Page 46 of The Marriage Method

Nell relinquished Miles’s hand. “Well, I suppose I should retire.”

“You better had,” Miles said gravely.

Their eyes met and held.

And it seemed to him that something passed between them. Something starkly intimate. Perilously close to tenderness. His chest constricted with the ache of it.

He thought she might say something more, or perhaps do something more.

But Nell didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything. She simply turned abruptly and, bidding him a civil good night, accompanied the housekeeper out of the room.

12

Nell’s heart was beating so heavily she could barely attend to Mrs. Bright’s words as the housekeeper gave her a tour of her new rooms.

Good lord. What was that? That throb of unnameable longing that had passed between her and Miles in the dining room? Nell had never felt anything like it in her life.

It took her a full five minutes to get her pulse under control. Only then was she able to take in the candlelit grandeur of her new chamber.

And it was grand.

Carpeted in pale floral Aubusson and furnished in elegant style, it was easily five times the size of her bedroom at the Academy. An immense curtained four-poster bed stood at the heart of it, flanked by matching mahogany wardrobes. Two overstuffed upholstered armchairs were arrayed in front of a marble fireplace, heavy silk draperies covered the windows (multiple windows!), and in the corner stood a delicately carved dressing table, its surface adorned with a bouquet of white gardenias in a porcelain vase. Similar bouquets of gardenias graced the mantelshelf and the table next to the bed.

Nell bent to smell the ones that stood on the dressing table, inhaling their sweet, sultry fragrance. They were so perfect they didn’t look real. “What gorgeous flowers.” She glanced up at Mrs. Bright. “Are they from the gardens?”

“Oh no, ma’am. These are shop bought.” The housekeeper laid out Nell’s prim muslin nightgown and gray flannel dressing gown across the end of the bed. “Mr. Quincey was quite specific. Gardenias, his wire said. I presumed they were your favorite.”

Nell slowly straightened from the bouquet, a queer feeling settling in her breast. She didn’t know how to reply. Gardenias were her favorite flower, but she knew for a fact that she’d never mentioned that to Miles.

Mrs. Bright smiled at Nell’s confusion. “The master wanted your room to be comfortable for you. He set it all down to the letter. The rest of us are merely following his instructions, though we are very happy to welcome you home, ma’am.”

Home.

Nell traced the waxen leaves of one of the snowy white flowers with her fingertip, thinking of her new room, her new life.

Her new husband.

Mrs. Bright held out her arm. “Come, Mrs. Quincey. The bathing room is this way. Gladys has got the water piping hot in the tub for you.”

• • • • •

More than an hour later, after a long soak in the copper tub, Nell was curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs in front of a crackling fire, finishing the final stitches on a sampler, when a knock sounded at her door.

By rights, she should have already retired. She was weary enough for it in body. Yet the wheels of her mind wouldn’t stop turning. Her surroundings were too strange and the past two days too full of tumult.

Not to mention that this was her wedding night.

Rather than spend what remained of it staring uselessly into the flames as she waited for her hair to dry, Nell had retrieved her tapestry workbag and begun the painstaking process of sewing a coded message to Miss Corvus. If Nell finished it tonight, she could post it to the Academy first thing in the morning.

“Come in,” she called out distractedly, expecting another visit from the maid.

The door opened. It wasn’t the maid. It was Miles. He was in his shirtsleeves, his tie loosened, and his hair rumpled as though he’d lately been raking his fingers through it.

Nell’s eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. Despite everything, she hadn’t anticipated…

But here he was.

He stopped at the threshold, taking in the sight of her unbound hair, uncorseted figure, and bare toes peeping beneath her hem in one comprehensive glance. An odd expression passed across his face. Shock? Alarm? Desire? Nell couldn’t tell. It was gone before she could grasp it.