Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“You still up, G

runyon? Of course you are, I’m turning into a blithering idiot. Yes, I left her alone. She had to use the chamber pot.”

“But in that case ...” Grunyon headed toward the door. “I’ll help her, my lord, I‘ll—”

Hawk laughed. “She had to relieve herself after the three cups of tea.”

“Oh,” Grunyon said, and surprised Hawk by blushing right to his eyebrows.

Hawk grew abruptly serious. “Do you think we should fetch a doctor?”

Grunyon shook his head. “If she managed to keep the tea down, she will be all right, I believe.”

“Down and through,” said Hawk.

“My lord!”

“Sorry,” Hawk said. He thrashed his fingers through his hair. “This has been the strangest two days of my life. I really thought she was lying about the headache to avoid ... well, to keep from—”

“Yes, my lord,” Grunyon said quickly. “I do understand.”

“I think her five minutes are up. Go to bed, Grunyon. I intend to.” He grinned. “Hell, a first time for everything. Sleeping with a woman and not making love to her.”

“My lord!”

He quirked an eyebrow at his valet, then quickly entered the bedchamber. Actually it was also a first time to sleep with a woman who had been vilely ill. There was but one candle lit on the small table beside the bed. Frances was turned on her side away from him, the blankets drawn to her nose.

“How do you feel?”

“All right,” she said, not emerging from the warm and protective cocoon.

He wanted to leave but knew that he couldn’t. He said, “Look, Frances, I’m staying with you tonight. If you get ill again, you don’t want to be alone.”

“I won’t get ill again.”

“You won’t, huh? If you’re so smart, then why did you drink down horse-colic medicine?”

“Go the devil,” she said very clearly.

Hawk was taken aback for a moment. So she wasn’t all dimness and diffidence. There was a bit of bite to her when pushed hard enough.

“Go to sleep,” he said. “You may be certain that I shan’t ravish you tonight.”

Tonight.

Hawk turned away and stripped off his clothes. Out of long habit, he neatly folded them over the back of a chair. When he returned to the bed, he saw that Frances was hugging the far edge, so close that he expected her to crash to the floor at any moment. It would serve her right, he thought, feeling suddenly completely out of charity with her. Silly twit. Did she find his hairiness that repugnant? Now, if she was really against male hair, she should have met his old sergeant, Dickie Hobbs. Lord, the man had a mat of hair on his damned back! The jest among his men had been to the effect that woman could run her hands through Dickie’s hair and never finish until she’d reached the soles of his feet.

Frances felt the mattress give when he got into bed. She held her breath, but he stayed on his side. How odd, she managed to think some minutes later, finally secure in her belief that he would keep his word. She was lying in bed with a man. She was so nervous that it took her some minutes to realize that her stomach was back to normal and that her husband was asleep.

He turned onto his stomach.

He began to snore.

Frances gritted her teeth and clamped the pillow around her ears.

She awoke to find herself quite alone. She queried her body and found a neutral response. No more cramps, no more nausea. But the thought of another interminable day spent riding in that lurching carriage gave her considerable pause. At least her husband, in a spate of good manners, had dressed and left her alone. She glanced toward the small clock on the mantel. It was only six o‘clock in the morning.

She sat up in bed and sighed. He would want to leave, and very soon. I’m being a selfish ninny. His father is very ill and he is anxious to see him.