He gave a light trilling snore. He was asleep? How could he be asleep? She didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to pace the bedchamber, perhaps stagger a bit because she hurt, deep inside, but it was fading quickly now. Her tears were drying and itching her flesh, and he was heavy on top of her, and he felt wonderful, big and solid, perfect, truth be told, and he was hers.
He was also still inside her, but not so much now. She was naked, James was naked, and he was snoring lightly in her left ear, and what was one to think about that?
The room was cooling down. She tried to move, but couldn’t. Should she wake him up and ask him to pull himself out of her, perhaps cover himself before he went back to snoring?
No. She managed to pull the counterpane over both of them. That was better. It was nearly dark, the light dull and gray as it filtered through the window curtains.
She clasped her fingers together at the middle of his back, lightly squeezed. Her husband, this man who was once the boy who’d tossed her into the air when she was a little mite of a thing, and he’d tossed her one too many times and she’d vomited on him. She didn’t remember doing that, but her Aunt Maybella would laugh even today when she remembered it. “James,” Aunt Maybella said, “didn’t pick you up again for at least a year.”
And she remembered very clearly when he’d explained her woman’s monthly flow to her when she was thirteen and he barely twenty, a young man, but he’d done it, and he’d done it well. She realized now that he’d been embarrassed, had probably wanted to run, but he hadn’t. He’d taken her hand, and he’d been kind, matter-of-fact, then told her the cramping in her belly would go away soon. And it had. She’d trusted James more than anyone in her life. Of course, he and Jason were gone much of the time, to Oxford, then young men turned loose on London. He’d been so very grown-up when he’d been home, and that’s when she’d learned how to sneer.
Corrie sighed deeply, tightened her hold around his back, realized that he wasn’t inside her any longer, and fell asleep herself, his breath warm and sweet in her ear.
JAMES WANTED TO shoot himself. He couldn’t believe what he’d done.
And now Corrie was gone. She’d left him, probably returned to London to tell his father and mother that their precious son had first ravished her and then fallen asleep on top of her, not a sweet or comforting word out of his mouth before his head had hit the pillow.
He rose, shivered because no one had come to light the fire in the grate, thank God, and saw that her valise was in the corner. He felt immense relief. She hadn’t left him.
There was a knock on the door. “Milord?”
“Yes?” He looked around for his own valise.
“It’s Elsie, milord, here with hot water for yer bath. Her ladyship said ye’d be wanting it.”
Five minutes later, James sat in the large copper tub, hot water lapping at his chest, his eyes closed, wondering what the devil he was going to say to his wife of, what was it? Oh yes, his wife of approximately six hours. She’d sent up hot water for him. What did that mean?
At least she hadn’t left him.
The hot water sank all the way through him, and he let himself sink deeper until he was nearly asleep again.
“I had no idea that this marriage business would require you to sleep for a week to recuperate. How do men accomplish anything at all, if-” She stalled.
He didn’t open his eyes. “Thank you for sending up the water. It’s nice and hot, as I like it.”
“You’re welcome. You’re looking quite lovely in that tub, James, all sprawled out, just hints of what’s under that water.”
He cocked open an eye at that. Corrie was gowned in a lovely green wool, her hair was up in a knot on her head, but her face was pale, too pale. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Corrie. I’m sorry that I rushed you. How do you feel?”
She flushed. She’d thought she was beyond that, believed nothing could make her tongue-tied or embarrassed, not after what he’d done to her, but here she was flushing like a-a what? She didn’t know; she felt like a fool, and somehow a failure. “I’m quite all right, James.”
“Would you wash my back, Corrie?”
Wash a man’s back? “All right. Where’s the sponge?”
“Here’s a cloth.” He brought it up from the depths of the water. Where had that cloth been? She swallowed, took the cloth, and was relieved to move behind him.
That long stretch of back, the muscles well-defined, smooth, and she wanted to throw that wretched cloth across the room and smooth soap over his back with her hands, feel him, let her fingers learn him.
She rubbed soap on the cloth and went at it.
He sighed, leaning more forward.
“Do you want me to wash your hair?”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll do it. Thank you. That was wonderful.”
He held out his hand and she dropped the wet cloth into it. Then he started washing himself.
“Men have no modesty.”
“Well, if you wish to watch, there’s little I can do to stop you.”
“You’re right,” she said, sighed, and went to sit in a chair across the room. She sighed again, stood up, and pushed the chair much closer, not more than three feet away from him in his tub. James grinned, went underwater, and then washed his hair.
He knew she was watching him and that felt good, actually. Surely she must like him, surely she’d forgive him if he asked her just right.
“It won’t be like that again, Corrie.”
“Rinse the soap out of your hair.”
He went underwater again, then came up, and shook his head. Dear God, he was so unutterably beautiful, it hurt.
“I promise you it won’t. I am very sorry about your first time. It was ill-done of me.”
“It was rather fast, James, rather rough, truth be told. You didn’t kiss my knees.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “I swear I’ll take excellent care of your knees next time. Do you still hurt? Did you bleed?”
Frank speaking indeed, she thought, and shook her head, staring down at the toes of her slippers.
“I thought you’d left me.”
That brought her head up. “Leave you? That never occurred to me. You and I have been through many adventures together, James. I consider this one more, not a pleasant one, but-”
James rose. What could he say to that? “Could you hand me that towel?”
She simply couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from him, standing there naked and wet, and she wanted to lick every drop of water off him. She gulped, tried to get hold of herself, and threw him the towel. Then she watched him dry himself. How could one gain such pleasure from so mundane a thing?
He knotted the towel at his waist. “When you take your bath later, do allow me to wash your back.”
The thought of that nearly sent Corrie whimpering to the floor. “All right,” she said, and then slapped her hand over her mouth.
James laughed. “Allow me to dress and we can eat our dinner.”
It was over dinner that James, seeing that Corrie was staring into her soup, said, “Please don’t fret, Corrie. We’ll get everything right, trust me.”
“Oh, no, it’s not that, James. I was thinking about my new father-in-law. I can’t help but be worried.”
“I know,” James said, and took a bite of cold mutton. “Jason is going to do everything but sleep in Father’s bed to keep him safe. Also, there are more men than you can imagine trying to trace the Cadoudal children. All we know so far is that they’re no longer in France, haven’t been in quite some time.”