CHAPTER NINE
“YOU’D BEST COME OUT now, miss—I mean, Y’r Grace, or you’ll go all crinkly.”
Lazily, Lenore opened her eyes, squinting through the steam still rising off her bathwater. “In a moment.” Closing her eyes, she tried to recapture her dozy, carefree mood but Trencher’s words had been well chosen. With a resigned sigh, Lenore sat up.
Trencher hurried to tip the extra bucket, left to keep warm by the fire, over her as she stood, water coursing down her ivory limbs. Rinsed, she stepped from the large tub. Once she was dry, Lenore shrugged on the soft silk robe Trencher held out and headed through the door to her bedchamber. Trencher went to the bell-pull, summoning the menservants to empty the bath, then hurried through after her, shutting the connecting door firmly.
Relaxed, Lenore sat before her dressing-table to brush free the long strands of her hair, washed and towelled dry earlier. As she worked through the tangles, she watched Trencher, reflected in the mirror, laying out an ivory silk nightgown and peignoir on the bed. Ivory silk? Lenore turned. “Not that one, Trencher.”
Trencher cast her an anxious glance. “But Y’r Grace, His Grace asked that you wear it tonight.”
With an exasperated grimace, Lenore ceased her brushing. What now? Rebel and cause an embarrassing and potentially difficult scene? Or capitulate—just this once? The thought of trying to explain to Eversleigh why she had chosen not to humour him decided the matter.
“Very well.” Lenore resumed her brushing, relegating her choice of nightwear to the realms of the unimportant.
Relieved, Trencher hurried to help her with her hair. When the tresses were gleaming like polished gold, sleek and silky on her shoulders, Lenore stood and allowed Trencher to help her into the nightgown. With a distinctly jaundiced eye, she viewed the result in her glass. In Roman fashion, the gown featured a deeply plunging neckline, the two sides of the bodice meeting at the point below her breasts where the raised waistline was gathered in by a silken tie. Sleeveless, with its skirts falling to the floor, the nightgown was otherwise unremarkable. Until she moved. Then, the side slits, from high on her thighs all the way to the floor, became apparent. Studying the effect, Lenore shook her head.
Silently, she held out her hand for the peignoir. Of the flimsiest silk gauze, it hid nothing; rather, seen through its shimmering veil, her long, bare limbs took on an even more alluring quality.
Catching sight of Trencher’s awed face in the mirror, Lenore reflected that, at least for her maid, the evening was living up to expectations. “Leave me now.” As an afterthought, she added, as nonchalantly as she could, “I’ll ring for you when I need you in the morning.”
Watching the door shut behind Trencher, Lenore shook her shoulders to dispel the panic hovering, waiting to pounce, if only she would let it into her mind.
Dinner, a deliciously delicate meal, had been served to her in the adjoining sitting-room; all that remained now was to wait. Trying not to think, she dispensed with the peignoir and climbed into bed, feeling the soft mattress settle under her, the silk sheets whispering against her skin. A long shiver shook her from her shoulders to her heels. After considering the possibilities, she plumped up the pillows and settled against them, a wary eye on the door to her husband’s room. In an effort to distract her mind, she dutifully studied all the pieces of furniture she could see from her perch, mentally cataloguing them, then went about the room again, doing the same with the ornaments. Finally, her eyes fastening on the clock on the mantelpiece, she realised she had no idea when “later” was.
And if she sat here for much longer, wondering, she would be a nervous wreck by the time her husband came in. With a disgusted grimace for her inner quaking, Lenore reached for the book on her bedside table.
There was nothing there.
Frustrated, she glanced about. Other items from the trunk which should have carried her current reading had also yet to appear. With a groan, Lenore fell back on her pillows. Condemned to wait in steadily growing nervousness for her husband.
Abruptly, she sat up. An instant later, she was out of bed, grimacing as she hauled on her totally inadequate peignoir. Looking around, she spotted the high-heeled slippers that went with the outfit, placed side by side just under the bed. Lenore looked hard at the heels, then left them where they were.
Easing open her door, she strained her ears but heard nothing. Fervently hoping all the servants were safely behind the green baize door, she tiptoed down the corridor and slowly descended the stairs. Feeling very like a wraith in her filmy garments, Lenore slipped along the corridors and through the unlighted rooms, heading unerringly for the library. Gaining the large room, she closed the door carefully behind her.
The fire had gone out but the curtains had not been drawn, allowing the moonlight to spill in through the large square-paned windows. It was no great feat to kindle a match and light the branch of candles left on the table by the fireplace. Feeling her tension ebb as she looked about her, Lenore started towards the nearest bookcase.
She had only meant to spend a moment selecting a suitable volume, but, as the wavering light of the candle revealed find after exciting find, Lenore ignored her freezing feet and the chill that had started to penetrate her thin gown. The thrill of discovery lured her from shelf to shelf. She was leaving one bookcase to pass to the next, when she walked straight into a large body.
Lenore screamed and recoiled, raising the candlestick high.
Simultaneously, Jason reached for the candlestick. As he took it from her slack grasp, hot wax fell on his hand. Swallowing a yelp, he swore beneath his breath. Glaring at his wife, he transferred the candles to his other hand but before he could tend to the wax, cooling rapidly, Lenore had caught his hand between hers and was brushing the wax away.
“What a silly thing to do!” She examined the small burn, then licked her finger and applied it to the spot. “I wouldn’t have burnt the books.”
“It wasn’t the books I was worried about.”
Jason’s tone jerked Lenore back to reality with a stomach-seizing thump. “Oh.” Carefully, she glanced up through her lashes. Her husband’s handsome face bore an expression of unflinching determination. Which was far from reassuring, especially when coupled with the silver gleam in his eyes.
Assuming that realisation of her shortcomings had tied her tongue, Jason hauled back on the reins of his temper. “Would you mind explaining, madam wife, just what you’re about?”
“I was looking for a book,” Lenore replied warily.
“Why?”
“Well…I usually read before I go to sleep. Trencher has yet to unpack my book
s so I thought I might borrow one from here.” As she tendered her perfectly reasonable explanation, Lenore noticed her husband was fully dressed, a handkerchief knotted about his throat as if he was going riding. Perhaps later was a great deal later. “But don’t let me disturb you,” she said, a touch of haughtiness creeping into her tone as she wrestled with unexpected disappointment. “I’m sure I can find my way back to my room.”