Page 19

After the meal, Deo took Kes out quickly to relieve himself and upon his return suggested to Emily that if she was tired, she should retire, and he would join her shortly. He thought if she were already asleep, he could disrobe, wash, and slip into the bed without disturbing her.

Emily agreed and, getting out her book, she clambered into the big bed and nestled into the pillows with it. Deo settled himself by the fire with his book and tried to stop himself sneaking looks at her. He told himself he was checking to see if she was asleep yet, but it was more for the felicity of seeing her curled up in the bank of white pillows, the long plait of thick hair lying across the gentle rise of her bosom in its robe and gown that had him fascinated.

A strange possessive pride stole over him. My wife.

He dragged his gaze back to his book and tried to concentrate. She rustled around in the bed, and Kes, who had been lying at his feet, suddenly got up and leaped up onto the bed, shocking her into a yelp of surprise. “Kester!” she said, with a laugh and rumpled his ears, stroking his head.

“Kes—” he said peremptorily. “He’s not supposed to do that unless he is invited. Kes, get down.” Kes obeyed sheepishly, jumping down with a thud.

“Oh no! I don’t mind; he will keep my feet warm,” she said in protest.

“Very well, invite him up. Say ‘Kes, up’ and lift your hand.”

“Kes, up!” she said, gesturing with her hand. Kester glanced at him for permission, jumped when he nodded, settling down on her feet with a deep sigh of contentment.

That was another thing in her favor: Kes was obviously very fond of her already.

The clock ticked on the mantle slowly, and eventually he looked up when a candle guttered to find she had fallen asleep over her book. Rising quietly, he moved the book to the bedside table and removed his shirt, but he left his breeches on. He always slept naked, but he thought it would be impolite to do so tonight. He might frighten her. She had probably never seen a naked man in her life. He performed a quick wash and, blowing out most of the candles, he crept to the bed and slid into his side of it. Lying back gingerly into the pillows, he looked across at her.

She is so damned lovely! He had never put much value on female beauty before. He had been so focused on wanting a woman he felt comfortable talking to. The pretty ones had just made him uncomfortable. Beautiful women disturbed his equilibrium and made him tongue-tied. Made him feel like he was fifteen again and making a fool of himself. Emily—Emily was different. He had thought her pretty enough when she first arrived, but not so beautiful as to reduce him to a puddle of incoherence. She was rapidly becoming much prettier every time he looked at her.

Just then her eyelids flickered, and she opened her eyes, staring straight at him. The impact made his heart stop, and his cock stirred to life, without his volition. He flushed and she smiled.

“Deo,” her voice was soft and husky with sleep.

“Yes?” His voice came out croaky, and he cleared his throat.

She shifted in the bed, making the mattress dip and causing him to roll toward her. He was much heavier than her. He put out an arm to stop himself rolling on top of her and stared down at her, fascinated and terrified at once.

She blinked up at him. Then she bit her lovely, plump bottom lip, and he swallowed a groan with difficulty. I need to get out of this bed, now!

But he didn’t. He continued to stare down at her.

“Deo, there’s something I need to tell you,” she said hesitantly.

“Yes?” he said again.

“I—I lied to you.”

Her words penetrated his brain slowly, and he pulled back a fraction, the thudding of his heart interrupted by a skip and an uneasy roll of his stomach. “What do you mean?” His voice came out harsher than he meant it to.

She flinched back into the pillows, and he cursed his sharp tongue.

She dropped her eyes and worried at the sheet with her fingers. “I lied about my family name. It’s not Bromwich, it’s Grenfell. My father is Viscount Efford.”

“I see.” He breathed out slowly. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because the Duke of Troubridge will likely recognize me. He—he courted me briefly last year. I’m an heiress, you see.” Her tone became wretched. “I’m really sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

“Yes, you should!” He sat up, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Does it make our marriage invalid? Because my name isn’t correct?”

“Very possibly. I don’t know.” He stared at the canopy above his head. “Damn and blast, I should have made you tell me who your parents are. I thought—.” He stopped, his throat working. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, I should have—bloody hell, Emily! Is that even your name?”

“Yes, yes. Emily and Frances are my given names. I only lied about my family name. I was afraid you would force me to go back to them if you knew who they were.”

“Was it true about them starving you, or did you make that up too?”