Free Teaching the Earl by Amelia Hart

good."
    "Lovely. That will be all."
    "Right you are."
    Elizabeth was left in solitary splendor to enjoy her dry roast beef and sickly vegetables under a tidal wave of gravy, and anticipate the dubious Spotted Dick.

CHAPTER TEN
    The silence was impenetrable. Had there ever been stillness so complete? She had left a single candle alight on her nightstand, and the flame burned straight and unflinching. For hours she listened for noises from his bedchamber. There was nothing.
    Was he still downstairs? Or were the walls and door between them so thick she had not heard him? Surely set against the dead silence, any noise he made would be sudden as a thunderclap?
    With only a single light to hold back the hungry darkness, it was easy to imagine she was all alone. Everyone had left the house. There was only her here, and whatever ghosts lingered from centuries past. Horrid thoughts. She huddled down into the bed and the ropes below its ancient feather mattress creaked.
    There was the loud click of a door latch, then muffled footsteps across the floor in the next room.
    It was him. It must be. She sat up, eased to the side and clutched the edge of the mattress.
    She must go apologize to him. It could not be delayed, or she would never sleep, and the tension of their disagreement - and the wedding night yet to come - would only grow.
    Her feet were silent in the cold, gritty carpet. She pulled her wrapper from a chair and thrust her arms in the sleeves, doubled it over as far as possible at the front and then tied it very tight. He must not think her too forward, to come to him like this. Should she dress again? But that was foolish, if he should want to undress her. This was a good compromise. She was covered from neck to ankle-The idea he might want to undress her made it difficult to concentrate. What would his face look like as he approached her? Would he smile? Would she please him? Not every man enjoyed a deep-bosomed, dimpled wife, no matter what fashion said. She squeezed one hand tight within the other until the skin burned.
    She could still hear the faint sound of movement from his room. Now! It must be now, before he went to sleep and it was too late.
    The marble doorknob was an icy shock on her sweating palm.
    The next room glowed with light from a candelabra and also the fire he had lit in the grate. Outlined against it was his body. He still wore breeches but his shirt was gone and orange firelight picked out the sweeping curves of lean muscles tight in around his shoulders and back. They flexed as he leaned to hook his robe from a footstool, and when he swept it around so it engulfed him and cloaked his body, she was disappointed. He tied it with brisk inattention and turned away from the fire.
    Although his face was in shadow she knew the exact moment he saw her for he stilled.
    The fire crackled.
    "Madam wife?" he asked in the politest tone, cool and distant.
    "I'm sorry I was so rude. I should not have called you a name, or been bad-tempered. It was very wrong of me."
    He sighed . "A handsome apology," he said, but his tone was bland. Did it even matter to him?
    He turned to the tall-backed chair behind him. There was another beside it, and he gestured her to it and waited for her to sit before he did. "No doubt I should offer an apology too. I do not mean to make you miserable. I know this place lacks the comforts to which you are accustomed. I'm sorry for that, too. In time-But no, you don't want to hear that again. So let us not be so medieval. I will keep it to 'I'm sorry' and hope you'll be forgiving." Still his voice was dull, as if he spoke what he thought he should, not what he actually felt.
    His lack of clothing distracted her. She could see all of his neck, deep into the shadowed cleft of his collarbone and further, to where his chest was furred. Her own hand crept up to pull the sides of her robe in tight around her neck. She lifted her feet away from the chill floor into the folds of her wrapper, and