Page 78 of The Favourite

Alisander’s head jerked back. Fuck. He had forgotten all about Wat returning with the hot water. Grabbing a handful of bedsheet, he unceremoniously rolled until they both lay cocooned within it with Jane uppermost. They lay still in each other’s arms listening to each other’s heavy breathing as Wat’s footsteps entered the room. There was a thud of the basin, then the sound of steps retreating, and the door closing gently shut.

He gave a breathless laugh, running his hand up and down her back. “Well, that a close-run thing,” he observed, and Jane made a choked sound, turning her head to look at him. “I might have to revise the knock and enter rule,” he added wryly.

“You don’t suppose he will tell Lord Vawdrey about it, do you?” she asked in a wobbly voice.

He pulled back to look at her, a sudden suspicion dawning. “Jane, did you just make a joke?” She shook her head, but he could see the smile she was trying to hide. “You did!”

“A very small one, only,” she admitted uneasily.

He snorted and pulled her closer. “You can wash first,” he said, tightening his hold of her. “But if you’re in no hurry, we could remain like this a while, I suppose.” He felt beholden to at least feign indifference, though he felt strangely content to remain like this, rolled up in a sheet with her.

She gave a noncommittal murmur and settled her head against his chest. “Don’t fall asleep,” he cautioned with a yawn. “The water will go cold.” Jane did not even respond. Most likely, she was already dozing. Suddenly, he remembered the topaz choker. Feeling carefully around her neck until he found the clasp, he released it.

He couldn’t have that digging into her sensitive skin all night. He flung it over the edge of the bed and heard the dull thud as it hit the rug. Then he let sleep take him.

19

Jane woke in the early hours of the morning to find Alisander gently disentangling himself from her. She lay still and feigned sleep as he crept from the bed and washed in what she felt sure must be stone-cold water. He made next to no sound as he slipped into his dressing room next door and then emerged just as soundlessly to slip from their bedchamber.

She wondered for a moment what he was about, but then rolled over and fell back to sleep. When next she woke, he was sliding back under the covers beside her, pulling her into his arms. “Are you awake?” he whispered softly.

“No,” Jane grumbled, and she could feel his lips smile against her brow. It must have been a couple of hours later at least, that Wat brought in more water for them to wash. This time, Alisander rolled away from her at once, loudly complaining at the earliness of the hour and soundly berating his servant for being mistaken about the time. Wat, now engaged in lighting their fire, responded with great restraint.

Her husband then made a great show of stepping on one of the topaz necklaces and hopping around, clutching his foot, and complaining bitterly about wives who were careless of their jewelry. Jane could not maintain a dignified silence in the face of such provocation. “’Twas you who dropped them on the floor and not I,” she said as he heaped them carelessly onto a dresser.

“Nonsense.”

“Besides, they are not mine. You merely ‘commissioned them with me in mind,’” she reminded him.

“Of course, they’re yours.” He shrugged. “Did I not make that clear last night?”

“No, I don’t believe so.” She rolled onto her side to watch him as he took a hurried wash. His second of the morn, she reflected. “If they are for me, then I wonder you did not give them to me as a bridal gift,” she pondered aloud, “instead of your own belt and necklace, I mean.”

“I did not give them to you for a bridal gift because I wanted to see my own jewels on you,” he admitted. “Before you ask, I have no idea why. One gets these inclinations from time to time.”

Jane lay a while considering this. Court had been unbearable without her, that was what he had claimed the previous night, and that he always, always wanted her with him. She felt her cheeks grow warm. Of course, he was merely being theatrical when he used words like “desolated,” but perhaps, under his peacocking, there was a grain of truth and he had missed her.

She swallowed, suddenly realizing how badly she wanted to believe this to be true. My sweet dove, that was what he had called her, and her breath grew shallow remembering the expression on his face when he had said it. He had looked almost baffled by the words coming out of his own mouth, and his voice had been so gentle, despite the hard press of his flesh against hers.

She had been glad for that tender moment in the aftermath when he had fallen upon her and slaked his lust so vigorously. She pressed her legs together, feeling the lingering soreness there. In a way, it had been gratifying to see him so lost to his own urges, especially after he had wrung such a strong response from her body with his wicked, knowing fingers and his hot mouth. Why should she feel wracked by embarrassment, when he himself had been so completely abandoned chasing his own pleasure?

On the other hand, there was no mistaking that the final act had been altogether base and lacking in delicacy. Remembering how she had lain with her thighs spread open for his attentions, she felt a slight trepidation. He would have so much more to tease her about after such an encounter. Could she trust him, to realize such a thing would be beyond the pale for her?

She just could not be sure of him. He was a terribly teasing creature. The only thing she could be certain of was that, astonishingly, in his bed, he did not find her lacking. It was silly to feel so gratified about that, but she could not help it.

If he had looked even faintly bored with her, she would have been mortified, but there had been no fear of that. He had groaned loud enough to raise the dead when he had collapsed atop her, and his body had felt like a leaden weight atop of hers. Strange to say, she had not felt particularly awkward about being tangled up with him afterward or falling asleep in his embrace.

“What are you about this morn?” she heard herself ask, immediately wishing she had not sounded so wistful.

He glanced over at her. “You need not envy me,” he said with a grin. “I have a tedious meeting with one Alphonse Hubair to suffer through.”

Jane frowned. “Is he one of your fellow ambassadors?” He nodded. “What country does he represent?”

He discarded his drying cloth over his shoulder. “Kloberg,” he answered shortly.

“Oh. Kloberg is a great ally of the West—with Lascony,” she corrected herself. “Are they not?” She would have thought he would have been more enthusiastic about such a meeting.

“So, they say,” he answered airily, heading for his dressing room. It shut softly after him. No, he was definitely not interested in discussing his meeting with her, she reflected wryly. She would not feel forlorn about this. Such a thing would be silly.