Page 56 of The Odyssean Duke

“Stephan?” she murmured blearily. “Is that you?”

“It is. I thought that we might…” he trailed off, watching her.

It was difficult to see with only the moonlight sweeping through the window, but he thought he discerned a flush spread across Evelina’s face. Even through the layers of bedlinens, he could see that her body trembled. “Evelina,” he said. “Are you unwell?”

She shook her head. “It is only a cold. We can—we can consummate the marriage still. Tonight,” Evelina said. “It is nothing; I can do this. My sickness will not—will not impede us.”

“You sound ill. Youlookill,” Stephan said. “We cannot do this tonight.”

She was sick. Despite her insistences that she would be fine, Stephan suspected that Evelina insisted on having a congress only because she assumed thathewould want to. She was right.

He did—but not like this. Only a monster would not wish to see her well.

“I will wake the cook and have some soup made for you,” he said.

Evelina sighed deeply and rubbed her cheek against her pillow. “That is unnecessary, my husband.”

“I disagree.”

Evelina wrinkled her nose, but she offered no other retort. More than any other symptom, her easy acquiescence concerned him. The woman he had married fought tooth and nail for everything; she would not surrender so easily unless there was something terribly wrong.

He left her and climbed the steps to the attic, where the staff slept. Stephan roused the cook, who seemed delighted to help the ailing Duchess of Rothbury despite the late hour. As Stephan returned to Evelina’s bedroom, he wondered if that enthusiasm was sincere or if the cook might be, at that very moment, thinking ill of Stephan for waking him so unceremoniously.

Evelina groaned softly. Stephan seized a nearby chair and pulled it to her bedside, dropping unceremoniously into it. “I think you have more than a little cold,” he offered.

Evelina rolled onto her back and tossed an arm over her forehead. “Maybe it is,” she said begrudgingly.

Stephan shook his head. “Poor woman.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Are you certain, though, that you do not wish…?”

Stephan arched an eyebrow. “Entirely certain,” he said. “I do not think a congress in your current state would be amenable to either of us.”

Evelina heaved a deep and weary sigh. “Still,” she murmured. “You must have come home thinking about it.”

“Of course I did.”

“I am sorry to have disappointed you again.”

Stephan chuckled and shook his head. “You have not disappointed me,” he said. “You are—any bride would be hesitant to act intimately with a man whom she has only just recently met.”

“But those brides consummate their marriages anyway,” Evelina said softly. “I know that you must have expected that I would be—I saw the expression on your face. You assumed that I had engaged in such acts before.”

Any man would have. Evelina had been married, and she was beautiful. The idea that she had remained untouched after so many years was unthinkable. A travesty, truly.

When he and Evelina did consummate their marriage, that meant Stephan would be the first man to ever have her. He was not often a man who cared about such things, but the thought of being Evelina’s first and only lover sent a spark of pleasure through him. “Yes,” Stephan conceded. “But what of it? I do not care if you are inexperienced, and we have time for a small delay.”

He hoped that his voice remained steady and that it did not betray his doubt. For all that he kept insisting that delays would be permissible, Stephan was all too aware that time was short. It was entirely possible that he and Evelina might have difficulty in producing a child, and he needed to consider that, too.

Evelina sniffed and gazed at him with bleary eyes. “I know,” she rasped, “but I do not wish to delay any longer than necessary.”

“Nor do I.”

The bedchamber door creaked open, and the cook entered. To Stephan’s embarrassment, he did not remember the man’s name. He was a portly man with red hair and an overall good-natured look about him. More importantly, he was a competent cook; Stephan was a little surprised that his grandmother had left him one. “Your Grace, I have brought the soup you requested.” The cook placed his silver tray, a bowl of steaming soup in the center, on the table beside Evelina’s bed. The gentle,heady scent of rosemary and butter filled the air. “I hope this helps.”

“Oh! You did not need to wake him!” Evelina exclaimed, casting the cook an apologetic look. “I am so sorry.”

The cook shook his head and bowed. “It is a great pleasure to be of service, Your Grace.”