19
Iwake to a most delicious smell, rich and deep and vaguely familiar. I reach for Nicolas, only to find the blanket empty. I crack open my eyes to see him sitting cross-legged on the other side of a low fire. He has what looks like a small cup beside him, steam wafting from it. He’s sketching and engrossed in it, biting his lip in a way that makes my heart give a little flutter, it is so boyishly earnest.
I keep watching him until his gaze lifts to mine.
He gives a start. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long. How do you feel? You must be sore from your fall last night.”
He smiles. “Did I fall last night? I scarcely remember. The end to the evening seems to have wiped my memory quite clean of the rest.”
My cheeks heat.
“And how are your injuries faring?” he asks.
“Also oddly driven from my mind. You are drawing something?”
“You, of course.”
He turns the pad to show a sketch of me asleep on the blanket. I am naked, as I am in life, but he has artfully rearranged my hair and my legs to cover the most private parts.
“It is lovely,” I say.
“One cannot do anything else with such a subject. I believe I could draw a hundred of you, chérie, and still not feel I have truly done you justice, nor tire of the attempt.”
He says it so simply and honestly that I am doubly flattered, and I must cover my blush by lifting my head to look about.
“What is that I smell?” I ask.
He lifts that tiny cup. “You have not drunk coffee before, crécerelle?”
I make a face as I thump back to the floor. “My brother-in-law is fond of it. Foul stuff.”
“Your brother-in-law can easily procure it?” His brows rise. “That is a feat in this country.”
I hesitate, confused, until I realize we are a half century before my time, and I quickly say, “He is in shipping. He can easily procure most things, even that dread brew. No offense intended.”
“No offense taken. I shall tell myself your opinion is formed by poor beans and poorer preparation.”
He rises and bends by the fire, and I have no idea what he’s doing because I’m too busy admiring the view, as he has not taken time to dress yet.
He brings over the small cup, that traitorously delicious smell wafting up. “Will you try some?”
I take it and sip. Then I take another sip.
“That is coffee?” I say.
“Thatis coffee, not whatever nastiness your brother-in-law procures.”
I drink some more.
“While I am pleased that you enjoy it, I will admit this is not how I intended to begin the morning. I planned to sketch you until you woke and then to crawl back into the blankets with you and while the day away in pleasure, pretending that nothing else requires my attention.” He sighs. “I can be terribly selfish for a man who has made a reputation of being good.”
I put an arm around his neck and slide onto his lap. “I have a feeling you are far better at imagining being selfish than actually being it. As much as I would also love to spend the day in these blankets, I suspect that will be far more pleasurable after we both feel we have accomplished something more productive with our day.”
He drops his head to my shoulder. “You are far too sensible, crécerelle.”
“No, I am far too selfish, wanting to protect our time together for when we can both relax and enjoy it.”