Page 117 of The Favourite

He came into the room. “Are you calling for me?” He took one look at her face and came to her side. “What is it?” he demanded.

She attempted to tell him, but the words were babbled, and her account was confused. After a moment, he passed a solicitous arm about her and started rubbing her back. “So, the Queen …?”

“She said that she is going to take my advice!” Jane wailed.

He frowned. “You make it sound like that is a bad thing.”

“Yes! Because she is taking it so far! She says she was up all night thinking about it, and she means to put the whole court into strictest mourning. She has ordered sumptuous suits for herself and the King in full white and—and—”

“It is good you are forewarned of that,” he muttered. “I must send at once to Monsieur Barbier—”

“I already have,” she interrupted him.

“What? You have?”

She nodded miserably. “I thought I had better.” When he looked impressed, she added quickly, “The Queen prompted me to; I did not think of it myself.”

“So, we will all be required to wear white?” he said thoughtfully. “A color most becoming to Her Majesty’s complexion, though you must be careful not to let it wash you out, my dove. You must wear your new sapphires.”

“You have not bought me more jewelry?” she gasped in dismay. “Besides, the Queen said she would not wear any color, even gold.”

“Well, she may not,” he said firmly, “but we most assuredly will. I shall wear my rubies. They will look most dramatic against a cotehardie of purest white.” He eyed Jane sympathetically. “You are all of a flutter, Jane, your poor thing,” he tutted. “It has been too much for you.” He towed her toward the door. “Come and lie down with me, wife, and I will soothe your troubled spirits.”

“Lie down?” Jane turned her head to look at him suspiciously. His expression was entirely innocent. “Well,” she said weakly, “I must admit, I do feel a little shaken.”

“Of course, you do!” he interrupted her, shaking his head. “And it is not to be wondered at. The Queen has depleted your energy. She has drained you.”

“No, no,” Jane objected feebly as he steered her through the doorway of their bedroom. “It is just that sometimes …”

“Yes?” he murmured, his hands on her shoulders exerting a gentle pressure until she sat on the bed. Swiftly, he dropped to his knees to unbuckle her shoes.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said wretchedly, gazing down at him. “I suppose, I worry too much about things.”

“You do,” he agreed, “and you find it so hard to let go of your worries, don’t you, my sweet? Why don’t you just let me unwind you, Jane? I’m itching to, you know.”

She frowned at him. Why were his eyes gleaming like that? Understanding dawned. “You think that would restore my energy?” she blurted in astonishment as he made short work of unfastening her bodice.

He nodded gravely, though his eyes were dancing. “But yes. I will transfer my vital energy into you by way of a secret technique.”

“A secret ...?” Words failed her. “There is nothing remotely secret about your technique!”

“It will be most invigorating, I promise,” he whispered.

Jane spluttered but voiced no objection. “I’m just going to lie here,” she warned him. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“No husband could ask for more.”

Jane snorted. “You are a rogue, Viscount Bardulf. I always suspected as much.”

“Shhh, you must not say so,” he implored, kissing the back of her neck and peeling off her dress. “Not when I’m trying to worship you with my body.”

Jane closed her eyes and decided to humor the man. Afterward, she decided she felt drowsy rather than invigorated, though he had certainly woken her up at one point.

“Jane, Jane,” he whispered. “If you only knew how desirable you look like this, so abandoned …” Abandoned? “Your cheeks are poppy red,” he murmured with approval, “and your hair is positively … untidy.”

Untidy? Her? That couldn’t be right. Jane struggled to focus on him.

His lips quirked up at the corners. “You are so delightfully wanton once you give yourself over to desire.”