“Good,” Matt said, his grandmother the last person on his mind.
“She was in good spirits. I take that to mean the wedding was a success?”
If only he knew. “Yes, it was. Breakfast on the morrow, served here.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Have a good night.”
Was it Matt’s imagination or did Marshall almost give him a wink of brotherhood? He shut the door.
The repast he’d asked for was a cold one so that he and Willa wouldn’t have to worry about when they ate. Of course, he’d made the request in an optimistic frame of mind.
He poured a healthy draught of the brandy in a glass and walked over to the bed. Willa huddled to the far edge. He knelt on the floor beside her, offering the drink.
“Willa,” he whispered. She was probably thinking he was the worst pest. Well, he was. He had to help her through this. “Here is some brandy for you. I believe you should drink a bit.”
Then they would talk.
He’d explain, apologize, promise—whatever he had to do.
What had happened between them had been inevitable, but they could not let this bad start be a mark against their marriage. Thinking about how she’d been so ready to give him the boot yesterday, he might need to do a good bit of convincing.
But he’d won her over once, and he would again.
“Willa?” He put a dash more imperative in his voice. “I need you to drink this. You will feel better.”
Still, no response.
He dared to lift the curtain of her hair and was shocked to discover she had fallen asleep.
She slept like an exhausted child. Her hand was curled close to her lips and there were still tears on her cheeks. The sheets were damp with them.
“What a bloody bastard I am.” Matt sat on the floor. Sleep was probably the best thing for her.
He glanced over at the cart of dishes and the bottle. The servants had placed a small vase of flowers upon it. They’d hoped to please their new duchess.
Matt lifted the brandy to his lips and drained the glass.
Wakefulness came slowly to Willa.
She felt heavy, as if drugged. She stretched her arms and tried to wake up. By the amount of light in the room, it was full morning. She arched. She could happily fall back to sleep, except she felt a very persistent call of nature.
Willa started to sit up, rubbing the sleep caked on her lashes, and that was when she realized that this was not her room—and she was completely naked.
Memory returned. His clothes were folded haphazardly on a chair. Her stockings were on the floor but she didn’t see her dress. She had no idea where it had gone.
Worse, the air, her person smelled ofhim. The man whose big body took up most of the bed beside her.
He was sprawled on his back, a growth of whiskers darkening his jaw. His hair went every which way. A corner of the sheet covered him discreetly although his bare legs and chest were there for her view.
And she remembered everything.
Willa back-crawled out of the bed and came to her feet, wanting to put as much space between them as possible. There was something dry on her legs. She didn’t want to think about what it was. She reached for the closest piece of clothing at hand, his shirt, and pulled it on. The hem went past her knees.
She was dragging the tangled mess of her hair out from the collar when Matt opened his eyes. He smiled sleepily, an endearing expression that she did not want to admire.
Any more than she wished to notice how shapely and masculine his long legs were.
Willa decided to give orders. “You must leave. I need a moment of privacy.”
