Tabitha awoke with her face smashed up against Mr. Frampton’s strong back.
She jerked away out of reflex, horrified to think that instead of running her fingers over those rippling muscles, she’d drooled all over his nightshirt instead.
The sharp movement of Tabitha jerking backward caused the blanket to move with her—which in turn tilted Mr. Frampton from his side to his back. And revealed an unmistakable ridge in the tented blanket.
Before Tabitha could so much as blink, Mr. Frampton’s eyes flew open wide and the pillow beneath his head swooped to cover his groin.
“I told you this was a terrible idea,” he growled.
She beamed at him. “Good morning, husband.”
He closed his eyes and groaned.
Tabitha’s smile grew wider. This didn’t feel terrible at all. The opposite. This was glorious. She’d never before woken up next to a man, and honestly never expected to have such an occasion. To the best of her knowledge, aristocratic lords and ladies always slept alone in their separate chambers, coming together only briefly for the act of begetting the next heir.
With Mr. Frampton, her first experience in the same bed as a man hadn’t been loathsome or terrifying in the least. Yes, he’d ordered her to stay on her side of the bed—which she’d clearly failed to do. He either hadn’t noticed her transgression, or chose to allow her to sleep snuggled up next to him like a kitten rather than wake her for a scolding.
He opened one eye. “Why are you still in bed? Go and get ready.”
“You’re still in bed,” she pointed out.
“I need a minute. Go.”
She pushed the blanket from her nightrail. His pupils dilated and he closed his eyes tight. She swung her feet off of the mattress and onto the wooden floor.
“I… shall need some help when it’s time to lace up my gown.”
“I may be ready by then,” he mumbled. “Or dead. I may never open my eyes again.”
Tabitha blew him a kiss—why not? He couldn’t see her—and padded over to the washbasin atop the nightstand to ready herself for the day. She exchanged her nightrail for a fresh shift, and shimmied into a rose-colored day dress. In the looking-glass, Mr. Frampton made several agonized expressions but never once opened his eyes.
There was no hope of fastening her gown by herself, so Tabitha quickly gave up trying. She arranged her hair as best she could, then turned back to the bed. “I’m ready for you now.”
Mr. Frampton let out a tortured moan. “Never utter that phrase to me again.”
“But I—”
“Turn around.”
She turned around. Mr. Frampton was still visible in the looking-glass. He visibly sucked in a deep breath, then flung the pillow at the headboard and swung his legs out of bed.
Her mouth fell open. “You slept in your trousers?”
“I should’ve loaned you some,” he muttered, and stalked over to where she stood, the bottoms of his trousers poking out from beneath his calf-length white cotton nightshirt. “Don’t move. I’ll do this as quickly as I can.”
She didn’t move.
His fingers were neither as light nor as swift as her lady’s maid. Yet his heavier touch did not feel clumsy, but rather… slow and sensual. Gooseflesh rippled across her skin at each brush of his fingers. Inch by inch, the gaping gown tightened across her bodice. He tied the knot, then leapt away as though the silk ribbons had tried to bind him to her.
“Wait for me in the parlor,” he ordered.
She spun to face him, her skirts swirling against his nightshirt and trousers. “Are we going on adventure?”
“Hasn’t this been adventure enough?”
“With you, I doubt the adventure ever ends,” she said softly.
His jaw worked, then he pointed toward the open bedchamber door. “Parlor. Now. I’ll be there in just a moment.”
