“This is the problem with a termagant such as yourself, wife. You’ve gone mad with power.” A wave of hair fell over his forehead and Sophia’s fingers twitched with the need to brush it aside.
“What if I have?” She took a seat in the chair by the bed, while a wash of green trailed over her, intense and difficult to read. “Stop pouting.”
“I do not pout.”
Good lord, he did. Sensual lips slightly pursed. Hair mussed from days in bed. He was rather blinding at times.
“Are you going to read to me? Please, not that drivel from yesterday. I beg you,…Susan.”
“You’ve used that one twice in the last two days.”
“I’ve been ill.” He threw up his hands. “Tell me that is not the nun book. Nuns do not become countesses. It isn’t done.”
Sophia never gave Roxboro a choice in the books she read to him, which he liked to complain about endlessly.
Annoyance means he is better. That he is alive.
Now that he was going to live, according to Dr. Reading, Sophia could allow herself to feel the true terror at the thought of Roxboro dying. The fear she kept buried while ordering everyone about. She had nightmares about the blood, of Roxboro dead at her feet.
“Lady White’s Revenge.” She held up the slim tome. “You were enjoying the story yesterday and I think we should finish it.”
“I was not enjoying that bit of drivel.”
“I like nuns.” She shrugged. “I very nearly became one. But I wed you instead.”
“Aha. You chose me over a convent.” Roxboro grinned back at her.
Sophia’s breath halted in her lungs at the sight of that smile.
“May Ipleasehave a brandy?” he winked.
Her heart skipped. “No. Stop acting flirtatious.”
“I will only have one glass,” he pleaded. “It isn’t as if I can go downstairs and steal the decanter.” Roxboro’s eyes darted to the armoire across the room where Stone had fished out the bottle of brandy kept there for emergencies.
“Gone. You’ll find nothing there.”
His lips tightened. “You can even measure it out for me. I won’t object.”
“Still no.” She opened the book and cleared her throat. “Chapter Twelve.”
“Fine, you petty despot.” Roxboro reached behind the pillow. “Butif you are going to read to me, I’d prefer it be a book that is a favorite of mine. I had Barstow bring this up from the library.” He placed the tome covered in green leather on his lap. “It would bring me great comfort if you read it to me.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you read, or even liked books, Your Grace.”
“I’m not a heathen, Serendipity. Only a bit of a deviant.” He nudged the book in his lap. “You’ll adore it.” A tiny smirk tugged at his lips. “I promise.”
Sophia picked up the slim tome. “The Lustful Turk?I’ve never heard of it.”
“A romantic novel. You’re sure to enjoy it,” he said, gaze dropping to her mouth. Roxboro seemed unusually interested in her lips as of late. Their conversations were still adversarial but each insult took on an intimate quality. Or shared a jest. Not a debauched duke and his unwanted duchess but…friends, possibly.
He merely wants a brandy.
She snatchedThe Lustful Turkfrom his hand, but not before Roxboro slid his fingers along her own. This time, the tingling along her spine stretched all the way to the small of her back and around her thighs. “A romantic novel?”
“Indeed.” Roxboro laid back against the pillows, far too innocently.
Opening the book, Sophia scanned the first page. The story was written as a series of letters from a young lady to her friend in England. The young lady was sailing abroad for the first time. A travel journal of sorts. What an odd choice for Roxboro.
