“Tom?” she mumbled, still clutching the pillow. “Do close the curtains, if you please. My head aches.”
What had happened last night? She recalled dinner. Followed by a great deal of port. Then a table. She had been dancing. Singing as well…
The pillow was torn from her head abruptly.
“Not. Bloody. Tom.”
“Mmm.” She burrowed her face in the mattress in an effort to keep out the intrusive light.
Had he said he was notbloodyTom? Had he growled those words at her? What the devil was going on, and who was in her chamber?Dear Lord, she had not actually taken someone to her bed, had she? Three years of chastity, and months of denying Tom at every turn. He would never forgive her if she had allowed another man into her bed. Nor would she forgive herself. She had been drinking far too much in the past few months, and well she knew it, but she could not bear to believe she would ever betray Tom.
Would she?
Kisses and flirtation were one matter.
Bedding was another.
No one knew that better than Nell, who had been disgustingly, ridiculously faithful to her very unfaithful husband these last three years…
Her husband.
Jack.
Memory surged. She had been dancing on the table, and she had fallen, only to be caught in a pair of strong, unrelenting arms. Jack’s. Surely not? Surely that had been a nightmare…
“Nell.”
There was the voice again, and without the muffling caused by her pillow, it was undeniable.
Recognizable.
It had not been a dream.
Her head jerked up. She blinked at the harsh light, her head pounding anew as a wave of biliousness washed over her. She had not imagined it. Needham hovered over her bedside, his handsome face severe and harsh.
She reached for her pillow. Her hand met with its supple softness. Her fingers tightened. Her arm raised. She tossed her missile. It hit him, though only in his chest.
“Get out of my chamber,” she ordered.
He bent, retrieving her pillow, and whipped it back to her bed. “No.”
“I want Tom,” she told him, reveling in the way he flinched at those three words, the mentioning of the man she wanted to marry.
A man who had once been his friend.
She would be lying if she said Tom’s original appeal had not been his friendship with her husband. Initially, she had been so devastated, like a wounded beast, trying to defend herself in whatever fashion she could. But as time had gone on, Tom had proven his mettle and his devotion. He was a good man.
Pity she did not love him.
But love was stupid. And fickle. Love was not ruled by order, reason, or even whether or not the person upon whom it was bestowed was worthy of it. In her case, Needham had most assuredly not been worthy.
Tom loved her, and she was not worthy, either.
Suiting.
“Sidmouth has yet to arrive,” clipped her husband.
Her husbandfor now.
