Her eyes brightened as she mouthed his words.
“Yes, the commander needs you, just as you are. Now put me to bed, I’ve dismissed my valet early. I will require help.”
She climbed down from his lap and wedged herself under his arm.
He grunted and lifted as his perfect-size wife guided him to the mattress. The agony of the quick movement countered with the bliss of his head in her bosom, the arch of her back to him. He panted through the pain of lowering and laying atop her.
“It’s obvious, my dear, that we need practice. This will be our new evening drill, something for our schedule.”
“Weighty. You are weighty.” She wiggled and tried to scoot free from her pinned position beneath Busick.
The true strategist had other ideas. A slow rotation put him and Patience side by side. After a thorough examination of this soldier for weapons and such, he released her to squirm to the pillows, and for his back to ease.
“Yes, each evening, we will work on this to improve our technique so that—”
Her arms went about him, and she kissed him. “You talk too much.”
Patience had such a kissable mouth, kissable neck, kissable bosom, but she was wrong. He hadn’t said enough. He’d tell her everything, all the hopes that filled his chest about her, his precious wife. Once he made Hamlin the safe home she needed, he’d tell her all.
CHAPTER 32
THECOMMANDER’SSTRATEGY
Ilet my husband implement his plan and watched the life that Busick and his men had brought to Hamlin die.
Lights were dimmed.
Curtains pulled closed.
The friendly chatter in the halls—all evaporated like mist.
He’d dismissed most of his contingent force, leaving just two guards. The two with no homes to return to because the war had made them widowers. They stayed and exercised in the great hall, even pitching a tent to keep up with the routine Busick had created to aid in their recovery.
The scuffs on the tile didn’t bother me. The purpose in their brilliant eyes was enough.
Jemina met me at the stairs. We walked up arm and arm. “The house is so different without all the light.”
It was. This needed to be done soon. “The duke should restore his army at the first opportunity.”
My friend nodded. “That will make the smile he puts on your face permanent.”
Was I smiling? I was fretting wrong, my lips curving up instead of drooping. I clasped the rail, looked down at the inadequate marble gods. “Lord Gantry has gone to the city to complete the duke’s ruse. This adds no comfort to me. Markham is wily, and if he indeed tries to return to Hamlin—”
“This will work. If Markham wants Lionel, he’ll follow Gantry, but if he wants Jordan’s diary, then he’ll come here now that he thinks everyone is away to Town.”
Jemina swept me up into a hug. “Go check on our fearless commander.”
My friend floated up the stairs, her ash-gray skirts flapping as she marched up the stairs. She looked well in waisted gowns, too.
Standing outside the master’s chambers, I wiped my perspiring hands. This wasn’t walking on shells, this was worse. It needed to be over.
I went inside. “Duke, I think—”
Naked chest.
The man was a thing of beauty sitting bare but for his breeches in his wheeled chair. He tugged a bar tethered to ropes and weights and the old chandelier’s pulleys. “Yes, my dear. What do you think? I want to hear.”
He groaned and moved the bar back and forth, up and down. The rhythm was hypnotic. I felt it from across the room.
