Page 58 of His Dark Heart
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“Tell me about grooming,” Elizabeth said as she and Jane walked through the gallery. Snow was falling again, and Elizabeth had found the hall too drafty to be comfortable.
“I have spoken of it before,” Jane replied as she rubbed her cold hands together.
“He rises before me, Jane. I have yet to assist him, and I do not know if it is me or if it is him, but I feel that some of the ladies are beginning to question my loyalty. I think they know I have not done my duty.”
“It is not so much a duty, my lady, as a point of pride. I perform for Finn on special occasions and at least once a month. Some ladies groom their men on special occasions and yet others celebrate birthrights or nuptial anniversaries with ceremonial grooming.”
“It seems so odd that a task performed by a servant is a source of pride. I admit it seems unequal.”
“Think of all our men do for us and it seems more than fair.”
“I suppose ye are right. I still have the problem, though, of never having done it at all.”
“It is simple really. Dismiss the valet and order the bath. I assume you shall have very little difficulty dressing him.”
Elizabeth’s skin heated and she looked at the tip of her slipper, which peeked from beneath her hem.
“Exactly. See, you already have the basics down. Leave the rest to your imagination.”
She was silent for a moment as she let her imagination wander to the possibilities bathing him would present. Licking her lips, she remembered Jane's presence and shook her head. “My apologies,” she muttered.
“You forget that I was a newlywed once. I vaguely recall wanting to spend every waking moment in Finn's embrace.”
“So, my appetites are usual?”
“Have you seen your husband, my lady? I might be married, but he is a beautiful man, and I would be surprised if you lacked an appetite. Many a lady will begrudge you your good fortune for having such an incredible and devoted man.”
“And that is why they talk so bitterly about his lack of grooming.”
“Precisely.”
Elizabeth held her head high. “Well, then, I shall simply have to prove them wrong.”
* * *
A fortnight had passed since Elizabeth's talk with Jane, and this morning she was more determined than ever. Now that Jane had coached her thoroughly on the finer points of caring for one's husband, she was eager to show him what she had learned, but he, however, was not at all cooperative. She had fretted all night that he would rise yet again and leave for his dressing room, so she was still awake when he began to stir.
She had wondered how he removed himself from the bed without her knowledge when she fell asleep in his arms every evening. Her theory of slipping out of his grasp during her slumber rapidly fell to pieces since he seemed to move with her, keeping her close throughout the night, their skin touching in a thousand places all at once. Had she known how incredible it was to touch him in such a constant manner, she would have spent every night sleepless just to partake.
To her amusement, Elizabeth discovered that her husband talked in his sleep. His voice had rumbled through the trunk of his body and tickled her ear as he spoke of strawberry wine and the dogs running off with meat from the dinner table and horses playing cards. His chatter went from sensible to absurd, but then her enjoyment diminished when his breathing grew frightfully rapid, and his arms tightened.
“Forgive me, my love, my Elizabeth. Do not leave me.”
Her heart had turned cold at the desperation of his words. Even when he was awake, he rarely spoke of love, having consciously avoided the subject since the night he had cleaned her. He treated the topic as though it was a deep, dark well into which he might fall. Until this moment, she too had been glad to avoid the lack of that particular feeling on her part, but his words were so very honest, so very frightened. His hands splayed over her belly, and he gave a heavy, sorrowful sigh.
“When you go, I shall have nothing.”
The hopelessness of his words had choked her. She had turned in his arms and pressed a kiss to his throat; her hands stroked his cheeks in hopes of waking him from the bitter dream, but his sleep-self had merely feathered his fingers over the flesh of her back.
“Will you stay? Will you stay and love me as I love you?”
Compelled by his pain and desperation, she had actually answered him with a “yes,” but still he had not woken, and she was faced with the knowledge of his fears, even while she acknowledged what her unheard words had meant to both of them. She had said yes, but to what? Staying or loving him? She could scarcely be sure. Not when his very real pain proved such a torment to her.
Now, though, he was slowly pulling his arm from beneath her pillow and untwining his legs from hers. Carefully, he sat, rolling his shoulders, the defined muscles in his back rippling beneath his smooth, dark skin. He was free and had made to stand when she spoke.
“Let thy valet be today, my lord.”
