She nearly groaned. She did not have the strength to resist him. Not when he was like this—funny and endearing and so obviously delighted to have woken up to find himself married to her.
And now his lips were moving against hers, brushing slowly back and forth in a kiss that should have seemed chaste. But there was nothing innocent in the way her body arched toward his, eager for more. She’d been half in love with this man before they’d even met, and now her body recognized what her mind did not wish to admit—she wanted him, desperately, and in every way.
If he were not ill, if he were not still so weak, heaven only knew what would happen. Because she was not sure she would have the strength to stop them from consummating a marriage that did not even exist.
“You are the best medicine,” Edward murmured against her skin.
“Don’t discount the laudanum,” she tried to joke. She needed to lighten the moment.
“I don’t,” he said, pulling back just far enough to look into her eyes. “Thank you for insisting that I take it. I do think it was a help.”
“You’re welcome,” Cecilia said a little hesitantly. The change of topic was somewhat disorienting.
He stroked her cheek. “It’s part of the reason I said that you are the best medicine. I spoke with the people at the hospital, you know. Yesterday, after you left.”
She shook her head. She wasn’t sure where he was going with this.
“They told me how well you cared for me. They told me that you insisted upon a higher standard of care than I might have received otherwise.”
“Of—of course,” she stammered. This had nothing to do with her being his wife. She would have done this regardless.
“One of them even said he did not think I would have awakened if not for you.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said, because she could not take credit for that. And she could not let him think he owed her for it.
“It’s funny,” he murmured. “I can’t recall thinking very much about getting married. I certainly don’t recall thinking about being married. But I think I like it.”
Tears began to pool in Cecilia’s eyes. He reached out and brushed them away.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered.
“I’m not,” she said, even though she was.
He smiled indulgently. “I think this might be the first time I’ve kissed a girl and made her cry.”
“Georgie Porgie,” she whispered, grateful for the distraction.
This seemed to amuse him. “It is my middle name.”
She drew back, needing to put a little distance between them. But his hand slipped from her cheek to her shoulder and then down her arm to her hand. He would not let go, and she knew that deep in her heart, she did not want him to.
“It’s getting late,” he said.
She glanced toward the window. She’d long since pulled the curtains shut, but she could see around the edges that the day had fallen past dusk and was now somewhere close to night.
“Will you sleep tonight?” he said.
She knew what he was asking. Would she sleep in this bed?
“You need not feel uncomfortable,” he said. “Much as I wish it were otherwise, I am not in any condition to make love to you.”
Her face burned. She couldn’t help it. “I thought you said you weren’t tired,” she mumbled.
“I’m not. But you are.”
He was right. She was exhausted. She would have slept when he did, except that she’d felt she needed to watch over him. He’d looked so awful when she’d put him to bed earlier that evening. Worse, almost, than when he’d been in hospital.
If something happened to him, after all that had transpired . . .
She could not bear to consider it.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
She nodded. She’d had a light meal when she’d gone down to get the broth.
“Good. We do not want the nurse to become the patient. I assure you, I would not be nearly so proficient in the role as you are.” His face grew serious. “You must rest.”
She knew this. She just didn’t see how it was possible.
“I’m sure you still wish for modesty,” he said, his own face taking on a slightly discomfited hue. Cecilia felt a little better knowing that he too saw the irregularity in their current situation.
“I give you my word that I will turn the other way,” he said.
She just stared at him.
“While you change into your bedclothes,” he explained.
“Oh, of course.” God, she was an idiot.
“I’ll even pull the covers over my head.”
She rose to shaky feet. “That won’t be necessary.”
There was a pregnant pause, and then he said in a voice turned ever so hoarse, “It might.”
Cecilia let out a little gasp of surprise at his admission, then rushed over to the wardrobe where she’d unpacked her meager supply of clothing. She’d brought one nightgown, a serviceable dress of white cotton devoid of lace or frills. Not the sort of thing a lady might tuck into her trousseau trunk.
“I’ll just go over to the corner,” she said.
“I’m already under the covers.”
Indeed he was. While she’d been fetching her nightgown, he’d slid down until he was supine and had pulled the blanket over his face.
She would have laughed if she were not so utterly mortified herself.
With quick and efficient motions, Cecilia stripped off her clothing and jammed herself into her nightgown. It covered her from head to toe, just as much as any of her day frocks, and certainly more than an evening gown would, but still, she felt indecently exposed.
She normally gave her hair fifty strokes with a brush before bed, but this seemed excessive, especially while he had a blanket over his head, so instead she braided it into a sleeping plait. As for her teeth . . . She looked down at the toothbrush and powder she’d brought with her from England, then back over at the bed. Edward had not moved.
“I’ll skip my teeth for tonight,” she said. Maybe it would make him less likely to want to kiss her the following morning.
She set the toothbrush back in the wardrobe and hurried over to the far side of the bed. Carefully, so as to disturb as little of the bedclothes as possible, she lifted the blanket and crawled in.
“You can open your eyes now,” she said.
He uncovered his face. “You’re very far away,” he said.
Cecilia pulled her right leg, which was half hanging off the side, back onto the bed. “I think it’s best,” she said. She leaned over and blew out the candle, allowing darkness to wash over the room.
It didn’t make her any less aware of the man lying next to her.
“Good night, Cecilia,” he said.
“Good night.” She shifted her position, rolling awkwardly onto her side with her back to him. This was how she generally slept, on her right side with her hands tucked under her cheek like a prayer. But it didn’t feel comfortable tonight, and it certainly didn’t feel natural.
She’d never fall asleep. Never.
And yet, somehow, she did.
Chapter 9