Free Lady in Green by Bárbara Metzger

could kill, that one would leave him a soprano.
    *
    Only one candle was left burning in the large chamber. By its soft light he could see Corinne’s long, dark hair spread out on the pillow. A bottle of wine stood nearly empty on the bedside table. He smiled. The flame in the hearth and the fire in his loins weren’t to be the only glows this evening.
    “Corinne?” She didn’t move. “Corinne, my sweet?”
    He leaned over the bed. Her red lips were curved up in a smile, but she was fast asleep. “I hope you’re dreaming of me, my pet. I know just how to awaken a sleeping beauty.”
    Once in the dressing room, the earl couldn’t get his clothes off fast enough. He didn’t bother lighting another candle; the fireplace from the bed chamber offered enough light for him to find a maroon velvet robe carefully draped over the back of a chair. Its satin lining next to his skin heightened sensations already at fever pitch. So what if he had to roll the sleeves back a bit? The velvet in his fingers made his toes quiver. He quickly slipped his feet into the matching slippers. And winced. Ah, well, he’d go barefoot. The rug was thick, the rooms were warm….
    “Blast!” He immediately tripped over the hem of the robe, stubbing his toes and slamming his shoulder into the edge of the dressing table. By George, he thought, rubbing the painful joint, it would take a giant to fill this robe. He was right: Mrs. Lee knew nothing about men. Luckily, Corinne did.
    “Corinne?” he called softly. Then he pulled back the bedcovers and discovered Corinne’s ample charms laid out for him in a nearly transparent gown. He forgot all about housekeepers and hurt shoulders. Something was aching, and it wasn’t his toes. He climbed into the bed next to her and kissed her awake.
    “Huh?”
    “Corinne darling, it’s Gard. Wake up.”
    Corinne rolled away from his seeking mouth, whacking him on the chin with a limp hand as she turned. This was not quite the reception he had in mind. He put his hand on her nearly bare back, and the girl made a soft, moaning sound. That was more like it.
    He trailed kisses where his hand had been, and she moaned again, louder. This time she followed the sound with a disgruntled “Oh, go away.”
    “Corinne?”
    She pulled a pillow over her head. “I said go away. I have a headache.”
    A headache? He thought only wives got headaches.
    Perhaps she’d feel better after a nap, he reasoned, deciding he may as well assuage another hunger while he waited. Gard vaguely recalled eating a few pieces of stale cake in King Street. He only hoped Mrs. Tuthill’s cooking was as good as he’d imagined; Lud knew he deserved that something should be this night.
    He considered changing back to his clothes to face Mrs. Lee downstairs but, dash it, this was his house. If she was offended by his immodesty, she could leave. Then again, no one told the old besom to wait up; she was most likely contentedly asleep on her cold, narrow pallet. Good. He was certainly capable of serving himself. If he didn’t trip over the damn fool robe on his way down the steps.
    He was holding up the hem like a belle making her come-out, feeling a total nodcock even before he caught sight of the housekeeper sitting by a candle in the hall. She adjusted her spectacles and put the book she was reading in a pocket before he could catch the title. Sermons, no doubt.
    “You needed something, my lord?”
    The blasted woman was staring at his bare feet. He released the fabric in his hand. “Miss Browne isn’t feeling quite the thing.”
    “I am sorry, my lord. Shall I send Uncle Rob for a physician?”
    “No, no, I doubt that will be necessary. She says it’s just a headache.”
    Annalise nodded. “Perhaps she had a bit too much to drink.” Then again, Annalise thought, perhaps Miss Browne had just enough laudanum. She couldn’t help the tiniest of smiles from escaping. “I noticed the bottle was half empty when I checked the fire. Perhaps I