A Marriage Of Rogues. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ Sir Develin, who had stayed near the carriage. “Shall we?”

      He didn’t immediately reply and she held her breath, waiting with anxious anticipation for him to either speak or move.

      “Yes, we shall,” he said at last.

      * * *

      In later years, Thea remembered very little of the actual marriage ceremony, in part because there was very little to remember. A few words spoken over an anvil by a large, potbellied man who, she suspected, did no actual smithing, with a witness who seemed half in his cups. Afterward they returned to the inn, where she was shown to what would be their nuptial chamber.

      It was an unexpectedly large room, with whitewashed walls, a sloped ceiling and casement windows. A large, four-poster bed with clean-looking blankets and woolen bed curtains dominated the room, which also contained a washstand with an unexpectedly pretty porcelain basin and ewer, as well as plenty of fresh linen. There was a high-backed wooden chair in the corner opposite the door, a worn carpet on the floor and a folding screen in the corner. A fire had been kindled in the small hearth, making the room pleasantly warm. She also noted two valises by the bed, a large and very fine one that must be Sir Develin’s and her own small and shabby one.

      The slender, gray-haired landlady suggested a bath, and Thea eagerly agreed. It was a bit awkward when the landlady inquired about her maid; fortunately Thea had a ready answer for that, too. “I don’t have one traveling with me today. I can manage on my own for one night.”

      “Especially on your wedding night, eh?” the woman said with a grin before she left the room.

      Thea barely had time to catch her breath—or so it seemed—when a brisk rap sounded on the door heralding the arrival of two servants. A red-haired lad in homespun breeches and jacket and white linen shirt carried a tin bath, and a slender young woman in a simple calico dress and clean white apron held two large pitchers of steaming water. She also had more fresh linen over her arm. The boy set the bath down with a bang near the hearth and moved the screen to shield it from the door and drafts before he departed with a tug of his forelock. Meanwhile, the serving girl began to fill the tub with water from the pitchers.

      “There’s soap over there,” she said, nodding at the washstand on the far side of the room, opposite the bed that Thea was determined to ignore for as long as she could. “I’ll bring a pitcher of cold,” she added.

      “Thank you,” Thea murmured.

      “Which one is yours?” the girl asked with a friendly smile as she picked up the pitchers. “The skinny fella?”

      “My husband, you mean?”

      “Aye, which one’s yours, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

      If he had been “the skinny fella,” Thea might have minded. As it was, she felt a sudden rush of proud triumph before she said, “The handsome one.”

      Her delight lasted only another moment, for the girl frowned, ran a doubting gaze over Thea, then shrugged and headed out the door.

      Thea went to the mirror hanging over the washstand. Was it really so incredible that a man like Sir Develin...?

      She drew up her hair and turned her head from side to side. No, she was no aristocratic beauty and never would be. Her eyes were too large, her lips too full and her chin too pointed. At least her nose was good, but a man like Sir Develin would surely have preferred a woman with more to recommend her than a shapely nose and not too plump a figure.

      Nothing could be done about her features, she thought with a sigh as she began to take off her clothes.

      She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, wearing only her thin cambric chemise and petticoat. The next time she was so attired and only so attired, she would be with a man. Sir Develin. Her husband. And shortly after that...

      She quickly doffed her undergarments and stepped gingerly into the tub. It was hot, but bearable, and she began to splash water over her face. Another knock sounded on the door—the serving girl with the cold water, no doubt. Her eyes still closed, she called out for her to enter.

      “I don’t need any cold water, thank you,” she said, reaching for a square of linen with which to wipe her eyes.

      “Good, because I didn’t bring any,” Sir Develin said.

      With a little shriek, Thea dropped the small square of linen and reached out to grab a larger one to cover herself, nearly upsetting the tub in her haste. “What are you doing here?”

      “The innkeeper’s good wife has made it clear that she expects me to share the tub with my bride,” he replied, sounding as if he was completely at ease.

      “After I’ve finished!” Thea declared, for once unable to hide her perturbation as she tried to stand and wrap the towel around herself at the same time.

      “There’s no need for you to cut your bath short. I can wait.”

      “I’m finished.” She suddenly realized all her clothes were on the other side of the screen, where he was.

      “I suppose two won’t fit even if I was welcome.”

      “No. Now please leave the room.”

      “Don’t you think that would look a bit odd? We are newlyweds, after all.”

      He was, unfortunately, right. “Then please get my underclothes and dress. Hang them over the top of the screen,” she added, lest he come around it.

      “I didn’t expect you to be so bashful.”

      What had he expected? That she would throw herself, naked, into his arms? “Will you please do as I ask?”

      Much to her relief, he did.

      “Not quite where I’d envisioned spending my wedding night,” he mused aloud while she hurried into her clothes.

      She swallowed hard and felt the heat of a blush color her face, and other warmth spreading through her body. She’d been too afraid he wouldn’t agree to her proposal to imagine the wedding night, at least until she’d returned to the inn in Dundrake. Last night she’d scarcely been able to avoid thinking about it. Now, when it was imminent, she was torn between curiosity, dismay and a longing that she could hardly describe; in other words, she was the opposite of calm and composed, while her husband apparently didn’t find this situation at all out of the ordinary.

      “I always thought it would be Dundrake Hall or my town house in London.”

      She was immediately glad they were here rather than his ancestral home or town house staffed by his servants. It was humbling enough knowing he had more experience between the sheets. If they were in one of his homes tonight, she would feel completely out of her depth in more ways than she already was.

      There was another knock at the door. That must be the maidservant with cold water, Thea thought as she peered around the screen. Sir Develin’s greatcoat and jacket were on the bed, and so was his cravat. His shirt, still tucked into his trousers, was open at the collar, exposing a portion of his chest.

      Regardless of his state of undress, Sir Develin opened the door, to reveal the waiting maidservant holding another pitcher.

      The СКАЧАТЬ