Page 92 of The Marriage Method

“There,” he said. “How’s that?”

She exhaled a breath he hadn’t been aware she’d been holding. “Much improved, thank you.”

A stab of tenderness took him unaware. She was more self-contained than she let on. Despite her recent confidences. Despite her kisses. Her true feelings ran deep—her discomfort, her disappointment, her sadness. He suspected she’d had years of practice concealing them.

“Most of the pain you’re feeling is from the swelling at the joint,” he said. “It will go down in a day or two. Until then, ice will help. I’ll have Mrs. Bright bring some up after you’ve eaten.”

Nell broke off another morsel of cake. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet,” he said.

“There’s plenty here.”

“Yes. For you.”

“You might at least have some tea. There are two cups.”

“The other is for your cocoa.”

“Tea and cocoa?” Her dimple appeared to the right of her mouth. “You must think me ravenous.”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, sheepishly admitting, “I didn’t know which you’d prefer.”

“Tea,” she said.

“What about jam?” he wondered. “Strawberry? Marmalade?”

“Strawberry. And no herring,” she added. “I dislike fish intensely.”

“Noted.” Miles committed her preferences to memory.

“And you?” she asked.

“Given a choice? Tea, strawberry, no herring. Otherwise…” He shrugged. “When I’m busy working, I eat whatever one of the clerks bring me.”

“Then you won’t mind eating some of this,” she said. “I’ll never finish it all on my own.” She gestured to an empty spot on the bed. “You can sit there if you like. There’s room now your cat has gone.”

Miles hesitated but a moment before succumbing to the temptation. He wasn’t, after all, made of stone. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he sank down across from her. The breakfast tray stood between them. He watched with solemn attention as Nell poured him out a cup of tea from the small silver pot. It was…

Wifely.

“As you see, I’m not entirely incapable without use of my right hand,” she said. “I can even sew with my left if I’m pressed.”

“No sewing,” Miles said as she passed him his teacup.

Her brows lifted. “You don’t mean to say you were serious about that?”

Ah.

So, she did remember last night.

“Given the amount of laudanum you took, I assumed you had forgotten our conversation,” he said.

A hint of color pinkened her cheeks. “I wouldn’t call it much of a conversation.”

An answering heat crept up Miles’s neck. “No,” he said a little gruffly. “I don’t suppose it was.”

She raised the silver teapot to fill her own cup. Her gold wedding band glinted on her finger. “In any case, you may as well attempt to prohibit me from breathing.”