Marguerite put her own hand on his chest, inside his shirt. She said, ‘It will be. It is a long time since the night in the library. I can’t wait. Soon, do you think?’
‘Soon. I can’t wait either. We must find a way to deal with my bruises.’
* * *
That night, after everyone was asleep, she came into his bedchamber, to find him sitting up in bed reading, with a lamp burning on his bedside table. He looked up and said, ‘Sweetheart. Have you come to get a book?’
She laughed in delight. ‘No, I have one in my room, but I find it bores me to tears.’
Argyle closed his book and set it on the bedside table. He said, ‘So does mine. But I can’t sleep.’
‘Neither could I. But perhaps there is an activity that will tire us out.’ She sat on the side of the bed and pulled off his shirt. She looked at the bruises on his ribs, which had turned from purple to green and were yellowing around the edges. She ran her hand over them tentatively. ‘Does this hurt?’
‘Only a little.’ He pushed her hand lower, and lay back on the bed, pulling her with him.
Their relief at his recovery, combined with the embracing of their feelings for each other and the delay since the night in the library gave their lovemaking a sweet intensity. They spoke inwhispers; Argyle ran his hands over her body, rediscovering it; Marguerite did the same, finding the places that still hurt and those that gave him pleasure. When he winced, she said, ‘Sorry,’ and they laughed softly, their faces close together.
He said, ‘I love you so much, why could I never say it before?’
‘You’re saying it now,mon amour.’
Later, lying next to him in the dark, she said, ‘I will never forget our drive at Harwick. It was the first time we did not quarrel. And the way you smiled at me…’
‘I kept thinking I had to kiss you. But I was expecting you to slap my face.’
‘Well, you would have deserved it, since you had promised not to flirt. But I was dying for you to kiss me.’
There was a smile in his voice. ‘Yes, I noticed!’
‘Cependant, I swear I came down for a book that night. I never expected to find you in the library.’
‘And I could not believe you would still deny me after that night. It drove me insane.’ He turned and hugged her tightly and she buried her face in his neck. She heard him mumble, ‘I have never felt so blue-devilled in my entire life, as after that ball.’
* * *
Marguerite woke up in the middle of the night in a strange bed. Putting her hand out, she touched another hand lying still on the sheet, a strong masculine hand—Thomas’s hand. She felt the long fingers one by one, running her thumb over each smooth nail—how strange, and how already familiar, the hand of this man she loved, a man she had disliked only a short while ago. She now had the right to touch this hand, it belonged to her in some way—she had spent a whole night clutching it in desperation.
She stroked the fine hairs on his forearm and moved along his biceps to his shoulder, feeling the muscles under the smooth skin. When she got to his collarbone, he turned in his sleep and embraced her, pulling her body to his. She snuggled close to him—another unfamiliar sensation, having a man sleeping next to her—but one which somehow felt right. Thomas’s hand settledbetween her shoulder blades. She closed her eyes; this was a lot nicer than waking up freezing on a sofa. She did not for a moment consider returning to her own bed.
* * *
In the morning Flossie, finding her mistress gone when she brought her a cup of chocolate, peeped into the duke’s room to make sure everything was all right and found them sleeping with their arms around each other. She bustled about, drawing the curtains and tutting her disapproval. ‘Oh, my lady, and you not married yet.’
‘But soon, Flossie, soon.’ Marguerite stretched like a cat, bare arms and a tousled head emerging from the counterpane. ‘Please don’t scold. It’s just that His Grace felt a little lonely, didn’t you,mon coeur?’ She dropped a kiss on the nose of her beloved, who kept his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep still. She slid out of bed, naked, and threaded her arms into the dressing gown Flossie was holding out.
Her maid bundled her out of the room, saying sternly, ‘I will tell Curtis you are awake, Your Grace.’
* * *
Later they met in the parlour, properly dressed and with brushed hair. When Marguerite walked in, Argyle was already ensconced behind the table, sipping at a cup of coffee and perusing a newspaper. He lifted his face and smiled at her with such warmth in his eyes that she melted inside.
‘Good morning, my sweet mistress. I trust you are recovered from the night’s …er…exertions?’
Marguerite laughed and lowered her eyelids demurely. She curtsied and said, ‘Good morning, my lord. You shock me. What can you possibly mean?’ She turned to shut the door, glad that neither Flossie, whom she had left in her room to tidy up, nor Curtis were present. She would not have put it past Argyle to disregard their presence.
‘Oh, nothing. But tell me, my love, did you like sharing your bed with another person all night?’
‘I did. I slept well.’
