Bisclavret

Chapter 29

I sleep so late the following day that I'm woken by the sun slanting high through the window beside my bed, its golden light falling right onto my face. With a groan, I roll over, taking my covers with me and hiding beneath them.

What I wouldn't give for one more hour of rest. No, make that ten. Maybe with ten, I might start to feel like my usual self and not this husk of a woman I've become.

But it's not to be. Now that I'm awake, my mind is starting to turn over, memories of last night crowding together one after another. I can't believe everything that happened. None of it seems real, like I am sick and spent the entire evening clutched in the thralls of a fever dream.

I should probably be fixating on the moment I came face-to-face with a creature straight out of my mother's worst stories, a monster sustained by human blood, but I'm not. I've skipped right over that disturbing bit of trauma and landed on what took place between Henri and me on the road.

My cheeks heat as I remember what he did, what he said. His words were rough and coarse, brutal promises of all the things to come. I know I should be scandalized by them - what lordling speaks that way? - but I'm not. If anything, I want to hear more, learn all his deepest, darkest desires. Part of me was worried I'd wake up this morning filled with regret. Ha. Silly me. I should have known better. Instead of regret, all I feel is anticipation. That unsatiated feeling from last night persists, and now that I've had a sip of forbidden pleasure, I want to gorge myself to the point of gluttony.

Maybe I wouldn't be wound so tight if Henri had let me touch him in return. If he'd let me explore him as I wanted, learn how to stroke and tease him. My curiosity would be somewhat satisfied now, and I wouldn't be so consumed with thoughts of how big his manhood is, how wide, how it might feel in the palm of my hand. He insisted that could wait until we had more time, more space, which put all sorts of scandalous thoughts into my head. I tried to convince him otherwise, all but begged to touch him, but he remained intractable, tucking me in close and urging me to shut my eyes and get some rest while I could.

My blush deepens when I think of the childish way I resisted, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I must have truly been out of it by then. Resistance proved futile, and within minutes, I was fast asleep. I have no recollection of how I got back to my room - I glance beneath the covers and see I'm wearing a white cotton nightgown - or who changed me and put me into bed. Was it Henri? Did those large hands strip me naked last night? I'll be furious if it was him. Not because he saw me unclothed or touched my unconscious body but because I missed it. I wasn't lying when I said I trusted him. I'm sure if it was him, he was a perfect gentleman; if I'd been awake, I would have ensured he wasn't.

I push myself upright and tug the bell pull to summon Henrietta. As tempting as it is, I can't just lay here all day thinking about what Henri looks like undressed. It's a wonder I was allowed to sleep so late in the first place.

I rub a hand over my face as I wait for my handmade. Maybe I'm so focused on my dalliance with Henri because it's the easiest thing to think about right now. Remembering the way his finger stroked so deliciously inside me, the skilled way he palmed my clit and teased my breasts makes me feel good. All my other memories from last night make me feel conflicted at best and horrified at worst. Anyone would forgive me for wanting to avoid those thoughts for as long as possible, wouldn't they?

Henrietta arrives faster than I anticipate, a scullery maid opening the door for her as she carries in a breakfast tray.

"No, no. Stay there," she says as I start to rise.

The tray has legs on it, and she places it over my lap so I can eat in bed. There's enough food piled onto it to feed three of me, an outrageous extravagance in these lean times, but I'm so hungry that I plan on doing my best to make a respectable dent in it.