drooped down her shoulders. She tensed.
‘You needn’t worry, you know. I will not hurt you or damage the gown.’ He laughed softly. ‘I have some small experience with these things. In fact, I can do it with my eyes closed if that makes you feel more comfortable.’
It would be ludicrous to describe the sensations she was experiencing as comfort. It would have been comforting to have the efficient, easily ignored hands of a maid to do the work. She would have climbed into bed and not thought twice about it.
But a man was undressing her. And since he had closed his eyes, it seemed he needed to work more slowly to do the job. He had placed his hand on her shoulders and squeezed the muscles there in his large palms before sliding slowly over the bare skin of her upper back and down the length of the corset to the knot at the bottom. He reached out to span her waist, and she drew a sharp breath as he undid the tie of her petticoat and pushed it out of the way. Then he leaned her forward slightly, and his fingers returned to the corset to work the knot free.
She could feel it loosen, and tried to assure him that she could manage the rest herself, but no breath would come to form the words.
He was moving slowly upwards, fingers beneath the corset, pulling the string free of the eyelets, one set at a time. She could feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric of her chemise, working their way up her body until the corset was completely open.
There was a pause that seemed like for ever as his hands rested on her body, only the thin cotton between his touch and her skin. And then he moved and the corset slipped free. She folded her arms tight to her chest, trying to maintain some modesty