Is it possible? Is Chuddums a place where dreams come true? A place where I could be free to love my husband—and become a wife who is worthy of him?
A tear escaped, sliding down Evie’s cheek.
“Are you in pain?” Concern creased Mrs. Pickleworth’s features. “Is the megrim worsening?”
“N-no.” To Evie’s dismay, her voice hitched. “I-I’m fine.”
Mrs. Pickleworth took her hand, unfurled her fingers, and massaged her palm until she felt herself relaxing.
“I’ve found that a good chat can sometimes ease a headache as well as herbs. Especially when one has been through an ordeal.” Mrs. Pickleworth studied her with earnest eyes. “If there is anything you wish to speak about, I am here to listen.”
Evie knew the lady was referring to the abduction and wanted to confess the truth: she’d endured far worse. Right now, she was being extorted by some mysterious villain from her past, and the only thing keeping her here was her love for her husband…who despised her. Words crowded her throat. She sprang up before they—or the tears pushing behind her eyes—could escape.
“You have been kindness itself, Mrs. Pickle—I mean, Loretta,” she said in a rush. “I cannot thank you enough. But I’m feeling much more the thing, and I must get back. The others will be wondering where I am.”
“Of course, my lady.” Mrs. Pickleworth was on her feet as well. “Would you like Liam to drive you back? We’ve only a cart but?—”
“I’m fine. Truly. Thank you…thank you again for everything.”
Evie dashed off while she still could.
Chapter Eleven
Upon her return to Bottoms House, Evie was greeted by Brunswick, the butler with mastiff-like jowls and a gruff but kindly manner. He informed her that the master and mistress were out with the Godwins, and she tried not to show her relief. Although her megrim had subsided, she felt shaky and unsettled and had no desire to socialize, even with family. She wished she was at home, where she could escape into the greenhouse.
At least the other couples were gone. And, after the visit to the pottery, James and his cronies were supping with the Whig widow, who’d apparently invited the local gentry so that he could promote his cause. He would be out late, and Evie was glad for it. She simply could not manage another frosty marital interaction.
She hurried to the bedchamber, locking the door behind her. She rested her back against the solid barrier, closed her eyes, and let out a sigh. Solitude had never felt so welcome. With her eyes still shut, she began untying the ribbons of her bonnet. She was dusty from the walk back and needed a bath. Soaking in warm suds struck her as a perfect way to unwind?—
“Evie?”
She jerked against the door, her eyelids snapping open. James was standing in the doorway of the connected sitting room. He was in his shirtsleeves, his collar open, and his shirt untucked. His thick bronze hair was mussed, and he looked groggy…which was unusual. Unlike her, he didn’t need much sleep, and he awakened with an energy that had always baffled her. During their better days, when he’d spent the night, he had put that vigor to good use. He’d lured her into wakefulness with warm kisses, his rampant manhood wedged against her bottom…
Remembering those times made her heart contract with helpless longing. Her breathing quickened as he crossed the room toward her. He’d taken off his shoes, and her belly quivered at his casual state. The contrast between his elegant clothing and large bare feet was strangely arousing.
“What…what are you doing here?” she said stupidly.
“I am staying in this bedchamber if you recall.”
His obvious irritability gave her pause. James tended to be suave; even his attacks were smooth, slicing to the bone before one realized one was bleeding. She took a good look at him. His hair was sticking up on one side, and sleep wrinkles marred his cheek. His face had a slight flush that enhanced the glitter in his eyes. For once, he didn’t appear calm or collected.
“What has made you grumpy?” she asked.
He stared at her. “I am not grumpy.”
At his annoyed tone, she merely lifted her brows.
Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair. “I was working and didn’t expect an interruption.”
“I didn’t think you would be here.” Awkwardly, she added, “I thought you would still be at the pottery.”
“The visit ended early. I came back to catch up on a few things before supper.”
“Like sleep?”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Then why has a pillow left its impression upon your face?”
