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“Sleep, love,” he murmured, his voice husky with fatigue.
Tricia smiled at him and nestled closer into his side. Her eyes fluttered shut, the soft lull of his heartbeat beneath her ear more soothing than any lullaby. As she drifted off to sleep, Thomas pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head.
18
Thomas watched as Tricia succumbed to sleep, her chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. Her face, relaxed in the throes of slumber, was a sight he could never tire of.
He traced the curve of her cheek with his fingers, captivated by how peaceful she looked. Her plump lips were slightly parted as she slept, the evidence of their passion visible on her flushed skin. He couldn’t help but lean over and brush his lips against hers lightly. She stirred slightly at his touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips before she settled back into sleep.
Thomas’s heart constricted at that moment with a feeling that was both unfamiliar and overwhelming. It was something deep and profound—silent words that encapsulated everything he felt but couldn’t express.
With a smile, he moved closer to Tricia and wrapped his arm around her sleeping form. He wanted nothing more than to stay with her, but he had business to attend to.
The men would be returning from the hunt, and he needed to speak with Polk’s father.
Funny how his own father hadn’t mentioned any border and water dispute to him. So odd as well that he hadn’t mentioned he’d been feeling unwell.
Thomas dressed and then walked swiftly into his dressing room where he found his valet preparing for his evening dress.
“Longbottom,” he said.
“Yes, my lord?”
“I have…a guest in my bedchamber. I prefer that she not be disturbed. It is a lady of the peerage who is a guest at this party. I trust I can count on your discretion?”
“As always, my lord.” Longbottom bowed.
“If she does awake, I trust you can ring for her maid to help her dress?”
Longbottom cleared his throat. “Of course, my lord.”
“Thank you. It is not my wish to leave her alone, however I have business that cannot wait.”
“I understand perfectly, my lord.” He approached Thomas, eyeing his cravat. “If I may?”
“Yes, please. I mustn’t look rustled.”
“Of course not, my lord.”
Longbottom’s deft fingers got Thomas’s cravat fixed in short order, and he also ran a soft brush through Thomas’s hair.
“You do have need of a haircut, my lord.”
“You know I like to wear it a bit longer than fashionable,” Thomas said.
“You are the earl now,” Longbottom reminded him.
“Yes, and as the earl, I expect my own wishes to be followed, Longbottom. Thank you.”
The valet bowed his head. “As always, my lord.”
Longbottom had been Thomas’s valet since he came of age. He was about ten years older than Thomas and the son of the late earl’s valet. His father, now retired, had asked to take over as Thomas’s valet when the earl passed, but Thomas had insisted that he remain on the estate, all expenses paid for, and live out his senior years with the rest he deserved.
It was nearing the hour of five, and the men should be returning from the hunt shortly in order to rest and prepare for the evening meal, which would begin promptly at eight bells.
Sure enough, once Thomas descended, he heard the carriages rolling in from the hunt.
The men disembarked, and then the servants drove the carriages onward toward the stables, where they would care for the horses and do the required cleaning.
