Page 12 of The Winter Husband
“Where?”
There was no chair in the room, not even a hard-backed one. She wondered if Talon had arranged for that, too.
With a grunt, Lucas strode around the bed and then seized a pillow and tossed it toward the hearthstone. He pulled an extra blanket that lay across the end of the bed and balled it up before tossing it in the same direction.
He looked up. “Satisfied?”
It wasn’t much of a pallet. She flexed her feet against the pine floorboards. They felt hard, cold, and unforgiving.
She nodded anyway.
“Then let’s get this evening over,” he said. “We’re rising at first light.”
Marie sidled by him and stepped behind the flimsy protection of the privacy screen. Lucas rustled about, his tremendous shadow dancing upon the walls and ceiling. She patted her chest, mind spinning. If Lucas spoke true that Cedric might check on them, then she couldn’t sleep in her dress. But she absolutely, positively wouldnotwear the frothy cambric shift Etta had left for her either. Just thinking of stepping out into Lucas’s gaze wearing nothing but this wisp of clothing… To the devil with that temptation. She would undress no further than her corset and linen shift.
Once undressed, she peeked over the top of the privacy screen to see if it was safe to emerge. Lucas stood by the hearth, limned by the firelight. He’d discarded his coat and cravat but kept on his shirt, breeches, and boots. The ties of his shirt dangled free, exposing a hard-planed, V-shaped stretch of a chest that looked carved from gold.
Willing away a rush of warmth, she pressed her forehead against the wood frame of the screen. Her pulse raced. Her own body was betraying her intentions. But she knew better than to let down her guard.
She waited until Lucas bent over to fix his pallet before emerging from behind the screen to dash toward the bed. Climbing onto the edge, she glanced over to find herself caught in the silver net of his gaze. Her heart tripped, beat, and tripped again as he looked her over from tip to tail.
Fumbling with the blankets, she slipped under, the chill of the linens shocking. She drew up her thighs and curled herself into a ball. Peeking over the edge—she had to, didn’t she, so she could defend herself, if necessary?—she watched as Lucas lowered himself to a sitting position. He shook back a fall of hair, the firelight playing among the lighter blond strands. The looseness of it made him look younger, less severe, but also more wild in a way she shouldn’t be thinking about. He set a pillow beneath his neck before lying back, stretching out the ripples of his abdomen.
The room settled into a silence broken only by the crackle of the fire and faint whistle of wind picking up outside.Is this it, then?Would they just sleep until morning? She could feel the pulse of her blood through her entire body, swift with an unholy brew of unease and anticipation. She muffled her breathing and flexed her hands while every pop of the floorboards startled her, every shift of his position pricked her into awareness.
She suspected he wasn’t sleeping either. No one could sleep tensed up like that, the muscles in his forearms bulging, his shoulders bunched.
“By the saints, woman.” He lifted his head to adjust the pillow. “I can hear your thoughts from here.”
“I don’t hear you snoring either.”
“Close your eyes.”
Close her eyes? Hewouldwant her blind so he could take her by surprise. She turned this way and that. How could he lie there so still, as if the walls didn’t crackle with suspense, the very air didn’t weigh them down?
She blurted, “You could take your boots off, you know.”
“I could.”
He made no move to do so.
“It’s uncivilized,” she said, “to sleep in your boots.”
He lifted his head. “Do you really want me in stockinged feet?”
“In case Cedric comes knocking.” Her jaw tightened. “Yes.”
“But thenyouwon’t hear me coming.”
She caught her breath. Did he really just say that?
“You can’t sleep,” he rumbled in that unnervingly warm tone, “because you think I’m waiting until you doze off. Then I’ll attack.”
“I am not.” She tugged the blanket higher, though it was clearly worthless as a shield to her thoughts. “You’ll get mud on that blanket wearing boots,” she retorted. “That’s all I was thinking.”
“You won’t be doing the laundry.”
“Somebody will.” She thought of her friend Genny, a laundress, who’d come to Quebec willingly and run off into the wild with her husband.
