Finally, the stays were loosened. Mark’s touch fell away. “Anything else you need, my lady?” he asked, hisbreath still a hot brush against the vulnerable skin on the back of her neck.
“No… no.” Her voice quavered and she hated it. “That’s quite enough. Th… thank you.”
“Very well. I’ll just go downstairs until—”
She swung around to face him, her heart hammering. “Mark?” Her voice was breathless.
“Yes?”
She cleared her throat. “I need time. To get to know you again. I cannot… couple with someone I don’t remember. I want to wait before we…” She could not force the words past her lips. She desperately hoped he understood what she meant without her having to say it outright.
Mark’s face fell. “I see.”
“I hope you understand,” she added, trying to muster a smile.
He quickly schooled his flash of disappointment into impassivity. “You’re the one who wants the baby, or need I remind you?”
“I know.” She nodded, her breath coming in short little pants.
“And there is only so long we intend to be in each other’s company,” he pointed out.
Another nod. “I know.”
He studied her for a moment as though weighing whether her reticence was genuine, before he gave a soft sigh. “Very well. It’s your choice. I will sleep in a hammock.”
“Is there a hammock?” She glanced around the room.
“There’s always a hammock. I’ll find one.” He left the room and the door slammed behind him.
Nicole watched him go and a relieved smile spread across her face. She could breathe easier. Now that she had time to contemplate it, she realized she’d managed to get a bit of her own back. He’d been the one to make the ridiculous demand that they make love, but she would be the one to decide when.
She’d told him she needed time, and that was true, but she was petrified that she’d never be ready. The trip to London would only take a few days. Would she be ready by then?
He was right. She was the one who wanted the baby. She was the one who wanted the sex. Now she was the one delaying it? It made no sense, but she needed time to come to terms with the fact that they would be intimate again. Time to steel herself against the emotions that would inevitably be stirred by such an intimate act.
Did she even remember how to go about it? What if she forgot everything about the act and made a fool of herself? Things were different now. Mark wasn’t her loving husband as he had been the last time they’d been together. He was a stranger. A stranger who hated her, or at least didn’t care. He was using her to further his political ambitions. Their coupling couldn’t possibly be the same.
That frightened her the most.
***
Mark stood on the opposite side of the door he’d just shut behind him. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. Damn it. He should have known she’d find a way to get a little of her own back. She had, hadn’t she? He’d been hard half the day thinking about their night together. Just now when he’d been slowly undressing her, he’d been so damned hard, it had been painful. Then she’dgone and slammed the door on that by telling him she needed to get used to the idea of sharing his bed again?
Infuriating woman. Sex had been her idea, not his. He’d been prepared to never touch her again. She’d been the one to ask for a child.
He strode down the corridor and descended the stairs to the main room. The innkeeper was bound to have a hammock. He’d pay him for it and take it with him on the ship. How he would explain his need for a hammock while sharing a room with his ownwifewas another matter entirely.
***
An hour later, after procuring both a hammock and two tankards of ale, Mark returned to the room. He rapped once on the door before pushing it open. Nicole was snuggled up in the middle of the downy bed.
She lifted her head and nodded toward the tangle of rope bundled under his arm. “You found your hammock?” The look of relief on her face irritated him.
“I did.” He let the thing drop and pulled the edge of it up to hang on a hook from one of the wooden beams that ran along the ceiling. He hung the other side from a beam across the room, shucked his boots and overcoat, and ripped off his cravat. He grabbed a spare pillow from the edge of the bed where she’d obviously left it for him, blew out the only candle in the room, and climbed into the hammock.
“Bonne nuit,”came Nicole’s soft voice from the bed. Was it his imagination or did she sound slightly smug?
“Good night,” he grumbled, punching the pillow savagely with his fist. Score one for his infuriating wife.
