"I could nip you." She giggled.
"Now I know you've had too much laudanum."
"I want to hear number seven."
Charles crossed his arms and watched her yawn. She was beginning to worry him. She'd seemed to be doing so well, and then she'd practically been in tears, and now ... Well, if he didn't know better, he'd think she was out to seduce him.
Which worked rather well with what he'd written down for number seven, actually, although he suddenly wasn't too keen on revealing his amorous intentions while she was in such a strange state.
"Number seven, if you please," she persisted.
"Perhaps tomorrow ..."
She pouted. "You did say you wanted to entertain me. I assure you I shan't be entertained unless I know the last item on your list."
Charles never would have believed it of himself, but he just couldn't read the words aloud. Not when she was acting so strangely. He simply couldn't take advantage of her in this condition. "Here," he said, appalled by the embarrassment he heard in his voice and growing a touch angry with her for making him feel like such a ... such a ... Good God, what was happening to him? He was positively domesticated. He scowled. "You can read it yourself."
He placed the paper in front of her and watched while her eyes scanned his words. "Oh, my," she squeaked. "Is that possible?"
"I assure you it is."
"Even in my condition?" She held up her hands. "Oh. I suppose that's why you specifically mention ..."
He did feel a teeny bit smug when she colored beet red. "Can't say it, darling?"
"I didn't know one could do such things with one's mouth," she mumbled.
Charles's lips spread into a slow grin as the rake within woke up. It felt good. More like himself. "Actually, there's a lot more—"
"You can tell me about it later," she said quickly.
His gaze grew heavy-lidded. "Or perhaps I'll show you."
If he didn't know better, he could have sworn she steeled her shoulders when she said—or rather, gulped—"All right."
Or maybe it was more of a squeak than a gulp. Either way, she was plainly terrified.
And then she yawned, and he realized that it didn't much matter if she was terrified or not. The extra dose of laudanum was taking effect, and she was about to...
Let out a loud snore.
He sighed and pulled back, wondering how long it was going to be before he could actually make love to his wife. Then he wondered if he could possibly live that long.
A funny noise erupted from the back of Ellie's throat—a noise through which no normal human being could sleep.
That was when he realized that he had bigger things to worry about and started wondering if she was going to snore every night.
Chapter 18
Ellie awoke the next morning feeling remarkably refreshed. It was amazing what a little grit and determination could do for one's spirits. It was a strange thing, romantic love. She'd never felt it before, and even if it did make her stomach a little flippy, she wanted to hold onto it with both hands and never let go.
Or rather, she wanted to hold onto Charles and never let go, but that was a little tricky with the bandages. She supposed that this was lust. It was as unfamiliar to her as romantic love.
She wasn't completely certain that she could turn him around to her views on love, marriage, and fidelity, but she knew she could never live with herself if she didn't give it a try. If she wasn't successful, she'd probably be miserable, but at least she wouldn't have to call herself a coward.
And so it was with great excitement that she waited in the informal dining room with Helen and Judith while Claire was off fetching Charles. Claire was visiting him in his study under the pretext of asking him to inspect the work she'd done in the orangery. The small dining room was on the way from Charles's study to the orangery, so Ellie, Judith, and Helen were all set to jump out and yell, "Surprise!"
"This cake looks lovely," Helen said, surveying the pale frosting. She looked a little more closely. "Except, perhaps for this little smudge right here just about the width of a six-year-old finger."
Judith crawled under the table immediately, claiming that she'd seen a bug.
Ellie smiled indulgently. "A cake wouldn't be a cake if someone hadn't sneaked a little frosting. At least it wouldn't be a family cake. And those are the best kinds."
Helen looked down to make sure that Judith was occupied with something other than listening to their conversation and said, "To tell the truth, Ellie, I'm tempted myself."
"Then go ahead. I won't tell. I would join you, but..." Ellie held up her bandaged hands.
Helen's face immediately grew concerned. "Are you certain you're feeling up to a party? Your hands—"
"—really don't hurt terribly much anymore, I swear."
"Charles said you still need laudanum for the pain."
"I'm taking very little. Quarter doses. And I expect to be through with that by tomorrow. The burns are healing quite nicely. The blisters are nearly gone."
"Good. I'm glad, I..." Helen swallowed, closed her eyes for a moment, and then drew Ellie across the room so that Judith could not hear what she was saying. "I can't thank you enough for the understanding you have shown to Claire. I—"
Ellie held up a hand. "It was nothing, Helen. You needn't say anything more on the subject."
"But I must. Most women in your place would have thrown the three of us out on our ears."
"But Helen, this is your home."
"No," Helen said quietly, "Wycombe Abbey is your home. We are your guests."