Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
On Christmas morning Mark eased his wife’s bedroom door open while balancing the tray of hot chocolate. He quietly set it on the little round table, then went and sat on the edge of Ellen’s bed.
“Ellen, darling.” He stroked her hair back from her face. “Wake up, sweetheart. It’s Christmas.”
Ellen jolted awake, sitting up so fast she almost banged into his head. “Did I oversleep?”
Mark laughed. “It’s impossible to oversleep on Christmas.”
“Why are you here? Where’s the maid?”
“It’s Christmas,” Mark repeated patiently, leaving the bed to pick up her cup of hot chocolate. “The servants all left last night, remember? They’re not coming back until after supper.”
Ellen leaned back against her headboard and accepted the steaming cup. She crossed her legs, scooting toward the center of the bed, and patted the empty spot beside her.
Surely grinning like a fool, Mark sat and made himself comfortable halfway down the bed, opposite her. Their knees touched, and an electrical shock went through him. The barest hint of her breasts showed through the thin nightrail.
“I shouldn’t have overslept. I have so much work.” But she sipped her hot chocolate. When she pulled the cup away, she had a thin milk mustache on her upper lip. Mark swallowed hard, wishing to lick it away.
“It’s Christmas,” he said one more time. “No work today.”
“The babies need me,” Ellen tried, but Mark put a hand on her leg. Well, it was over the sheets that covered her leg, but they were warm from her and he nearly sighed in delight at the touch.
“Do they?” he asked gently. “You have run yourself ragged this last week, checking on all the weak babies in the West End, it feels like.”
“The Rawlins baby has an infection I don’t like and needs to be watched carefully.”
“You said Mr. Rawlins’ mother had the day off from the factory and would be celebrating with them today. So that baby is cared for.”
“There’s also the premature baby about to be released with his mother from the New Hospital for Women.”
Mark placed a finger above her lips, hovering above them.
Ellen stared at him, eyes wide and breath shallow.
“You said the other day at breakfast that this is exhausting work, and you need more joy in your life to counteract the heartbreak.” He didn’t add that she’d looked so tired she might burst into sobs over the hard-boiled eggs.
Over half my babies die, she’d told him.
I caught up on my notes, and did the math.
Well over half die. Mark hadn’t known how to respond.
“What of your work? Aren’t you busy?” Her breath was hot against his finger.
Mark quirked a smile. “My dusty tomes and my Greek adjectives shan’t perish without me. Come on. I want you to see the house.” He let his finger caress her bottom lip, then pulled away.
Ellen primly sipped her hot chocolate. “Did Cook do this?”
Mark nodded. “She left a few minutes ago. She was utterly scandalized that we wanted her gone all day when we should be feasting. I think she might quit on us,” he joked.
Ellen laughed. “I suppose we’ll starve.” They planned on eating the Christmas evening meal with her parents, so neither was worried.
“I told her I knew how to boil water,” he confided. “From when I was a midshipman.”
“And?” Ellen’s eyes danced with laughter.
Mark hung his head in mock shame. “She was not impressed.”
“Did you tell her I can not only boil water, but heat milk in a cooker, wash bottles, and cook a stew?”
“Yes, and when I tell you she gave me the most horrified look,” Mark said conspiratorially. “Her eyebrows went up to here.”
Ellen snorted, and milk almost sloshed over the rim. She jerked the cup away, blushing, and exposed the thickest milk mustache he’d ever seen.
His gaze flicked to her lips.
“What’s the matter?” Her cheeks were still pink. “Do I—?” She lifted her hand to wipe her mouth, but he beat her to it.
Mark swiped his thumb across her upper lip and leaned closer. He could smell her sweetness, mixed with just a hint of antiseptic from her hands.
“Mark,” she whispered. All the blood in his body rushed south.
“Ellen.” He was close enough now to see the four faded freckles on her nose, the individual eyelashes, and her dilated pupils as she stared back at him.
Mark dipped his face to hers. And his lips crashed into the teacup she jerked back up to her mouth.
His teeth clanked against the porcelain. “Mmmph,” he groaned, backing away.
“What are we doing?” Ellen whispered across the rim of the cup.
“I was hoping we might kiss, since married couples usually do that sort of thing.” He tried to speak nonchalantly, to hide the desperation pulsing in time with his heart.
“Married couples usually spend their first eight years of marriage together.” Her eyes drifted down, as if she couldn’t look in his face as she said it.
“I’m not going away again,” Mark promised, guilt and despair racing through him. Agonized desire made his very skin burn, and he wished for the millionth time he’d never hurt her. “If you like, I can spend the next eight years in your pocket.”
“I can’t…” She took a breath, looking him square in the eyes. “I loved you once, and it nearly shattered me. Not just that you left, but the way you left. I can’t experience that again.”
Mark’s heart ached. “What can I do to build trust moving forward?”
Ellen bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
Mark tamped back the frustration that rose at her words.
She only spoke the truth, and he deserved every bit of her censure and disappointment.
“We’ve only been back together for a little over two months.
You have all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.
” He forced a smile. “Just give me fair warning if I need to perform impossible tasks or miraculous feats to prove my love.”
She jolted at his words, and he realized he’d said more than he intended. It was clearly too early to say that much.
Cheeks heated, he stood and fetched her robe from the trunk at the foot of her bed. “Shall we, milady? Christmas awaits.” Anything to bring them back to safer ground.
Ellen smiled and set her empty cup beside the gold frame of their daughter’s photo. “I saw the wreaths on the doors when I came in last night.”
“Yes, but did you see the garland I had the servants put on the bannisters?”
“Yes.” Ellen slid her arms through the dressing gown as he held it up to her.
Mark resisted the urge to kiss the nape of her neck, but did spin her around to face him. He gripped her waist in both hands. “Now. March downstairs, milady, and you’ll find tea and a cold breakfast and maybe even a present or two.”
Ellen laughed, and the joy that shot through him at the sound left him breathless. With an impish grin thrown over her shoulder, she darted out of her room.
Surprised, Mark raced after her. Delight fizzed in his chest. They raced downstairs like children, Ellen holding the newel post to swing around and propel her toward the parlor.
Her dressing gown flapped behind her, and Mark stumbled in his own dark orange dressing gown, his bare feet pounding the cold, hardwood floor.
Cold air rushed in, cutting through the thin linen nightshirt and the trousers he’d donned an hour ago.
Ellen halted in the doorway of the parlor, hand gripping the doorframe. Mark plowed into her, unable to stop in time. He grabbed her around the waist to keep her from sprawling on the green and gold rug, his other hand groping for the door frame. He missed.
They fell together, tangled arms and legs and night clothes.
Mark’s forearm and knee burned where he’d rubbed it against the rug, but he laughed and laughed.
Ellen sputtered as she twisted in his arms, her hair fanning over her shoulders and draping across his face.
Finally she found purchase on the floor and pushed herself over, so she knelt by his chest and laughed down at him. “What was that, you great oaf?”
Mark laughed harder, stretched out on the floor. He didn’t even know why he was laughing. “I wasn’t the one who stopped like a statue in the hall! What was I supposed to do?”
Ellen attempted a mock-severe expression to scold him, but couldn’t keep it.
“I was surprised by the decorations! I didn’t know we’d gotten a tree.
” She glanced up at the tall fir in the center of the room.
The chaises and chairs had been moved to the corners to make space for it, and the gold velvet skirt spread across the rug, several gifts sprawled across it.
Mark gently brushed the strands of hair off her face. I adore your laugh, he wanted to say. But didn’t.
“Sorry.”
He reached up and tucked the locks behind an ear. He cupped the shell of her ear, testing the waters. She bit her lip and looked at him, and his arousal grew. With his other hand, Mark tucked his dressing gown across his front to hide the bulge in his trousers.
“Mark,” she began reluctantly.
Mark let his hand fall away, recognizing the signs of her confusion and uncertainty.
I will never pressure her. He rolled to his feet and faced the tree.
It was a good foot taller than him and covered in paper snowflakes, crimson velvet bows, painted gold balls, and unlit candles wired to the sturdier boughs.
“Shall we light the tree?” He turned to smile at Ellen, who’d also stood to join him at his side.
“Mark,” she said apologetically, grasping at his hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to spoil the—”
Mark squeezed her hand, then let go. “It’s fine. Truly.” He grinned. “There’s time. Right now, I just want to enjoy my Christmas tree with you.”
Ellen looked at the tree admiringly. “When did this happen?”
“Last night, before the servants left. You were so exhausted you didn’t hear the clatter they made putting it all up.
Poor Gaye tried to set up the tree himself, but Dryden stepped in before he gave himself a heart attack.
” Mark pointed to the envelopes hiding among the branches.
“I’ve put the servants’ Christmas bonuses there. They can collect them tonight.”