The Ugly Duchess

Page 59

He dropped her on the bed and frowned at her. “That’s what you want.”
She rolled off, coming to her feet, and flapped her hand at him. “It’s not important. I need you to help me make the bed. I cannot rest in a bed with rumpled sheets, and of course, the top sheet isn’t even here any longer.”
He blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”
“We have to remake the bed,” she said painstakingly. “I would ring for a maid, but you sent them away.”
“Right. If you’ll excuse me, I have something to do.” Theo’s eyes dropped and she saw that he had a hand cupped over his privates, as if he was in pain. He brushed past her and into the bathroom without another word. That wasn’t very polite.
She had no idea how to make the bed, but surely she was capable of it. She pulled all the remaining bedding off, and then made certain that the bottom sheet hung off all sides by precisely the same amount: she judged four and a half inches, though of course it was hard to tell without a way to measure it.
She tucked the sheet in at the head of the bed. That was rather awkward, as she had to reach toward the middle of the bed. She could hear water running into the bathtub again, which was distracting, but it didn’t bother her much. James’s “personal” service, for lack of a better word, had left her feeling quite happy.
She moved around to the side and managed to get the sheet tucked in precisely the correct amount.
She had just started the other side when the door opened again. She was bent over the bed, trying to make sure that the sheet didn’t form wrinkles as she tucked.
“Oh good,” she said, looking over her shoulder. James’s tool was down, the way she had thought it was supposed to be. With a mental shrug, she said, “Will you please help me? This is impossible to do on one’s own. I can’t imagine how the housemaids manage it.” She moved to the foot of the bed and bent over again, trying to smooth the sheets so there were no wrinkles.
There was a funny noise, like a deep groan, but when she looked back at James he was obediently walking toward her. His tool was straight up in the air again. So he was telling the truth about that being his normal state.
She kept thinking about it all the time that they worked on the bed, making sure the top sheet was smooth before they replaced the rest of the bedding.
Every once in a while she would steal a glance at James. She felt terribly self-conscious wearing a wrapper with no drawers and no chemise, but he seemed unmoved.
When the bed was finished, she slipped between the sheets, still wearing her wrapper because she couldn’t bear the idea of being naked in front of him again.
He stood beside the bed, that irritating smile on his face. “Are you hungry? I’ll have Maydrop send up a hamper with one of the footmen. I think if we eat here, it will be easier for him, given the lack of kitchen staff.”
“I never eat in bed.” But she was ravenous.
The amusement on his face vanished. “You will tonight. You’re not to even think about leaving that bed. I’m not touching those damned sheets again.” Annoyingly, he seemed to be showing more emotion over the bed than anything else. Such as the almost naked woman lying between the sheets.
The emotions in Theo’s chest were so turbulent that she didn’t even frown at his blasphemy and the set of his jaw. There was a naked man in her room. Staring at her belligerently over his folded arms.
She started that train of thought over. There was a naked pirate in her room, and she wasn’t frightened by him in the least. What’s more, she let her eyes drift over his scarred, muscled body and didn’t shy away from the fact that the sight of him made her own body feel needy. For some reason, every scar sent a little thrill to her toes. She glanced at his scandalous tattoo. It made her feel a melting rush of desire.
James—make that Jack Hawk—was glaring at her as if she were no more than a pirate’s captive. Theo found that a little smile was curling her lips at the thought. She had been a prisoner, of a sort. Not to James, but to her own fear.
She ran over that old memory of the library again, testing it with the detachment of seven years. It was embarrassing. But all of a sudden, she remembered the utter beauty of James’s young, lean body. The way he had thrown back his head in utter bliss. The groans that broke from his lips when she caressed him.
“Well?” he demanded.
Her husband was a pirate. But he was also a man who had loved her deeply. Who had pleasured her, and then happily succumbed to her seduction.
“Well, what?” she asked, unable to remember what he was talking about. Her mind was reeling. For a moment, she remembered the pain of being called ugly, and then it melted away like soap washing down a drain. She had told herself a hundred times that she could be humiliated only if she allowed it: now she needed to believe it.
The same was true for intimacy . . . for marriage. She had been a prisoner, but not to a pirate. She had been trapped by her own fear. In fact, she’d been something of a coward.
Without a second thought, Theo shrugged off her wrapper, taking her time since the sheet slipped below her breasts in the process.
James watched her, his face impassive, but she thought she caught a glimpse of something deep in those blue eyes: shock, perhaps, and a touch of hopefulness.
She handed the wrapper to him with her sweetest smile. “You wouldn’t mind hanging this up, would you? Since there’s no one else here to do it for me?”
The sound he made might have been a growl. It made Theo feel a little better, even more so when he took one look at her sitting up in bed with the sheet barely covering her nipples, and then stalked out of the room.
“Put on some clothes,” she called. “I don’t want you to horrify Maydrop with all those scars.”
The only answer was a soft thump as the door pulled firmly shut. She instantly hopped out of bed and brushed her teeth. Then she combed out her hair.
When she heard footsteps walking up the stairs, she got back into her bed, dismissing the unease she felt about crawling into a rumpled bed. Who would have thought that making a bed was so much work? James entered with a hamper and set it on her dressing table. Then he grabbed the bottle of wine and took a swig straight out of the bottle.
Theo would have liked a drink, but she could hardly say so now.
He poured her a glass straight from the same bottle. “I couldn’t,” she said politely.
“It’s been a hell of a day,” James said, pushing the glass into her hand. Then he narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying no because I drank from the bottle, aren’t you?”
“We all have different standards of hygiene,” she said, sounding prim even to her own ears.
“Are you afraid of my mouth? Of my spit?”
“It’s just—”
He leaned over, fast, put a hand behind her neck, and pulled her toward him. Theo closed her eyes reflexively when his mouth met hers. But the kiss wasn’t what interested him: his tongue thrust into her mouth, warm and wet and aggressive.
She couldn’t summon any interest in the lesson he was doling out about spit and wine bottles. She wanted him to look at her with eyes that glittered, the way they used to, years ago, so she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She was chasing the promise of his tongue, the way it reminded her whole body of deep pleasure.