The Malorie Phoenix by Janet Mullany

Author:Janet Mullany [Mullany, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TKA Distribution
Published: 2013-08-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

"To whom are you writing?" The words were scarcely out of Benedict’s mouth before he regretted them.

Both women, Evelina and that slant-eyed sullen maid of hers, regarded him with something between dislike and disdain. Well, the bedchamber door was open, it was broad daylight...he was damned if he would apologize. It was perfectly natural for a husband to visit his wife’s bedchamber, to wish her a good morning.

In answer to his reply, she folded the letter and handed it to her maid. "It is an order to my dressmaker."

Her maid dropped a curtsey that had nothing of subservience about it, and offered the folded paper to him.

"Good God, no." He waved her away.

"Beg your pardon, my lord." A footman was at his elbow, with a cup and saucer. "For her ladyship."

Benedict stepped aside to let the man pass, wondering what she had requested—it looked like some sort of herbal infusion. For one horrified moment he wondered if it was some feminine brew to avert pregnancy, or rid herself of another man’s child.

The footman bowed and left.

"Are you well?" He asked, dreading the answer.

"Perfectly, thank you." She took a sip from the cup. "Marie, you may go. Do come in, Trevisan."

"Thank you." For some reason he felt extraordinarily pleased that she should invite him into the room and send her maid away.

"There is a frightful draft with the door open," she continued.

So he might as well have stayed on the other side.

She looked at him with a polite, interested expression on her face.

"I wished to enquire after your health," he said.

"You already did. I am slightly out of sorts with my female condition, and since you know all about breeding I shall not bore you further. But how is your health? I trust your head does not pain you."

The relief that she was not with child by another man must have shown too clearly on his face. She drained the cup and placed it rather too carefully on the saucer, nudging it to the exact center of the small round table beside her.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "You saved my life, and I should not be an ingrate."

"You should not, indeed." She rose to her feet, rubbing the small of her back absently with one hand.

He stood too. "Does your back pain you?"

"A little. It is no matter." She rested her other hand against the mantelpiece, her face turned away from him.

"Allow me." He placed one hand on her back, his knuckles rubbing in small circles. He loved that part of a woman, the dip prefacing the swell of her hips, and he noted with pleasure how even his difficult, touchy wife responded. She felt wonderful under his hand, lithe and receptive.

She tightened at first and then relaxed, arching her back like a cat.

He moved closer to her, brushing up against her, her scent rising faintly to his nose.

A small sigh escaped her and she rested her elbows on the mantelpiece. "You’re very skilled, Lord Trevisan. Do your mares appreciate this also?"

"They require much more pressure.

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