Page 52 of A Foolish Flirtation

“Good morning, Emmeline,” her husband said. “Can I come in?”

“Oh yes, of course,” she answered, feeling quite flustered.

He came into the room at once, resplendent in a long smoking robe of quilted black and gold. He was clearly en dishabille, for his curling hair was not in its usual immaculate style but looked tousled, tumbling around his brow. Predictably, it did not detract from his good looks.

He sat down first on the bed, and then swung his legs up and lay down flat beside her, crossing his ankles and placing his hands behind his head. He turned his head to look at her, asking politely, “How did you sleep?”

“Very well, thank you,” she answered.

“You found the bed comfortable?”

“Yes. Have you, er, been awake long?” she asked, determined to hold her own in the conversation. He nodded, but did not elaborate, his eyes running over her, making her skin prickle. Noticing the direction of his gaze, Emmie glanced quickly down at the neckline of her nightgown but found all was decent.

“Did Madame de Flores make you any new nightgowns, Ballentine?” he asked casually, and Emmie flushed. “What?” he asked, noticing her embarrassment. “You’re surely not so bashful, wife, that the mere mention of nightgowns can put you to blush!”

“Certainly not!” she responded, feeling stung. “I just thought, well, that you were—”

“Admiring your magnificent bosom?” he suggested lazily.

She turned quite bright red. “Well, yes,” she admitted, “but now I find it was merely the tattiness of my nightgown that caught your attention, which is not at all flattering.”

He gave a sudden laugh. “If I could see your bosom to admire it, then I would,” he assured her. “But alas, I cannot through that horror of a nightdress.”

“Madame promised to send on the rest of my trousseau. I lost track of what she was making but it’s possible there may be a nightgown included.”

“Let us devoutly hope so.”

“I am sorry you find it so repellent,” she retorted with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“I don’t find it remotely repellent,” he countered swiftly. “I am merely trying to be accommodating. Let me know if my efforts are not appreciated and I will drop the semblance at once.”

Emmie pounced on his words gratefully. So, he had been trying to be thoughtful! She sagged against the pillows with relief.

He slid his slippered foot across the mattress to nudge her own concealed beneath the covers. “I wish you would tell me what you are thinking, Ballentine,” he said slyly.

After all, why not? “Is that why you did not sleep in the same bed as me last night?” she asked frankly.

For a moment he looked quite stunned, and Emmie could not hold his gaze. “Do you see that door over there, Ballentine?” he asked, nodding toward the opposite side of the room.

Emmie glanced in that direction and saw a discreet door, papered over like the wall. “Just about,” she answered.

“It connects my bedroom to yours,” he explained.

“Oh?”

He nodded. “The key is on your side,” he said significantly. When Emmie continued to gaze at him blankly, he elaborated. “If you are agreeable to a conjugal visit, then you must unlock the door to let me know that fact.”

“Oh,” Emmie repeated, “well, no one explained that to me.”

The expression on his face wavered. “I have a suspicion I am going to regret asking this,” he said, “but would you have unlocked it last night?”

“Yes,” she admitted simply.

He groaned and covered his face with his hand. “Emmeline, how could you do this to me?”

“You know I am not yet familiar with the finer points of marital etiquette,” she said defensively.

“Yes, I suppose that is true,” he admitted, peering through his fingers at her. “But even so…”