Behind the Courtesan - By Bronwyn Stuart Page 0,61
body tingled, her mind rebelled. What did this mean for their future?
She shook her head. They didn’t have a future. Both had been drunk and naked. Neither would have been able to walk away from that. She felt a little better knowing it wasn’t her fault even though she had been the one to instigate it. Sort of.
“I know you’re awake.” Despite the gravity of what they’d done, his husky morning voice sent shivers through her body.
“No I’m not,” she replied, her eyes still closed and her own voice pitched lower than she’d intended. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away. Her dignity needed it in that moment.
“You’ll have to face me eventually, Sophie. I’m not going anywhere.”
That’s what she was afraid of. She sighed and opened her eyes, squinting for a moment against the harshness of the bright sunshine streaming in through the open curtains. “Good morning.” It seemed the only appropriate response.
He seemed to assess her, but for what she had no idea. And when had he dressed? She was normally such a light sleeper. It was scary that she hadn’t woken. Scarier still that she could almost imagine the past fourteen years had been a nightmare and she’d finally woken to the life she was meant to lead. With him.
“Are you all right?” Blake asked, his gaze full of concern as he leaned over her, his hair falling over his brow. She longed to reach up and run her fingers through it.
“I’m quite fine, thank you. And you? Your ribs seem to be recovering well.” She injected just a touch of wry accusation into her tone when she remembered how miraculously he’d healed last night. They’d left for the dance with him limping a little and favoring his right arm still, but when he’d thrust into her body, held himself poised above her, held her tight, it was evident his injuries weren’t as bad as he’d made them seem. “Why didn’t you tell me you were better?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to do too much too soon.”
He lied, but she let him. That grin that was so ingrained in him stretched his lips and she wanted him to lean down and press his mouth to hers. But that was a bad idea. A terrible idea. “What do we do now?”
“Now?”
She pulled the bed coverings tighter over her chest and sat up, forcing him to do the same. “Where do we go from here?”
“I’m going to the kitchen to get started on breakfast. I’m due at a town meeting about the bridge at midday.”
“We aren’t going to discuss what happened here?”
“I think we both know what happened here.”
Sophie wasn’t sure if he was being deliberately obtuse or stubbornly pigheaded. Maybe both. “And I think we need to talk about it. About last night as well.”
“Are they two different events?”
Sophie would have slammed her hands down on her hips if she hadn’t held the sheets in a death grip. His flippancy fueled her anger as she recalled more and more of the night before. “You know what I’m talking about. The villagers are miserable under Blakiston’s poor excuse for a rule.”
“Oh, that.” His gaze dropped and he stood, giving her his broad back.
“Yes that. What are you doing about the high taxes and levies?”
“What can I do? If you think he’ll listen to me, then you have rocks in your head.”
“So you’ll stand by and let your people be bullied?” She climbed from the bed and stood, only a blanket and sheet to hide behind.
He spun to face her, fury glittered in his eyes. “They aren’t my people, Sophie.”
“You may not be the legal duke, but they look to you. They respect your opinion and treasure your advice. You could go to Blakiston, you could get him to act.”
“You are too romantic in your observations. They ask me because I know this area better than most. They ask me because they fear my temper, not because they see me as a bastard duke.”
“You could have been a real duke.”
“I am a bastard, not a duke. Is that what this is about? Do you wish me a duke, Sophie? Do you feel as though you lowered yourself by sleeping with a commoner and a farmer at that? Should I pay you or was that one free?”
Deep inside her chest, Sophie’s heart gave one thump and then an eternity later, another, and then split in two. “That’s not fair. Not fair to me or to you.”