“No. Well, yes,” she amended and smiled at him. “But I rather like it.”
It wasn’t exactly poetry, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. He smiled in return, and wrapping his arms around her, rolled them both to their sides. They stayed that way for a long moment, watching each other in contented silence. She could, she thought as drowsiness set in, look into his blue eyes for the rest of her life.
A hard howl of wind and the answering creak of wood was a swift reminder that it would be best to start the rest of her life when she wasn’t lying next to a naked man in her uncle’s home. Even if it was in her own room.
She shot up to a sitting position and made a grab for her chemise. “We should dress. What if someone heard us? What if someone comes looking? What if…”
She trailed off when she realized he’d neither moved nor responded. She looked over to find him lying still, his gaze settled somewhere below her collarbone.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?”
“Making a mental note for the future to startle you while you’re naked as often as humanly possible.”
She grabbed his shirt and tossed it at him. “Dress.”
Laughing, he caught the shirt. “None of the guests could have possibly heard us, imp. The closest room is several doors down. And none of the servants would care enough to come looking if they had—which I highly doubt.” He gave her a wicked smile. “You’re quiet in your lovemaking.”
She blushed and struggled into her chemise. “Nonetheless, I’d feel better if we were just…elsewhere. We could go to the stable.”
Whit made himself comfortable again on the bed. “Thank you, but no. I don’t fancy the idea of Christian trying to run me through.”
“Why on earth would he do that? He couldn’t possibly know.”
He cocked his head at her and smiled. “Have a look in your mirror, darling.”
“My mirror?”
She scrambled to her knees and found her reflection in her vanity. Good Lord, was the woman staring back really her? Her chemise was rumpled beyond recognition, her hair tousled and snarled beyond repair. Her lips were swollen, her lids were heavy, and her skin practically glowed. No wonder Whit didn’t want Christian to see her. She looked wanton and ravished.
And decidedly pleased with both.
Almost as pleased as Whit, she thought, catching sight of his reflection. He’d leaned back against the pillows, his hands behind his head, the counterpane comfortably around his waist, and a very satisfied smile on his face. He hadn’t put his shirt back on, and her eyes traced the smooth muscles of his chest and arms. She’d touched there, she remembered, a little awed. She’d run her hands and fingers there, gripped and…her eyes narrowed on a spot on his shoulder.
Were those scratches? She spun around for a closer look. They were scratches—a whole row of them across his shoulder.
Whit flicked his gaze over, then back to grin at her.
“You’re quiet,” he reiterated. “But you’re lively.”
“I did that?” She took in his satisfied expression. “And you don’t mind?”
“Not in the least,” he assured her, and with enough conviction that she took him at his word. He shifted and held a hand out to her. “Come back to bed, imp. If someone was interested in knocking on the door, they would have done so by now.”
“I—” That was true, she admitted, a little embarrassed now that she’d overreacted at the thought of being discovered. Her only excuse was that she’d been a bit…well, disoriented was the only word that came to mind.
“But what of the search?”
“Your uncle’s in his room, and I suspect we’d be wasting our time going through the attic again.” He turned his palm up. “Come back to bed.”
She suspected he was avoiding a search of the house with her at night, but she took his hand anyway and let him pull her down. What ever was waiting to be discovered, could wait until tomorrow. She was, sadly, not going anywhere.
She snuggled next to him, with her head in the crook of his arm, and the reassuring beat of his heart under her hand.
And for the first time since being orphaned, Mirabelle fell asleep under her uncle’s roof with a smile on her face.
She woke alone in the morning, feeling stiff, sore, nervous, and irrepressibly happy. She and Whit had…Well, she and Whit had. And that said quite enough.
She washed in the cold water left in the basin from the day before and changed into one of the light brown dresses she’d brought from Haldon. She wished she had thought to bring the lavender dress. She wanted so much to feel pretty today, and it was exceedingly difficult to feel pretty in brown. A woman should feel pretty after spending the night in the arms of the man she loved, shouldn’t she?
She stopped in the act of straining to reach the back buttons of her gown.
In the arms of the man she loved? Had she just thought that? She let her own arms fall to her sides.
She had thought that. And she still did.