Only, he didn’t regret it. Did he? Hell if he knew.
He didn’t intend living in one of those marriages, like Dev’s or Nottingham’s. He’d never seen a benefit to husbands and wives living in one another’s pockets.
Emily had assured him she wanted to have children and she’d expect independence otherwise. He dismissed the small ache that settled in his heart at the idea of abandoning a family. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t provide for them. And return often.
Anticipation for the physical nature of his duties this evening gnawed at him. He had a responsibility. God knew, she aroused him. Her combination of innocence and lack of inhibitions…
What was he doing, sitting in a taproom alone while his bride awaited him?
Marcus paid his tab and pushed himself away from the bar. A quick wash, perhaps a change of clothes. Memories from yesterday stirred him to make haste.
What other things had Emily read about that she’d consider trying?
Thirty minutes later, Marcus knocked on the door to his wife’s chamber. Silence.
He knocked again and then heard some shuffling. His pocket watch revealed that it was barely ten o’clock. Surely, she’d not fallen asleep already?
The lock sounded and then the knob turned. Sleepy brown bespectacled eyes peered through the small gap she’d allowed. “What are you doing here?” Her voice rasped in a loud whisper, as though it was the middle of the night and he was scandalously sneaking into her chamber.
Not the invitation he’d expected.
Marcus slipped his boot inside and pushed the door open wider. Something felt… off. Ignoring her feeble attempts to prevent him from entering, he stepped through and perused the room. Three candles illuminated her untouched dinner. Her clothing from today had been strewn onto a chair, and a book lay open on the ruffled bed.
Emily wore her night rail. Was it on… backward? A sock remained partly on one foot and her other one was bare. Although she’d removed the pins that held her hair in a chignon, she’d yet to braid her hair. It hung in luxurious silky waves down her back.
A croaking sound escaped from her mouth. She had the hiccups. Marcus’ eyes swept back over the table and this time, he noticed an empty wine bottle and a nearly half full glass of wine.
Had she drunk the contents of the entire bottle?
“Ickup.” Her chest jumped again. “Marcus.” She waved her hands around the room. “Don’t you have your own chamber?”
Good lord, Miss Emily Goodnight was as bosky as could be.
“Ickup.”
“I hadn’t thought I’d need it tonight.” He spoke mostly to himself. To suggest that he was stunned would be putting it mildly. He dropped onto the chair with her clothing and studied her. Perhaps she was only tipsy…
“That… That thing we did thiseevening.” Her words slurred together in a sweet sing-song voice he’d not heard from her before. “Theseremony…”
“Our wedding?” He lifted one brow to her questioningly. She did remember then that this was their wedding night.
“Yes.” She made a pouting face and leaned one hip against the bedframe. She grasped the post with both of her hands and hugged it, he supposed, for balance. Was it possible she realized how seductive such a pose was? “If thaswhat you wannacall it.”
Uh oh. Perhaps he’d not been alone in feeling the tiniest regret at the lack of… ceremony within their… ceremony. “Er.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose the fellow could have injected a tad more… tradition?” He wasn’t sure what to call it even.
Emily hugged the post and pressed her cheek against the wood. “Do you wish to marry?” she mimicked the blacksmith. “Poof! You’re married! Not ‘do you take this here gent’… Etcetera, etcetera… Ickup” She closed her eyes and for the next twenty seconds, Marcus wondered if she’d fallen asleep standing up.
The anticipation he’d felt earlier seeped away as he realized that evenhecouldn’t consummate their vows with her in such condition.
“I s’pose you’ve come to cossummate with me.”
Marcus couldn’t decide if he found her behavior absolutely adorable or deserving of a thrashing.
With closed eyes, she released the post and then crawled onto the bed. Twist, crawl, tug at gown… when she finally managed to make her way to the center, she dropped onto her stomach and with an exasperated sigh, proceeded to roll over. “Do as you please.” She crossed her feet at her ankles and threw one arm over her face. “Ickup.” Likely, she’d have fallen asleep if not for her hiccups.
“Emily.” Marcus scooted the chair closer to the bed. “Why?” His question was half groan, half exasperation. “Why tonight?”
She peeked out from under her arm and opened drowsy eyes. “All your rules about this marriage. I don’t mind them. And it’s only fair. Especially because of Prescott’s man and all that.”
