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She sighed. “I think you’ve covered all areas of my body now.” There was a slight hitch in her voice, betraying her disappointment that his attentions were completed.

“Should I leave you now to sleep?” he asked.

Aimee slanted her gaze to meet his. She shook her head. “Stay,” she said softly, and after the briefest of hesitations, “I want you to.”

She thought he looked pleased by her boldness as he swiftly undressed and washed in the cooling tub. If she did not feel so limp with pleasure from his hands, she would have liked to have sat up and watched him perform his ablutions and maybe even offer her services.

Sadly, it was as much as she could do to stop her eyelids from drooping down and drifting off into a contented sleep. When he climbed into the bed beside her, he reached for her at once. Aimee went willingly and found him strangely tender in his ministrations. She almost reminded him she was up to his weight, but though he was careful, he still stole all her breath away.

“I confess I am curious as to how you will reward my performance from tonight,” he mused in a satisfied voice as they lay side by side in the aftermath.

“Reward?” she murmured.

“Yes, for you’ve given me costly raiment and jewelry already.”

“Oh? And what, pray, do you think would be due recompense?”

“More importantly wife, what do you?”

She seemed to consider this a moment. “A new pair of hose?” she suggested tartly.

He snorted, crossing his ankles. “I was thinking, at least a ship.”

Aimee tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I could buy you a piglet from the market?” she suggested in the spirit of one generously upping the ante. “And mayhap a tub of liniment for your aching bones.”

He gave a short laugh. “I suppose I’ll find out later,” he said, sitting up. Aimee’s heart sank. He was leaving? It seemed, even though she no longer loved him, that still stung. “Can I take the brooch with me?” he asked as he picked his clothes up from the floor.

Aimee nodded, then realized he was not looking at her. “Yes, of course. ’Tis on that table …” she started to explain but saw him cross to it before she had even finished her words. Of course, he knew where it was, he had seen it earlier. He moved to the door.

“I will see you on the morrow. Don’t forget to contact that tailor,” he said and slipped out the door.

Aimee flopped back down on the bed. She still wasn’t going to order that damned dress.

20

Konrad dropped off Aimee’s brooch first thing on Bulwark Lane and extracted a promise that it would be ready on the next morn. Then, having gleaned the address from his father-in-law, he had called at another large townhouse situated at a five-minute walk from his own. Here, he had been admitted and led to a handsome sitting room to await Lady d’Avenant. As his sole purpose had been to visit with Renlow, Konrad had chafed rather at this, but the maid would not be brow-beaten. The master was convalescing, she told him pertly, and was not to receive any visitors without his wife’s say-so.

Konrad had given an exasperated sigh and walked over to the window to stare out onto the street. It was a fine view, though quieter than the one they enjoyed in Lime Street. The door opened and closed very quietly, and he turned to find Aimee’s sister stood in the doorway performing a neat curtsey.

“My lord, I am happy to see you. I trust my sister is well?” she greeted him politely.

“That she is,” he responded with a nod. “How is d’Avenant?”

“He is recovering apace,” she answered with a relieved smile. “Should you like to see him? It is good of you to visit with us.”

He nodded again, and she gestured for him to follow her up the wooden staircase. Ursula Ankatel looked well, he thought with surprise. She was dressed a good deal less fussily than when he had last seen her, and she looked all the better for it. Her hair, too, was simply arranged, without ornamentation, but that did not wholly account, he thought, for the subtle change that had taken place in her.

No, it was something in her manner, he thought. She had a sort of luminous calm and assurance about her that he did not remember her possessing previously. He could have sworn she was an anxious, highly strung type like Freda, but it seemed he had not done her justice. When Ursula reached a door at the end of the passage, she gave a firm knock and then walked in.

“Ah, there you are, Ursa,” Konrad heard a familiar voice greet her boisterously. “Where have you been this age? I vow you have been shamefully neglecting me all morning.”

Konrad stood at the doorway as Ursula swiftly crossed to the bed where Renlow lay in the midst of a pile of cushions. His face looked flushed, and his hair was tousled. One of his arms was bound up with a splint, and he had a good deal of nasty bruising on view up his neck and shoulder.

“Nonsense, husband!” she chided him affectionately and reached across the bed to take the hand that was not bound up with a splint. When Renlow tugged on her hand as though to draw her down to him, she said quickly, “Such good fortune, my dear. I have brought you a friend to visit and sit with you a while.”

Renlow glanced toward the door in surprise, though Konrad noticed he did not release his wife’s hand. His expression immediately brightened. “Kentigern! Come in, it is good to see you!” He struggled to sit upright, and Ursula immediately bustled about, placing pillows behind his back, helping him into a comfortable position.

When Renlow held an uninjured hand out to him, Kentigern found himself grasping it warmly.