Afterwards – there was an afterwards, a pleasant, drained afterwards, lying collapsed among silks, clothes discarded, hearts slowing, breath returning – he asked:
"Did I hurt you?"
"Not much. Not as much as I thought it would."
The sun was just setting. Soon they would have to dress again – clothes seemed so purposeless now – and go to supper, and smile at other people – irrelevant other people – and after supper she would go to the drawing room with the women – what a silly habit – and he would stay and drink in the dining room with the men – how tiresome. It was all very tiresome.
She nestled closer to him, and kissed his shoulder.
"I'm going to try my best to trust you," she murmured, lips brushing his flesh. "I'm not very good at it, but I will try."
He kissed her hair. "I won't fail you."
The knock came at their door, some irrelevant time later. A voice in French. Her husband replied to it, and it went away.
"We'd better get dressed," he told her ruefully, shifting, and running his hand wishfully down her waist and hips and legs – a touch that made her languid contentedness suddenly just a little more energetic, a little less contented.
She sighed, and rolled slowly from bed to look for her slip and corset.
"Don't call for the maid," she said. "I'll dress myself tonight."
"I'll dress you," he said. "Though I admit, I'm inclined the other way of things."
She giggled shyly, and found her slip half-hidden beneath the bed. "I'm not sure you'd be much good at it."
But his fingers, she saw, were practiced with tying stays, and she realized he must have done this for his wife before. His first wife, she corrected herself. For the first time, she felt like Mrs Neil Armiger, not Miss Verity Baker.
"Neil," she said suddenly. "Will you tell me about her one day?"
He looked up, confused. "Who?"
"Your first wife. Julia. And your son." She look some trouble cloud his face, and added hastily, "Not today – not today. But one day?"
His fingers had faltered on her stays, but now he remembered his task, pulled them tight, and knotted them, while she waited in silence for his answer. When he was done, he pushed her back slightly, to look her in the eyes. Something he saw there seemed to convince him. The troubled frown melted from his face, and his eyes softened.
"One day," he promised in a soft voice, and kissed her.
Fluffy extra bit that didn't quite fit in Chapter Seventeen and got edited out of it.
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Lady in Rags
RomanceVerity Baker has spent her life cleaning up after her father's mistakes. But one day, he goes too far and sells her, for one night only, to a local lord to pay his debts. What kind of man would buy a woman? What kind of woman would agree to be bough...
