(Almost, #2) Almost a Bride by Jane Feather

Author:Jane Feather [Feather, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2007-11-14T23:13:30+00:00

Next door in her own chamber Arabella lay drowsily in a hip bath before the fire, her hair piled in a knot on top of her head, out of the way of the water. Sprigs of dried lavender floated around her.

Becky bustled around from armoire to bed. “A sprig of rosemary on the pillow, my lady,” she said. “It freshens the linen beautifully. I found a bush in the square garden this afternoon. Didn’t expect to find something like that in the city . . . and will you wear the silk negligee? With the satin slippers and the lace cap?”

“No cap, no slippers,” Arabella said lazily. “You may lay out the gown, Becky, and then leave me.”

file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EBoo...lmost%20a%20Bride/Feat_0553901362_oeb_c12_r1.htm (2 of 11) [11/14/2007 5:12:31 PM]

AlmostaBride

“Very well, ma’am.” Becky offered a conspiratorial smile that Arabella tried with dignity to ignore but failed utterly. She and Becky had been together too long for secrets, and the maid, for all her air of youthful innocence, was country bred and well aware of what went on in a conjugal bed.

Becky gave one final twitch to the coverlet, one final adjustment to the lace ruff on the peignoir that lay ready on the bed, checked that the candles were burning brightly and the fire well fed, then curtsied and withdrew.

Next door, Jack heard the sudden silence in his wife’s bedchamber and he knew she was now alone.

Louis had finished shaving him and reverently laid out a turquoise silk banyan on the bed, fussing over the set of the lapels, the drape of the folds, the fringe of the sash.

“I can manage from now on, Louis,” the duke said, trying to hide his impatience with the valet’s exacting attention.

The valet bowed and backed out of the room, closing the corridor door behind him with exaggerated softness.

Jack, in his stockinged feet, strode to the door that led to the adjoining chamber and opened it. The scent of lavender and rosemary met him first, then came the sight of his wife in her bath, her skin rosy from the warm water, her hair a damp and tangled knot on top of her head. She turned her head indolently against the side of the bath and gazed at him. He wore only britches and shirt, the latter opened carelessly at the throat. His hair was as usual tied back with a black velvet ribbon and the skin of his throat and neck was sun-browned after their weeks of Indian summer in the country. She said slowly, appreciatively, “I give you good evening, your grace.”

Jack came over to the bath and stood looking down at her, his eyes hooded. “A most delightful sight,” he murmured. “All dewy, pink, and delicate, like a rosebud waiting to open . . . or be opened.” A lazy smile curved his fine mouth.

He knelt beside the tub, rolling his shirtsleeves to his elbows, making of each turn a sensual, languid movement full of a promise that made her blood run swift and sent a jolt of anticipation through her loins.

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