“Yes?”
“Are you ready to share the bed with your husband?”
“Of course, Malcolm.” She forced a laugh. “I don’t want you sleeping on the floor.”
“Good, because I wasn’t going to sleep on the floor. I have a big day tomorrow, and I need my rest.”
“Yes, I heard mention of a fox hunt.”
He nodded.
“Have you ever been on one?” she asked.
“It has been a while, but I still remember.”
She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. It irritated her the way he looked so casual and unaffected, especially as the nerves inside her body played leapfrog. Then again, she was his wife. There was no reason she should be nervous, except for the fact she wanted him to know she was Camilla and not Kat.
“I suppose I shall get ready for bed now.” She glanced toward the massive four-poster, the sheets already invitingly turned down. She walked to the armoire where the maid had placed herpossessions, then caught sight of a nightgown already lying at the foot of the bed. “Who put this here?”
“Burwell’s servant, of course.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I didn’t instruct her to do this.”
“I did.” He shrugged. “It’s her job.”
A tremble ran through her body, but she smiled. “Thank you.”
“I shall step outside for a few minutes while you change,” he said.
“I appreciate that.”
When he closed the door, she sighed. But the worst wasn’t over. She still had to lie next to him throughout the entire night. It was a good thing the mattress was so large.
She undressed without hesitation then quickly threw on her flimsy pink nightdress. How could she spend the night in the same bed with him? What if he tried to kiss her? She would certainly melt into his arms. Under no circumstances could she let that happen until she told him the truth.
And that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Not until she knew he had feelings for her—and that he wasn’t a criminal.
She blew out a few of the candles, hoping to hide herself as much as possible. She rushed to the vanity and yanked out the pins holding her hairstyle together, then pulled a brush through her hair, not worrying how it tortured her scalp. Before she had brushed the mandatory one hundred strokes and had time to braid her hair, heavy footsteps sounded outside the door.Malcolm. She dropped the brush on the vanity and darted to the bed. Just as she crawled under the blankets and pulled them to her chin, the door opened.
Chapter Eleven
Malcolm glanced inside.In the poorly lit room, a flash of pink flew by and then disappeared under a flurry of blankets. He chuckled softly. His dear little wife was acting shy again. That was so unlike her.
She had extinguished the candles, leaving only the moonlight that poured through the sheer curtains. Yes, she certainly had been behaving strangely, but he forced aside his confusion and proceeded as if she weren’t even here.
He closed and locked the door. After he shrugged out of his overcoat and waistcoat, he draped them over the nearby chair, where he sat to remove his boots. Out of the corner of his eye, her face drew his attention. She peeked over the tops of her protective blankets like a woman afraid of her own shadow.
He focused back on his boots. “Is anything amiss, my dear?”
“What do you mean?” Her voice squeaked slightly.
“I mean,” he said, pulling one boot off and starting on the other, “is this the way you are going to behave all night?” He removed the other boot. “Do I have to guard myself from accidentally bumping into you? I would hate for you to scream and have the whole household running to our door.”
She lowered the blankets to just below her chin and gave a forced laugh. “You have an overactive imagination. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Your actions make me wonder, my dear. I can see the signs proving my own wife is repulsed by my body.”
Her wide eyes softened and her tight mouth relaxed. “I may have told you that back then, but now… it is very different.”
