Vivian felt as if she were living in a daze. One moment she would awaken to find Will leaning over her, speaking softly to her in words she couldn’t quite understand, the next minute he would be there attempting to spoon something into her mouth. She’d gagged, but swallowed, tasting very little, though she thought it might be beef broth. Sometimes she heard voices, others in the room, speaking in low tones, once in a while one of them giving her laudanum, which she took wholeheartedly for the splitting pain in her head. Then she would sleep again, only to awaken to find it dark and silent save for a fire always lit in the grate. But Will never left her side, which even in her confused state of mind, she realized to be the most comforting and safe feeling she’d ever experienced in her life.
She was fairly certain she remembered most everything that had happened to her after Steven took her from her home—being held captive at the cottage, Will and two other men coming to her rescue, Steven holding the knife against her neck, and then his slamming her head against the stone wall. After that things had become fuzzy in her mind. She didn’t remember their ride back to Morning House at all, or how she ended up nude in Will’s large bed. But she did, absolutely and with a melting heart of elation and pure contentment, remember when she had seen him for the first time after waking from her deep slumber, his tired features drawn with grief and worry, him kissing her tear as he said he loved her. She would never forget that moment, the moment when she realized that the tribulation that had brought them together had truly ended. Since then she’d slept on and off, sipping tea as she was told, trying not to move too much or too fast because it made her head ache. Twice, a young servant girl had entered and helped her use the chamber pot that had been placed under the bed. Finally, gradually, the disorientation cleared as the pain slowly dissipated, and the times she stayed awake began to grow longer.
Now Vivian lay on her back in his bed, wearing one of her own cotton nightgowns. Today had been the first time she’d felt able to ask for a bath, to clean her teeth, and just a short while ago, another servant, an older woman this time, granted her request at once and returned with three young girls carrying a brass tub, buckets of water, soap, towels and a toothbrush and powder. It took them nearly forty-five minutes to help her bathe and don her nightgown again, and in the end the ordeal had exhausted her, but she felt marvelous when they finished and left her once more, in bed, with the warmth of the burning coals in the grate to dry her washed hair and a fresh dose of laudanum to help ease the pain during the night to come. Alone for the first time, it seemed, noting that the shutters were drawn signifying nightfall, and that the room had grown dark save for the glow of the low-burning fire, she found herself able to study Will’s personal bed chamber for the first time.
Accented with old mahogany wood of intricate carvings, the room favored him uniquely. The area seemed spacious to her, from the rather large bed with footboard and sideboards padded in burgundy velvet, to the high chiseled ceiling painted in squares of contrasting woodsy green and brown. The papered walls were covered with a foliage design that more or less matched the coverlet, and a pale green carpeting enhanced the dark, wooden floor, over which he’d laid two or three small oriental rugs for contrast. He had little furniture aside from the worn, padded rocker sitting next to the bed, a dressing table and wardrobe that stood very near his dressing room, and one full length mirror in a frame of carved mahogany placed in the corner next to the grate. His fireplace mantel, although made of the same dark wood, was entirely bare, as was the wall over it, around which, she noticed with some puzzlement, the paper had faded as if a large painting or portrait had once hung there, not replaced.
Vivian supposed the chamber was cozy enough, and certainly masculine, but it did seem to her as if it missed a certain…personal touch. In fact, as she thought about it now, the entire house seemed to be decorated with an unusually impersonal flair. Except for the library. She had known from the moment she’d entered that room, with its connecting conservatory, that it was the only place in Morning House where Will enjoyed spending his time and making it his own.
Before she could begin to contemplate such an interesting conjecture, the door from the hallway creaked open and Will entered at last, drawing her gaze immediately with his formidable stature. Half-smiling, she sighed. She had truly fallen in love with a remarkable man.
He grinned slightly when he noticed her watching him.
“How do you feel?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
“Better. My head still hurts,” she replied, her voice somewhat weak.
Slowly, he walked toward her and sat at the foot of the bed, rubbing his hands over the coverlet, beneath which her legs were stretched. “Can I get you anything?”
She smiled broadly at that. “You’re like a nanny already.”
He shrugged good-naturedly. “Anything to help you recover, my dear Lady Vivian.”
Watching him closely, she took note of the fire reflecting off his clean, smooth skin, the way his hair fell over his forehead and brushed against his brow.
“How long have I been here?” she asked softly.
“Nearly five days.”
She paused, then scolded, “You shouldn’t have brought me to your personal chamber. I should not be in your bed, your grace.”
Never dropping her gaze, he drew in a long breath, then leaned back on the bed, resting on his elbows. “Frankly, there’s no other place more appropriate than my bed.”
That unnerved her a little. “People will talk, and the longer I am here—”
“Nobody knows you’re staying in my bed chamber save for the doctor and my staff, and I fully trust they’ll tell no one. I pay them well enough. As far as anyone else is concerned, they’ll all simply think you’re staying in my care in a guest room, as your house keeper does who brought your clothes two days ago at my summoning.”
Unable to counter his argument for the time being, Vivian stretched a little and pushed her hands up under her pillow, cradling her head. “As usual, you’ve thought of everything.”
Turning on his side, he laid his cheek in his palm, tracing his fingertips along the coverlet, eyeing her with soft speculation. “When you are well—completely well—we’ll discuss where we go from here.”
Where we go from here…
Her stomach churned suddenly, and she wasn’t altogether sure it was from hunger. She was married, would always be married to a selfish, indulgent man, and scandal would ruin her. But she wanted to avoid any serious discussion until she could really think with clear and focused considerations. Changing the subject, she asked hesitantly, “Were you the one to dress me?”
He grinned wryly and murmured, “No, but I was the one to undress you.”
Vivian felt her face flush with keen embarrassment. Although it was perfectly true that they’d been lovers, he’d never seen her naked; no man had, in fact, for years. “Well?” she asked a bit defensively.
He chuckled. “You’re still here; I’m still here. I couldn’t have been too shocked or disappointed.”
She pulled her arms from beneath the pillow and folded her hands together on her stomach as she stared at the ceiling. “So I suppose you liked what you saw,” she said rather flippantly.
Unexpectedly, he crawled up beside her on top of the covers, wrapped one leg over hers, one arm over her chest, and snuggled his face into her neck. With his lips, he pulled teasingly at the strings of her nightgown.
“I liked it plenty,” he whispered against her jaw, tickling her with his nose.
She giggled, then immediately touched her forehead with her fingers. “It still hurts when I move too much.”
He scooted into her as close as he could without covering her body completely. “Sleep,” he ordered tenderly. “I want you to recover so I can see you naked again. The wait is driving me mad.”
Vivian cuddled against him, placing a palm on his rib cage, running her fingers along the lines of his fine silk shirt. He made no effort to move away from her, and so she closed her eyes to the peacefulness and comfort of him, listening to his steady breathing until she drifted off once more.