He doesn’t even realize how arrogant and conceited he is, Frances thought.
“We are married, Frances. You know that we must sleep together and make ... and be intimate.”
He sounded so genuinely confused that she wanted to laugh. “I saw you naked, you know,” she said.
“What?” He quickly placed his hand on her forehead, wondering if she’d lapsed into delusion.
“When you were bathing in the loch, the day you arrived at Kilbracken. I was there. I didn’t know who you were, at first.”
“Ah,” he said, and grinned. He remembered clearly the shock of that icy water. “In that case, you must know from your firsthand observation that I’m not ill-formed.”
“No,” she sighed. “No, you’re not. Not excessively, in any case, save perhaps for the hair. You’ve a lot of it and it’s black.”
Hawk stared down at her, bemused. Just to keep her distracted, he said smoothly, “At least I provided you the opportunity to see what you were getting in a husband. I wish I had enjoyed the same opportunity and assurance.”
She sucked in her breath.
“My lord, here is the tea.”
“Thank you, Grunyon. I’ll see that she downs all of it. I’ll call if I need you.”
Grunyon gazed a moment at his mistress, lying in a wretched huddle in the center of the large bed. Poor little mite, he thought, shaking his head. Then he looked at her, really looked. Without the spectacles, she wasn’t at all homely. Not at all. Even though her hair looked sweaty and lank in its braid, it was a lovely color and the braid thick as his wrist. Was the earl blind? He stepped back and watched his master gently lift his wife and put the teacup to her pale lips.
“It’s not too hot,” Hawk said, feeling her resist him. “Come on, drink it.”
She felt too weak to argue with him. She drank, all of it. He eased her onto her back, turned, and poured another cup.
“Please, please, just leave,” Frances said. He’d seen her vilely ill; it was mortifying.
“I can’t. This is my bedchamber as well as yours. Come on, my girl, drink some more.”
“No, no more.”
Her refusal had no effect on him. She drank two more cups of the bitter hot tea, but with ill grace. “Well done,” Hawk said.
It needed but this, she thought, realizing she had to relieve herself. At that moment, she wished she could throw up the damned tea. But she didn’t. It had washed right through her.
“Sir,” she began, “I would ask that you leave me for a while. Please.”
“Sir? Why? Really, Frances, I’m not such a cold-blooded brute to leave you alone when you’re ill.”
“I have to use the chamber pot,” she said baldly, beyond niceties.
“Again? Ah, good. Grunyon emptied it. Come along, I’ll help you.”
“Sir ... Philip ... Hawk, please. Go away now.”
“Frances, stop being an ass.” He was getting impatient with her. “For heaven’s sake, my sensibilities won’t be unduly lacerated by your vomiting, for God’s sake.”
“It’s not my mouth that needs the chamber pot!”
He laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “I see,” he said, and quickly rose. “Can you manage alone?”
“Get out!”
“You have five minutes. I don’t want to take the chance of finding you sprawled unconscious in a heap on the floor.” With that, Hawk strode out of the room, closing the door behind him.
“My lord, why are you leaving her ladyship?”