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 before it fell away to leave her nearly bare.
‘Can you manage the rest?’ His voice was annoyingly clear and untroubled.
She swallowed. ‘I think so. Yes.’
‘Very well, then. Goodnight, Penelope.’
And she heard him returning to his chair.
She squinted at him from across the room, until she was reasonably sure that his eyes were closed and he would see nothing. She hurried to remove her clothing, throwing it all to the floor and diving into her nightgown and under the sheets, safely out of sight.
She settled back on to the bed, pulling the linens up over her and waiting for sleep that did not come. The fire was dying, and the chill was seeping into the corners, though her skin still tingled with the heat from his touch.
It probably meant nothing to him. He was familiar with women’s garments and the removing of them. He had done what he had done many times before, albeit with different results.
Her unwilling mind flashed to what it would have been like, if she was anyone other than who she was. His hands would be as slow and gentle as they had been while undoing her dress. Only, when the laces of the stays were undone, he would not stop touching her. Instead, he would lean forwards, and his lips would come down upon her skin.
She stared at the canopy of the bed, eyes wide, unable to stop the pictures playing in her mind and the phantom feeling of his hands and his mouth. Her body gave an uncontrollable shudder in response.
Across the room from her, her husband stirred in his chair, and rose, moving through the darkness towards her.
Without warning, the comforter dropped upon her body, and his hands smoothed it over her, tucking it close about her. Warmth flooded her, the warmth of his own body, left in the quilt. She sighed happily.
He returned to his chair, stretched out and slept.
Chapter Eight
When she awoke, light was seeping through the cracks in the bed curtains, which had been drawn at some point during the night. She could hear movement, and hushed voices from the other side. She sat up and placed her ear to the crack, so that she could listen.
Her husband. Talking to a servant, who must be his valet. Arranging for someone in the staff who would serve as a lady’s maid, temporarily, at least. Perhaps permanently, since he was unsure if her Grace had servants of her own whom she wished to bring to the household. He had not discussed the matter with her.
The valet hurried away, and the door closed. She could hear her husband approaching the bed, and she pulled back from the curtain.
‘Penny?’ He said it softly, so as not to startle a sleeper.
‘Yes?’
‘May I open the curtains?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was breathless with excitement, and she cleared her throat to cover the fact. As the light streamed in and hit her, she rubbed her eyes and yawned, trying to appear as though she had just awakened.
Adam was wrapped in a dressing gown, and she could see flashes of bare leg when she looked down. She must remember not to look down, then, for the thought that he was bare beneath his robe made her feel quite giddy.
‘Did you sleep well?’ He was solicitous.
‘Very. Thank you. Your bed is very comfortable.’ She glanced in the direction of the chair. ‘I am sorry that you did not have the same luxury.’
Which might make it sound like she had wanted him there. She fell silent.
He ignored the implication. ‘I slept better than I have in a long time, knowing that the financial future of my property is secure. Thank you.’ The last words were heartfelt, and the intimacy of them shocked her.
‘You’re welcome.’ She was in the bed of an incredibly handsome man, and he was thanking her. ‘And thank you. For yesterday. For everything.’
He smiled, which was almost as blinding as the sunlight. Why must he be so beautiful, even in the morning? A night sleeping upright in a chair had not diminished the grace of his movements or dented his good humour. And his hair looked as fine tousled by sleep as it did when carefully combed.
She dreaded to think how she must appear: pale and groggy, hair every which way, and squinting at him without her glasses. She reached for them, knocking them off the night table, and he snatched them out of the air before they hit the floor and handed them to her, then offered the other hand to help her from bed.
She dodged it, and climbed unaided to the floor, pulling on her glasses.
‘It will be all right, I think,’ he said, ignoring her slight. ‘We have survived our first day in London as man and wife. It will be easier from now on.’
Perhaps he was right. She went through the door to her own room to find it bustling with activity. Her clothing had arrived, and an overly cheerful girl named Molly was
