Page 54 of His Bluestocking Bride

He shifted, bringing her closer to him in a cozier manner, and she felt his cheek press down into her hair. Ellen hoped her hair pins were out of the way.

She sighed and murmured, “You must show me all those places, Marcus. I want to see them.”

His voice when he spoke remained soft, less amused and sincerer. “If you wish it.” Ellen imagined he dropped a kiss on her forehead and she could not help but smile and sigh. “Dear Ellen.” She heard no more, as she slipped at last to sleep.

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A warm, soft body snuggled against his chest, smelling of apple blossoms and summertime. Marcus smiled and adjusted his arms, settling more closely to the delightful apparition in his arms. She sighed and shifted.

His eyes blinked open.

He saw rows and rows of books. Marcus looked down, at the top of a coronet of black braids and curls. His breath caught and his heart thudded to a painful stop before resuming a faster rhythm.

Ellen lay asleep in his embrace. He was fully reclined on the library sofa and his wife rested half atop him, her hands tucked up beneath her and the skirt of her gown covering both their legs. The room was bathed in the blue-gray light of dawn, slipping through the curtains enough for him to see the curve of his wife’s cheek.

Marcus closed his eyes, his mind searching for an explanation of the situation, and how he might wake Ellen without causing embarrassment on her part. But then she made the slightest sound in her sleep, a quiet hum, that made a tremor run through his body and convinced him not to move. He wanted to enjoy holding his wife, providing her warmth and comfort. At least for a few minutes longer.

One of his arms rested about her shoulders, the other around her waist. Her slow, even breathing soothed him and he found his breaths were in unison with hers.

Marcus hadn’t realized how much he ached to hold her until that moment, when having her nestled against his heart filled all the empty places in his soul. Whatever he had thought of love before, however he had imagined it in the past, was nothing compared to the peaceful joy suffusing him in the quiet of the library.

It could not last.

Servants would be awake soon, if they were not already, going through the house to prepare it for another day. Ellen wouldn’t want to be awoken by a servant’s entry to the room. It fell to him to break the spell, though he would’ve remained entrapped by it all the day long if he had the choice.

“Ellen,” he whispered, the hand at her waist coming up to stroke her cheek. “Ellen, darling. It’s morning.”

She made a noise halfway between a moan and a protest, then snuggled closer to his chest. He couldn’t help but chuckle, and at the sound her body stiffened.

Ah, now she’s awake.

Marcus held his breath and waited, wondering what her reaction to their situation would be. Did Ellen long for more between them, as he did? Would it please her to find him near upon waking?

Ellen’s hand moved from between them up to his shoulder, then she spread her other palm flat against his chest, carefully pushing herself upright. Their eyes met, hers wide and disbelieving, and Marcus tried to remain relaxed. The cold air rushed to fill the space between them.

“Good morning,” he said in a near-whisper. “How did you sleep?”

Her cheeks blazed red, but her body remained hovering there, semi-reclined. “Well. I think.” She took in a deep breath and lowered her eyes to his chest. “I can’t move.” For a moment, his heart warmed towards this admission, but her eyes darted up to his again and he saw in them a measure of distress. “I think you’re on my skirts.”

“Oh.” He ignored his disappointment and instead swung his legs down from the sofa, careful not to snag his shoes on the hem of her gown. He sat up, his arm around her shoulders to help steady her as she did the same. Ellen sat stiffly beneath his arm, holding herself away from him. Marcus’s heart plummeted somewhere below his stomach and he released her, running his hand through his hair.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I cannot think how this happened.”

“Quite all right.” Marcus looked to the slit between the curtains, noting the blue-gray was starting to grow more yellow. Morning was upon them. But no one would expect either of them to be up so early, after the late night. “If we go quietly, we can likely return to our chambers without anyone being the wiser.”

Her fair skin brightened again with a blush and her eyes met his, worry straining her features. “Do you think anyone noticed?”

Marcus stared at her, trying to decide why it would distress her so. Was it maidenly modesty? Or was she upset at anyone perceiving their connection being more than friendly? He could not be sure, but he knew what he hoped.

“If anyone happened upon us last night, I doubt they would think a thing of it. We were both tired and it isn’t as if we need a chaperone.”

Her eyebrows drew together and she nodded. “That’s true. I suppose we might be excused. I would hate to be the subject of gossip, though.”

Deciding he would accept that as his answer, Marcus sighed and pushed himself up from the sofa. He held his hand out to assist Ellen to her feet as well. “The Annesbury servants are loyal. I doubt anyone outside of this house would ever hear of it.”

She stood and tucked her arm through his. “That’s good, I suppose.” Her uncertainty with the situation did not give him any ease of thought.

“If we hurry, no one but our personal servants will ever know we didn’t sleep in our own beds last night.” He had to force his smile and he wondered when it had become so hard to pretend a lighter mood than he felt. After years of negotiating the ton, wearing a mask of solicitude and amiability, he could now hardly summon the energy to convince his wife the whole situation was something to be laughed about.