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“I cannot abide another dull night.” She gave Robyn what she believed was a coy glance and an inviting smile, then added, “I’d rather do something… more entertaining….”

Robyn plucked the book from her fingertips and skimmed the title.

“The Merchant’s and Manufacturer’s Commercial Dictionary.” He flipped it open and pointed to a word. “Wefting: Passing the horizontal threads (weft) over and under the vertical threads (warp) in weaving.”

“I doubt, sweeting, that you will find this book the least bit entertaining.” He chuckled, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he passed the book back to her. “It might put you straight to sleep, however.”

She truly wanted to box his ears, and might have done so if she had two good arms.

Oh, the odious, wonderful, obstinate, darling, splendid, contrary, endearing, vexing man.

Sighing, she sat up and swung her legs off the bed.

After swiping her unbound hair from her shoulders, she stood, her linen shift settling around her calves. The stifling heat made wearing a regular night rail impossible. As it was, she could scarcely sleep, damp with sweat, not to mention her thoughts constantly wandering to Robyn in his chamber.

Did he sleep in the nude?

She waved her hand before her face to cool her scorching cheeks at such a provocative image.

Curving her bare toes into the cool wood floor, she yawned and stretched, taking care not to over-extend her healing arm. After two and a half months, she no longer required a sling, but that didn’t mean she could cavort about like an energetic toddler.

With the draperies and windows wide open to allow any hint of a breeze to cool the room, silvery moonlight illuminated her chamber.

She glimpsed herself in the carved mahogany cheval glass.

Pivoting until the mirror reflected her entire form, she stared.

Was there something wrong with her—beyond her healing shoulder?

Is that why Robyn hadn’t tried to bed her?

She understood his reticence in the beginning.

After all, they had married under duress, and her shoulder was not healed. Plus, she hadn’t exactly been warm and receptive…

In point of fact, she’d behaved like a lamb led to slaughter and had stipulated no relations for six months.

Off-putting, to be sure.

Cocking her head, Georgine took ruthless inventory of her reflection in the glass.

Of average height, her figure tended toward willowiness, yet she was not without feminine substance.

Her eyes were her best feature.

Her attention lit on her shoulder, and she pulled the light fabric of the shift aside, baring her scar.

The jagged two-inch mark had become a pinkish-white pucker.

Ugly, but an improvement from the screaming crimson of weeks ago.

Would Robyn find the scar repugnant?

Squaring her shoulder, she notched her chin upward.

There was only one way to find out.

Before Georgine could talk herself out of her rash decision, she marched to her chamber door, flung it open, and proceeded down the dark corridor.