Perhaps he would join her as soon as he struggled his boots off. He didn’t want to ring for Edgar. At the moment, he wanted only to enjoy Sophie and Mary Katherine in this room. Their room. He found himself remembering those restless nights he had slept in the dressing room—or tried to. More than once he had to run a cold cloth over his face and neck. Those lonely nights were over, thank the Lord.
He remembered the first time he saw her hair down, longing to run his hands through it. To tangle his fingers in its golden strands and gently draw her near for a slow, leisurely kiss. He found his heart rate accelerating at the thought. He might need cold water from his washstand yet.
He confessed, “Do you know many nights I lay in that dressing room—tormented by the thought of you on the other side of that door, a few yards away? Wanting to go to you. To kiss you. To be welcomed into your bed?”
Sophie smiled up at him and patted the blanket beside her. He didn’t need to be asked twice.
He leaned down and kissed her. But a scratch at the door drew him upright again.
A housemaid timidly opened the door. “Sorry, sir. Ma’am. But Mrs. Hill sent me up with fresh water for your washstands.”
Had the woman read his mind? At the moment, he would not thank her for interrupting.
“Hello, Libby,” Sophie greeted. “Are you well?”
“Yes, ma’am. Welcome back, ma’am.” The housemaid delivered the water, then asked him, “Shall I send up Edgar, sir?”
“When it’s time to dress for dinner, then yes. But no hurry.”
“Very good, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy and slipped from the room.
Sophie bit back a worried grin, and whispered, “Do you think she knows what we were up to in here?”
“I don’t care if she does,” Stephen said. “We are husband and wife. It goes with the territory.”
She grinned impishly. “And very glad of it I am.”
“Why, Mrs. Overtree...” He leaned in for another kiss.
They went down for dinner half an hour early, taking Mary Katherine with them. As he’d hoped, the baby proved an effective diversion to ease Sophie’s return.
“Thurman told us you’d arrived and were resting or we would have insisted on meeting this little lady earlier,” his father began.
“Let me have a look at her,” the colonel said, coming closer. “A bonny lass if ever I saw one.”
His mother nodded. “Sophie is right. She does look like you, Kate.”
“May I hold her?” his sister asked, holding out her slender arms.
Stephen obliged her, gingerly transferring the child. “Careful.”
“Oh, look. She has a strawberry birthmark,” his mother observed, leaning near. “Growing up, I had a dear friend with one of these on her cheek. The boys teased her about it—until I let them know in no uncertain terms that I would not tolerate such behavior.”
“Perfectly true,” the colonel spoke up with paternal pride. “She was only nine or ten, but my daughter could lay flat any boy in the parish.”
“Woe to the man who crosses her even today.” Mr. Overtree winked and put his arm around her.
“Pish.”
“Well, Mary Katherine Overtree, you are very welcome,” the colonel said, smiling into her little face. Mary cooed in reply and made a vague swat at his rather prominent nose.
When dinner was announced, Mrs. Overtree said, “Shall I ring for Mrs. Hill, and see if she might watch Mary Katherine while we dine?”
“No need, Mamma,” Stephen said. “Winnie can do that.”
“Winnie? I don’t know that Nurse Whitney is up to the task.”
“Nonsense, Janet,” the colonel said. “She is perfectly capable. And I daresay she would enjoy nothing more.”
