Chapter Sixteen #2
Ever since sharing her news of the baby with him, he had ceased coming to her bed.
Granted, she had been too ill to share it with him up until the last day or so, but now…
now she was ready. And Blessing and Fortuity had both assured her it was quite safe to resume her wifely duties. No harm would come to her or the child.
Her bed was a cold, uncomfortable, sick bed.
His bed was a warm bed of love. A surge of heat rushed through her.
She stretched out her arms and let the wind kiss her heated flesh through her thin chemise.
Thankfully, her balcony faced the gardens and was shielded from the other residents of Mayfair by the tall, solid wall that separated their property from the mews.
She decided to wait a little longer, gauging the time by the moon’s position.
It had to be well past midnight by now, perhaps even closer to dawn than she had hoped.
Jansen was known for keeping late hours, so she had to be patient.
She meandered back inside, wrinkling her nose at the sight of her waiting bed.
Not tonight. Tonight, she would sleep with her husband.
Unable to wait any longer, she silently moved to the connecting door and ever so quietly tried to open it.
“Locked?” she muttered. “How dare he!” It was then she noticed that her key to that particular lock was missing.
She glared at the door as if doing so would will it to give way and cower itself open.
It remained shut. “Fine. I shall simply enter through the main door in the hall.”
Fetching the candlestick from her bedside table, she swept out into the hallway and went to his door, only to discover it locked as well. A low growl escaped her. She couldn’t help it. Did he truly think something as insignificant as a locked door would stop her?
She hurried back to her room, went to the dressing table, and rooted around in the drawer until she found the perfect tool to solve the current dilemma: a hairpin.
Little did her beloved husband know she was quite adept at picking locks.
After all, she had grown up in a household of girls who always tried to hide things from each other, including locking things away.
Of the seven sisters, she was the best at coaxing open any lock, and took great pride in that accomplishment.
Returning to the door that connected their rooms, she inserted the hairpin into the keyhole and listened for the lock to speak to her. And speak to her it did. It said, Welcome—I am now open.
She allowed herself a victorious smile, snuffed out the candle, and eased into Jansen’s room.
After waiting a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shadows and listening for any sign of wakefulness, she silently moved closer to the bed, taking care to remain out of the circle of light shining from the night candle on his bedside table.
He looked so peaceful. It took her breath away, and she almost sobbed, overcome with love.
She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and stood there, forcing herself to remain calm and silent.
She must not wake him, for she had no doubt that he would carry her back to her room and block the door with furniture too heavy for her to break back inside.
The slightest movement on the pillow behind his head caught her eye. Nimbus stared back at her, lazily blinking his huge golden eyes that reflected an ancient wisdom known only to felines.
She pressed a finger to her lips, silently begging the cat not to give her away or awaken Jansen.
Nimbus yawned, repositioned himself, then settled back down and closed his eyes.
Thank heavens. She eased out the breath she’d held.
Silently, she crept to the side of the bed and slipped under the covers, lying back without touching Jansen or moving the bed in the slightest way.
Turning her head on the pillow, she watched him, smiling as she breathed in his warm, familiar scent.
The scent that made her ache to touch him, but she didn’t dare.
He must not discover her in his bed until morning.
She closed her eyes, satisfying herself with reveling in his fragrance and listening to his steady breathing.
*
Jansen smiled without opening his eyes. The dream of his angel had been so real, it had left her delicious scent of roses and irresistible woman behind.
He had dreamed of loving her—ever so gently, since they had a child on the way.
The dream had left him rock hard and aching, but it had been so worth it.
He rolled over onto his side and became aware of a warm, familiar softness that did not belong in his bed—at least, not yet. His eyes sprang open, along with his mouth, in shock. How had his wily minx of a wife gotten past two locked doors and climbed into his bed? When had she done so?
Sunlight flooded the room, attesting to the lateness of the morning hour.
She lay curled on her side, facing him, reminding him of a delicate flower in sweet repose.
Gads alive, he loved her to distraction—even when she defied him to prove her point.
His smile returned. Prove it she had. Never again would she sleep in the room next door. Unless she wished it, of course.
He reached out and trailed a fingertip along the soft curve of her cheek and was rewarded with a sleepy smile.
She opened her fabulous blue eyes and wrinkled her nose. “I told you so.”
“How did you get in here, my love?” He ran his thumb down along the graceful curve of her neck and teased open the neckline of her chemise.
“I picked the lock,” she said with no small amount of pride. “You underestimated me, my love.”
“Indeed, I did.” He slid her chemise off her shoulder and cupped her breast. “I will not make that mistake in future.”
She touched his face and whispered, “I missed you.”
He closed the distance between them. “I missed you too,” he rasped, then united them with a searing kiss. The dream he’d had the night before could never compare with this.