Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Alexander woke in a far better state than he had ever imagined he would. His head pounded, as was to be expected, but considering he was lying on the floor, he was not as uncomfortable as he might otherwise have supposed.
Drowsily, he reached for the bottle of Scotch, only to find it gone.
Odd.
He distinctly remembered having it in his hand. He reached a little further, but it was nowhere in sight.
For the first time, he cracked open his eyes. The ornate coving of the ceiling greeted him. Daylight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating the room enough that he could make out plenty of detail—including that there was no more light from his lamp. It must have burned itself out.
For the first time, another sound made itself known to him—a soft, regular rush of air that sounded remarkably like breathing.
Then, as his mind finally awoke fully, he registered the softness under his head.
Not a pillow, not precisely, but something other than the hard floor he had fallen asleep on.
He sat up so abruptly his head spiked with pain, and when he glanced behind him, he almost shouted aloud.
Lydia, soft in sleep.
Her breaths were slow and heavy, so quiet he had not heard them immediately, and for once, her face was utterly relaxed.
Soft red curls tickled her cheeks, and her lush mouth had parted slightly as she slept.
But her head was bent to one side, and he knew she would have a devil of a sore neck when she woke.
What was she doing here?
In his hungover, beleaguered state, he felt almost as though he must be dreaming.
That gown, too—not any sort of gown a lady ought to wear for lying on the floor.
He noticed, once again, that she had a rounded figure, voluptuous in the best of ways, and the neckline of her gown did little to hide that fact.
The burst of lust was raw and almost aggressive, waking up his body in new and unfamiliar ways. God, how long had it been since he’d last wanted a woman like this? Yes, his body had needs, but they were always vague—the need for satiation. For release.
Never for a woman.
But now she was here, he wanted to know how her pretty lips would taste. If her bosom was as soft to the touch as it looked; if she would be pleased by him touching her there. How she might respond if he caressed her... All things he could have stood not to wonder.
Was there anything more painful than attraction to a woman he could not have? And especially not here, in the shrine he had erected for Helena.
Still, his body didn’t notice his objections, or at least seemed determined to dismiss them. He hardened, almost painfully, and the urge to touch her grew so intense that he curled his fingers into fists.
Not like this. Not when she was sleeping, and—
Not ever, damn it!
Furious with himself, he lurched to his feet and staggered to the window, throwing open the curtain to reveal hissing rain and melting snow. The world was a dreary, grey place outside, and he pulsed with desire that he could not abate.
A sound from behind him. Lydia, stirring, he supposed, from his disturbance.
“Oh…” she mumbled, the syllable thick with sleep. The sound of it made him ache still more. “You’re awake.”
“I am,” he said shortly.
“How do you feel?”
“I—” He turned to face her, seeing that she was sitting in a more upright position now, her curls a little mussed and her face still tinged with softness from her slumber. She watched him with heavy hazel eyes. “What do you mean?”
“When I came in last night, you seemed uncomfortable.” She shrugged. “I thought I might add to your comfort in some small way. But you were drinking, and I thought you might have a bad head this morning.”
Alexander frowned. It was true, he did have a bad head. But more than that, he was so wholly unprepared for her to think of him like this.
“You stayed because you thought I was uncomfortable?” he asked.
“Yes. Did I do something wrong?”
Yes. He wanted to throw the contents of the room around and toss her out on her heels and stop having to think about her and Helena in the same space.
He wanted to never confront the fact he had married again after so long—and all his vows to the contrary—and he especially wanted to forget how much he desired her.
But no. She had done nothing wrong, and if he relaxed his guard even for a second, he could appreciate all the things she had done for him thus far. Coming in here, staying with him, caring for him, even when he had been borderline inhumane to her.
It was more than he deserved.
Ignoring his pounding head, he dropped to his knees beside her. “How’s your neck?” he asked. “You shouldn’t have stayed in here with me.”
Her gaze flew to meet his.
“Why?” she whispered. “Because you think it’s improper?”
“Because I won’t have you making yourself uncomfortable for my sake.” He blew out a tight breath. “How was the dinner yesterday?”
“Illuminating. Mr. Godwin truly does love Eliza, doesn’t he?”
“If he does, he hasn’t admitted as much to me.
” Alexander sat back on his heels and watched her for a long moment.
She watched him back, and for the first time, he felt as though they were stripped of artifice in this dusty room.
Not husband and wife mired in hurt and resentment, but two people seeing each other for the first time.
“I am sorry for the way I treated you last year,” he finally said.
She raised a brow. “You mean, for leaving me?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do it?”
That was a question he could not answer, especially not here and now. So, he merely held out a hand and helped her to her feet. “Come with me. We should get you out of that dress.”
Although she accepted his hand, he saw the line between her brows. “Do you not like it?” she asked.
The problem was not that he didn’t like it—the problem was that he liked it altogether too much.
“I do,” he answered eventually. “But you ought not to sleep in your gowns, even the pretty ones.”
At that, her lips quirked into a slight smile. “I think Eliza and Mr. Godwin are due to call today,” she added. “Before we leave.”
Ah yes. Their leaving.
He glanced at her as he walked her out of the room, shutting and locking the door carefully behind him.
The truth was, he hadn’t fully settled on a course of action.
Godwin wanted him to stay married to her, and heaven knew that was what she wanted—or at least, she wanted to remain here, which could only happen if she was his wife still.
The question was, would he allow her? Would he take himself out of her life entirely and allow her this?
Or would he ignore the gnawing guilt and insist that they leave together immediately?
Somehow, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do that.
Perhaps it was the bad head.
“I think,” he murmured, striving to sound apologetic, “that I am not feeling up to traveling after all.”
“Oh!” Perhaps he was imagining it, but he fancied her hand tightened on his arm. “You must truly be feeling terrible, then.”
“I rather over-indulged yesterday,” he confessed wryly.
“And to think you chose that over dinner with our friends,” she said teasingly.
That had not been his intention, but the cravings had almost overcome him.
“Sometimes,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, “we don’t always make sensible choices when it comes to this.”
Lydia stood in her bedchamber, listening to the sounds of the duke preparing himself for the day.
His low murmuring tones, the occasional louder comment.
Despite his perhaps rather rockier relationship with the other members of staff, he got on well with his valet.
No wonder—the man had followed him to London.
No doubt he had seen everything Lydia hadn’t.
For a second, a twist of envy hit her, and she pressed a hand against her stomach.
She had gone to sleep with him.
That had not precisely been her plan. And what a way to sleep with one’s husband for the first time! She had awoken uncomfortably with the duke standing by the window and watching her with an unreadable expression.
Heavens. She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. Why did she feel so odd about it all? Sneaking into his rooms during the night when he was sleeping had been on her list. And yes, initially she had dismissed it, but it tied in well with her plan of seduction.
This morning had not.
After the conversation with her friends, she had thought she knew precisely what to do to seduce him.
But not only had he probably been reminded of all the reasons he did not want to remain married to her, she hadn’t so much as glanced at his breeches.
How was she supposed to know what worked to seduce him when she had no evidence to back up her assumptions?
Still, she had a reprieve. Another day in which to change his mind, even though rain now swept down, banishing the snow. Not excellent weather for traveling, to be sure, but doable, if he had chosen to do so.
Perhaps he was coming around after all.
No, it was too early to hope. But—
“You look happy, ma’am,” Rosie chirped, entering the room. She had a knowing look on her face. “And you didn’t ring for me last night.”
“Oh.” Lydia’s cheeks had already been flushed, but now they burned still brighter. “Yes, well. I’m afraid I got distracted.”
“Distracted, hmm?” Rosie didn’t wink—that would have been far too presumptuous for a lady’s maid—but she did hum as she poured some hot water for Lydia to wash in. “You know,” she said casually as she helped Lydia out of her dress, “everyone here hopes you will stay.”
Lydia averted her gaze from the steaming mirror. “I’m afraid I can’t be the one to decide that.”
“No,” Rosie said slowly. “Of course not, ma’am.”
“Do you disagree?”
“I wouldn’t say that precisely, ma’am.”
“Then what would you say?”
Rosie stepped back, eyes downcast. “Perhaps you cannot dictate how things ought to be, but as the duke’s wife, you may have some small influence.”
Lydia sank onto the bed in the previous day’s chemise, her shoulders hunching. Yet another person telling her that she could have everything she wanted if she only convinced the duke to give it to her. Through seduction, through influence.
“I will try,” she breathed, though it was more to herself than Rosie. “Even if it kills me, I will try.”