She sighed and tucked her head down against his chest, her body becoming even more limp against him.
“You know I will return the favor.”
She giggled. “I hoped so. When you recover. Perhaps after a nap.”
He gave a low chuckle. “You do know men.”
“I am a wanton harlot, remember.”
He tightened his arms around her. “Definitely neither.” After a moment, he released her. “Stand up.”
She did, and he pushed out of the chair, a little annoyed at exactly how wobbly his legs remained. He turned her away from him and began to unlace her dress.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Surely, not yet.”
He laughed. “No. But you asked to spend the night. I thought you might be more comfortable without the dress and stays.”
Judith nodded, releasing a long deep breath as the dress, then the stays, dropped away from her. “I do hate those bloody things.”
“They are, however, rather entertaining to remove.”
She turned to face him. “Oh?”
He took her arm, urging her toward the bed. “I can find all sorts of uses for those laces.”
Red spots tinged her cheeks, and she shivered. “Do you promise?”
An odd spark of hope bloomed in his chest. “Do not tempt me.”
She rested a hand on his bare chest as they stepped closer to the bed. “I am tempting you.”
He stumbled, catching himself against the post.
Judith giggled again. “Perhaps after that nap.” She turned and mounted the mattress, easing toward the center.
Mark doffed his loose trousers, blew out the candles—leaving only two oil lamps lit—and got in beside her. “Perhaps.”
As he lay back against the pillows, Judith curled on her side, tucking herself beneath his arm, one leg draping over his. Mark pulled the covers up, snuggling them both in, relishing the feel ofher heat against his side. He had no intention of sleeping, but he did need to rest, lulling in the exquisite joy of having this woman in his arms. He watched as Judith’s body softened in slumber, her breathing evening out, her hair a glorious cascade down her back. As the last of his pleasure leeched out of him, he closed his eyes, imagining, wishing for a time when each night could be just this blissful, just this peaceful.
Chapter Sixteen
Thursday, 4 August 1814
Lord Mark Rydell’s Bloomsbury residence
Half-past three in the morning
Amoan jostledJudith’s slumber. A wistful dream of a broad meadow filled with wildflowers and dozens of Highland Ponies dissipated in a vapor as an almost instinctual urgency, a sudden spike of fear, pierced her sleep. Judith jerked awake and pushed up on the pillow just as a wild kick from Mark threw her leg off his. That urgency seized her again, and Judith rolled away, throwing aside the covers and bounding out of bed on the far edge away from him.
Mark screamed, a wild sound of terror and pain, as his hands clawed the air. Then one fist thudded against the headboard as the other slammed into the mattress. His eyes snapped open, but their stare was of unseen horror. Another bellow of fear blasted through the room, although Judith doubted he heard it.
Because Lord Mark Rydell was still very much asleep.
Memories of Edmund’s violent nighttime fits flooded Judith, and she looked around, desperately searching for anything that would help. There. On top of his wardrobe, a thick quilted blanket lay neatly folded. Rushing to that side of the room, Judith bounced up on her toes several times until her fingers snagged the heavy cover, and it tumbled down on top of her. She gathered it, doubled it over, then held it in front of her andwaited for a small moment—a second—a breath of calm in the chaos.
He continued to thrash for what felt like an eternity, his eyes staring into the unknown, but finally that moment came, a brief interlude as he panted, his body trembling as if pain consumed him.
Judith took her chance.
