He closed his eyes and his weariness overcame him.
* * * *
Starling woke with a start when Ellen brought in the hot water. She attempted to moisten the inside of her mouth. Head pounding, she tried to sit up, but with Mr. Seymour’s arm lying heavily across her chest, she couldn’t move.
Mr. Seymour had threshed around most of the night. She didn’t mind the bristled chin resting on her shoulder, the nose pressed into her throat, or the crumpled dark hair against her jaw. Nor did she mind the leg between hers or the faint snoring sounds. She was glad he finally slept.
He’d been a hero. She had questioned his moral integrity, which seemed to shift with the tides, but he had kept his side of the bargain last night after he had taken her offer to warm him the wrong way. If he hadn’t, she would have screamed, of course, and he would have had to explain the situation to his family, but they would have no sympathy for a woman who shared a bed with a man for money. And she would have lost the promised money, no doubt of it.
Now he no longer made her nervous. She could think of him as a trustworthy employer. That was, when she didn’t think of him as a self-seeking, sinfully attractive, untouchable male.
Ellen filled the basin, looked at Starling, and mouthed quite clearly, “Breakfast?”
Starling shook her head and pointed at the dark head snuggled against her neck. “We should let him sleep as long as he needs,” she whispered.
Ellen nodded and left.
Starling tried to slide from the bed, but her arm, beneath Mr. Seymour, was numb. The useless appendage wouldn’t obey her will. As she wriggled, his snoring stopped. His lips pressed against her neck. This small movement freed her. She flicked her fingers to regain feeling.
Suddenly the one knee between hers became two and his hand slid to her covered bottom. He lifted her closer to him and pressed his hips against the junction between her legs.
Her face heated and her breath shortened. Embarrassingly, she wanted to shift her legs to feel the hardness of his pecker there. Perhaps Meg had been right. Women had been made to fit with men. This one hadn’t even woken, yet he was ready to rut.
He moved his lips from her neck to her jaw and kissed her there. She jerked away.
He blinked his beautiful gray eyes once or twice. “Who are you?” he asked in a fuzzy voice.
“Your wife,” she answered, annoyed by his handsome face, his demanding maleness, and her treacherous body.
“Good,” he said. “I can fuck you.”
His mouth covered hers and, stunned, she let his lips sweep hers and his tongue caress inside. His lower body urged at her. As suddenly as he had begun, he stopped.
He groaned. “Sorry,” he murmured in a gruff morning voice, “I wasn’t quite awake.” He rolled off her onto his back on the other side of the bed. “Don’t take any notice. I really am asleep.” He lifted one heavily muscled arm to cover his eyes.
Within a minute, he made his last statement true.
* * * *
Starling shifted the screen to hide behind while she washed, and she quickly dressed in her new mold-green gown. With her hair scraped up into the usual tight knot, she made her way to the kitchen. As she passed the dining room, she heard voices.
“You’re up early, Starling,” Paul said from the table. “I thought after the bottles of wine you consumed last night, you’d be confined to bed all day with a headache.”
“The wine,” Starling said, aghast. “Is that what happened to my head?”
“She didn’t drink as much as you did,” Mary said in a chiding voice. “Don’t tease her, you brute. It’s nice to see you here, my dear. Alasdair never joins us for breakfast. I imagine Lavender won’t, either.”
“Is there enough food? Or should I go to the kitchen to ask for more?”
“There’s plenty. I’ll ring for more hot water for the tea.” Paul arose and tugged the bellpull near the fireplace.
Starling examined the silver lids lined along the sideboard. She lifted the nearest and saw sliced ham. The next bore cold roast beef. In the next was a sliced cake, and a board held sliced bread. A bowl contained stewed plums. She helped herself to beef and bread and sat in the seat she’d occupied the evening before.
“What are our plans for the day?” Mary asked.
“I thought I’d idle around eating cake,” Starling answered. “Like every other wife.”
Paul and Mary laughed. “I can see you’re going to lead Alasdair a merry dance,” Mary said. “How is he this morning?”
“He’s tired and his hands are cut and swollen. Other than that, I’m sure he’s very pleased with himself. The child was rescued before she came to any harm. I’m sure Mr.... Alasdair will want to know how she is, and so I’ll make inquiries later.”
“Not too much later. I’ll need you to go shopping with me this morning,” Mary said. “You can show me around Seymour’s.”
Starling’s heart skipped a beat. “I don’t think Mr....Alasdair would like me to do that. He wouldn’t expect me to...flaunt our marriage.”
Paul reached for the butter. “Of course not. Do you even know the Adelaide store? If not, it would be better if you avoided Seymour’s, in my view. Perhaps if you simply avoided shopping altogether...”
“Very clever.” Mary nodded encouragingly. “But I intend to buy fabric for gowns for myself and you know that. I should also buy a wedding present for Starling and Alasdair. I expect you’d rather stay at home.”
Paul gave her a look of wariness, overlying his calm amusement. “Nothing will drag me off on an expedition to buy fabrics. Nothing. Unless Lavender decides to stay home, too. Then I’ll have to leave the house for some reason or another.”
“Lavender wouldn’t miss a chance to show off her extensive wardrobe. Oh, dear. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Ellen entered the room.
“Fresh tea, please, for Mrs. Seymour,” Paul said.
Ellen glanced at Starling, who nodded. “Don’t take up breakfast for Mr. Seymour. Leave him to set his own pace today.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ellen took the used plates from Paul and Mary, balancing the second neatly along her arm. Her missing fingers made carrying two separate plates difficult. “When will you be wantin’ me to do your hair?”
Starling glanced at the maid in surprise. “I’m going shopping with Mrs. Elliot. My hair won’t be seen under my hat.”
After a disappointed glance at Starling, Ellen left the room.
Mary gurgled with laughter. “She needn’t worry. Lavender will keep her occupied.”
Starling lowered her gaze. Naturally, the maid would rather style hair than be used in the kitchen. Better, though, that she did Mrs. Frost’s hair. The refurbishment of Starling’s gown last night hadn’t mattered because Mr. Seymour hadn’t been at home to see her. While he was around, she couldn’t consider being primped or prettified.
At this early stage, she didn’t plan to lose her job.
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