Page 89 of Duke of Moonstone
The heat in her face was immediate. She could feel it flooding her cheeks, her throat, spreading down past the loosened stays like something she could not contain. She turned away.
Do not look at him. Do not look at him. Do not?—
“I shall take the sofa,” he said. “If you prefer.”
Her heart was hammering. She pressed a hand to her chest as though that might contain it. “Yes. That would be… yes.”
She heard him move away. She did not turn around.
Frances changed behind the screen, and her hands trembled as she did while her heart raced. When she had pulled on her nightgown, she extinguished the candle nearest the bed and climbed beneath the cool covers that smelled faintly of lavender and soap.
Pulling the blanket to her chin, she closed her eyes. From across the room came the sound of Alexander settling onto the settee. The wood creaked as he shifted his weight. Then silence.
A muffled grunt came, and Frances opened one eye.
Then the sound of him shifting around came as he was rearranging himself on a surface that was clearly not cooperating.
Alexander let out a low mutter she could not quite make out but which carried the distinct flavor of profanity.
Frances closed her eyes.
The settee creaked once more. A boot hit the floor with a thud then the other. More shifting noises followed. A muttered comment. The sound of an elbow bumping against what was likely the armrest then a word she was quite sure no duke would ever utter in polite society.
She pressed her lips together.
Do not laugh. He will hear you.
A prolonged creak echoed, followed by a nearly theatrical sigh. Then, total silence fell, lasting about fourteen seconds. Afterward, the shifting resumed, now with the sound of a very tall man straining to fit his legs into a space meant for someone half his height.
Frances sat up.
“Would the bed help?”
Silence. Absolute silence—the kind that only someone who was fully awake and intentionally not answering could create.
“Alexander.”
Nothing.
“I know you are not asleep. No one is asleep who was five seconds ago swearing at an armrest.”
“I am perfectly comfortable.”
“You are perfectly ridiculous. Come to bed.”
There was a pause. “Frances?—”
“I need to sleep. You need to sleep. We have another full day of travel tomorrow, and I refuse to spend it in a carriage with a man who has been awake all night fighting furniture.” She pulled the blanket back on the far side. “There is more than enough room. You will stay on your side. I will stay on mine. It is a practical matter.”
The settee creaked one final time. Footsteps crossed the room. The mattress dipped.
Frances lay back down. She stared at the ceiling. Her heart was beating very fast, faster than the situation warranted given that he was a full foot away from her, lying on his back with his hands folded across his chest like a man in a sarcophagus.
This is fine. This is perfectly fine. People share beds. It is an inn. The bed is large. He is over there. I am over here. There is a great deal of mattress between us.
Within three minutes, he was snoring.
Frances blinked at the ceiling.She had spent fourteen days agonizing over a single kiss, and this man could fall asleep in three minutes while sharing a bed with the woman he had kissed.
