To Desire a Wicked Duke (Courtship Wars)

to sleep with him.

“Do you need my help undressing?” he asked, keeping his tone placid.

“I can manage.”

“The dressing room is beyond that door.” He gestured toward the far side of the bedchamber.

Tess hesitated. “It occurs to me that we needn’t share a bed at all, even to keep up appearances.”

“Where do you propose sleeping then?” When she had no answer, he relented. “There is a chaise longue in the sitting room next door, where you may sleep if you wish. I advise you to take some blankets to ward off the cold. Although it seems foolish when there is a comfortable bed right here.”

He waited for her reply to no avail. “I could volunteer to be noble, but I have no desire to endure such discomfort myself. My bed is large enough that we can each sleep on our own side.”

When Tess still remained silent, Ian let out a breath in exasperation. “Your nerves are understandable, love, but I assure you, I won’t ravish you in your sleep. I am that much of a gentleman.”

“I believe you are,” Tess said grudgingly. “It is just I have never slept with anyone before.”

“That can be lonely.”

She gave him a quelling look. “I doubt I will sleep a wink tonight,” she muttered under her breath.

“I may not either,” Ian murmured with complete sincerity.

After a long delay, Tess emerged from the dressing room uncertain how to act. Fanny had advised her to let Rotham take the lead on their wedding night, but what the devil should she do now that he didn’t mean to consummate their union? She never would have envisioned such consideration from him, and yet she was grateful that he didn’t mean to force her to honor their vows just then.

When Tess caught sight of Rotham, though, she came up short. Only partly dressed, he lounged in a wing chair, drinking from what looked to be a brandy snifter. Although he still wore his satin knee breeches and stockings, he’d shed his coat and cravat and shirt and had removed his shoes.

Her nerves ran riot at the sight of his bare torso. She wished he would don a dressing robe. It would be far easier to pretend indifference to him if he were not half naked—

Abruptly, Tess scolded herself. Much of the female population of England wanted the sinfully handsome Devil Duke. Perversely, she was determined she would not.

Even so, it was easier to mentally voice such a principle than to stand by it. Simply being alone in the same bedchamber with Rotham made her dizzy and incoherent. It didn’t help that he was surveying her as if he could see through her concealing dressing gown. In turn, she tried not to look at his bare, smoothly muscular chest and instead forced her gaze back to his face. His features were leaner and harder than Richard’s—

Irritated at herself for making such comparisons, Tess shut off her thoughts and strolled across the bedchamber to hold her chilled hands out to the fire. Yet her eyes were drawn irresistibly back to Rotham. She felt a stomach-tightening awareness of him as a man. His broad shoulders, the long, elegant muscles of his body, the lithe strength that seemed to radiate from him almost as an extension of his powerful personality, all captured her attention with bewitching ease.

He was entirely too compelling for her peace of mind, devil take him. And he knew very well he was affecting her. He looked at her in that perceptive way of his, as if realizing her disinterest was sheer bravado.

Heaven help her if he realized how fast her heart was beating, Tess reflected. It was bad enough that he thought her a nervous rabbit.

She winced, remembering how her vow to keep out of his bed had amused him. At least he was right about one thing. Since his bed was massive, it would be easier for them to stay on their respective sides.

His low voice broke her chaotic ruminations. “Come here, Tess.”

“Why?” she asked rather suspiciously.

He held up the brandy snifter in his hand, which was three quarters full with amber liquor.

Eyeing the glass, she pasted a half smile on her lips. “First sherry, then wine with dinner, and now brandy. Are you trying to make me foxed?”

“I am trying to settle your nerves.”

Agreeing with his goal, Tess moved toward him, her slippers making little sound on the Aubusson carpet.

“Now drink,” he ordered.

She took the glass he offered her and dutifully sipped the brandy, welcoming the burn. Perhaps the potent liquor would indeed help to soothe her rattled nerves, or at a minimum, help her to sleep.

“I don’t normally retire so early,” she admitted, making the observation to alleviate the awkward silence.