Page 49 of The Best Marquess

“All the details?”

Pink darkened to scarlet. “I’ll save the juiciest gossip for when we take tea. If my sister applauds next time she sees you, you’ll know why.”

He nodded, although his cheeks were probably the same shade. No, darker. “Gabriel and I have made peace with the fact that you share a great many details. So, you are…well?”

“Under interrogation I might admit to being a bit tender in certain places. But I will freely declare hunger. It would be a good idea to feed me before I start gnawing on the furniture.”

Relieved to have a task to make up for his shocking lapse in hero behavior, Finn climbed out of bed and grabbed his heavy silk robe from the iron hook nearby. “Tea and toast? Or something more substantial? In all honesty I think I could empty the larder. It won’t be a storm or an earthquake London hears, but my stomach.”

“Something substantial. I am partial to sliced ham and coddled eggs. Oh, and sautéed potato. Toasted bread with butter and marmalade. And, ah…a pot of chocolate.”

He grinned. “That’s all?”

“It’s a trifle early for caramels,” she replied pertly.

“Blasphemy.”

Finn tugged on the bellpull. When a maid arrived, he requested a breakfast tray, then returned and sat down next to Pippa. Somehow, she looked even more beautiful this morning, with her hair unbound and rumpled, wearing just her spectacles, chemise, and a blue dressing gown.

“If you were wondering,” she added, “there has been no word about your father from the physicians. I’m of the opinion that no news is good news.”

“I’m trying not to think about him at all. But I wanted to thank you. For everything. I know yesterday was…a lot, but you were so stoic. Gabriel may gnash his teeth, but it is obvious I married the greatest Nash; Princess Pippet, long may she reign.”

Pippa patted his hand. “Yes, you did. And as I suspect you supervised the transformation of your father’s chamber and made me paper flowers…I wanted to express my thanks. I do not like theatrics, but small, personal gestures are most welcome. You made the wedding as lovely as it could be.”

“I would do anything to make you happy,” Finn murmured. “Anything at all.”

She blinked. “Ah…yes. Well. It’s a bit too soon to start worshipping at the Pippa altar. Wait until you learn my darkest secrets; such as I transform into a selkie when the moon is full, and also require regular fresh corpses for my bloodthirsty pet tiger…Bubbles.”

“Bubbles?”

“I panicked. Names are hard. That is why I read the books rather than write them.”

Finn hesitated. They had always jested with one another, their own language of support and care in times of turmoil. Most often about their complicated families and the uncomfortable emotions they unleashed; she knew exactly how it felt to live under the boot of someone who wielded power like a hammer. But today her humor seemed…brittle. Was it just the fact that she’d woken up married in a strange house after a hasty bedchamber wedding? Or something more?

“Pippa…you would tell me if there was something on your mind, wouldn’t you? I mean, you can tell me anything. Ask me anything. I’m not going to say your ears are too delicate or some such horseshit. I know we shared a lot as friends, but I hope we can be, er…closer as husband and wife. Truly share the darkest secrets.”

She stared at him for a long moment. But just as she opened her mouth, there was a tap at the door and a muffled voice said, “Breakfast, my lord, my lady.”

“Hold that thought,” he said, hurrying over and opening it for the two footmen carrying trays of heavenly-scented food. After placing the trays on the low table in front of the fireplace, the footmen inclined their heads and swiftly departed.

“Mmmm,” said Pippa, picking up a warmed china plate and adding a large spoonful of coddled eggs, three pieces of thinly sliced ham, a small mountain of sautéed potato, and some toasted bread thickly spread with butter and orange marmalade. “Cold food is a crime, so let us eat.”

“May I pour you a cup of chocolate?”

“You may,” she replied, gracious as a queen.

They ate in silence, until he couldn’t eat another bite, yet Pippa still perused the trays. Damnation. Something was wrong. Picking at a tray to avoid conversation was a tactic he’d seen Pippa employ with her grandmother; he examined jacket sleeves when his father sailed past the point of unbearable.

Never had he thought she would do that with him, though.

Finn swallowed hard. “Pippa, just tell me. Whatever it is. No matter how delicate or taboo. I know there is something on your mind. No piece of ham is that interesting.”

She stilled, then put her plate down. “I did the picking thing.”

“You did,” he said lightly.

“There is something. Perhaps I am overthinking it. Perhaps it doesn’t matter at all and there is an excellent explanation. But last night when we were in bed, you—”