Page 100 of Never a Duke
Though not all of his worries. Not quite all.
Rosalind tarried in his sitting room long enough to admire his framed embroidery. “You truly have a talent, Ned.”
“I stitch when I need to think through a complicated problem, and living with the Wentworths presented a fair number of those.” He wanted to watch Rosalind inspect his sitting room, and he wanted to toss her over his shoulder, pitch her onto the bed in the next room, and fall upon her like a ravening beast.
“What was this problem here?” she asked, pausing before a particularly profuse rendering of roses. “Thorns and all.”
“I’d come upon Lady Constance in tears. She’d had a letter from Yorkshire—from Abigail, I’m guessing, but before the rest of us knew Abigail—and the news was apparently discouraging. Constance was the quietest Wentworth, the one who never caused any drama, and her tears were heartbroken. I did not know what to do.”
“What did you do?”
“I told her that I was available to render her any aid she needed, no questions asked. She nearly started crying again, but we never spoke of it after that. Years ago, much went unspoken in that household.”
Ned did not want the same sort of silences and delicate evasions with Rosalind. He wanted only the truth, however difficult.
Truth, though, could wait a few hours. “Shall I unlace you?”
Rosalind left off wandering about the room. “Please, and I will valet you, and then we will fall into bed, likely too exhausted to do justice to our hard-won privacy. The duchess really is a treasure, Ned. The duke is a darling fellow as well.”
Ned let Rosalind precede him into the bedroom, where the covers had been turned down and the fire banked. He knew of no other person save Jane who would refer to Walden as a darling fellow.
“The tea tray is for the morning,” Ned said. “I build up the fire, heat the water, and begin my day without intrusions.”
“Nobody valets you?”
“No.”
“Then I am honored to fulfill that office.” Rosalind began by removing his coat and slipping his sleeve buttons from his cuffs. She was efficient but also affectionate. When she unwound his cravat from his neck, she paused to rub his nape. After Ned had taken his shirt off, she fluffed his hair back into order.
“Your hooks, my lady.”
She turned and swept her hair off her neck. “I am honestly exhausted. I did not sleep well last night.”
Her dress had less than two dozen hooks. Her stays were the work of a moment. “You get first crack at the privacy screen,” Ned said. “I’ll deal with the warmer.”
He’d also deal with the novel prospect of sharing a bed throughout the night with another person. He hadn’t done that since Bob had been arrested, and the prospect now should have been unsettling, if not alarming.
Except that his bedmate was Rosalind, and he was more alarmed to contemplate letting her out of his sight than sharing the blankets with her. She emerged from the privacy screen a few moments later, her hair a thick braid over one shoulder.
“That dressing gown never looked half so fetching on me,” Ned said.
“Mrs. Barnstable packed me a nightgown. I don’t believe I’ll be needing it. I did use your toothpowder.”
Rosalind was so composed, so cheerful about taking a step that could not be untaken. Yes, they were already lovers, but an interlude on a picnic blanket was an order of magnitude less apt to cause scandal than a night under a man’s roof.
Under hisblankets. “Rosalind, we need to talk about who was responsible for kidnapping the ladies.”
“I spoke with the women, Ned. I know we need to talk, but it can wait until morning. In fact, I insist upon it.”
Ned hadn’t questioned the ladies, hadn’t wanted to subject them to that ordeal when they were still dazed and upset. He also hadn’t felt it necessary to seek their confirmation of the obvious.
“What did the women tell you?”
“Enough to know scandal looms. Do you intend to come to bed wearing your boots, Mr. Wentworth?”
“I do not,” Ned said, strolling past her to the privacy screen. “Did you just pat my bum?”
“I might have. You have a very fine bum. Shall I crack a window?”
