Page 65 of Kathryn

“It is time for bed.”

Her breathing hitched, not just at his words, but at the unmistakable flare of heat that warmed his cold eyes.

“Er, just let me put all this back into the basket.”

“Would it not be easier to leave it out until you have finished?”

“Yes, it would. But”—she gestured to the mess— “it is unsightly.” She didn’t feel it was necessary to point out just how much he disliked clutter.

“Leave it for tonight. I will not work in here until tomorrow evening. You can finish it then.”

She was about to tell him that she would probably work on it tomorrow because…what else did she have to do? But instead, she merely nodded. After all, it was the first time he had indicated a willingness to spend time with her, even if they didn’t actually converse while they were in the same room.

He held out his hand and she set hers in his large warm palm and allowed him to help her to her feet. They did not speak as they made their way to their rooms.

He stopped at her door, opened it, and said, “I will come to you in half an hour.”

For once, Becky was not bustling around Katie’s chambers. Rather than ring for her, Katie removed her jewelry and began to undress, gazing around as she did so. Jeremy and Jacob had removed the landscapes from her bedchamber, but they had found places for them in her private sitting room, which was not at all as spartan as her bedchamber.

Among the many suggestions Betje had made was that Katie should resist Dulverton’s reordering of her private space. That seemed needlessly combative, especially as it was not a matter she cared enough about. Just the thought of confronting her cold-eyed husband about his decorating requirements, not to mention demanding that he discharge his mistress—Betje’s most outrageous suggestion—left her feeling exhausted. Katie was tired of arguing and rebelling; she needed time to rest and recoup and then—maybe—she might take some of Betje’s suggestions.

Katie had unbuttoned two of the six buttons on the back of her gown and was twisting it around so that she could reach the rest when the door opened and Becky bustled into the room.

“Oh, I am sorry, Your Grace!”

“I undressed myself for years, Becky, it is hardly a catastrophe if I have to do so again on occasion.”

Becky clucked her tongue and speedily and efficiently stripped Katie down to her chemise.

“Where were you?” Katie asked as her maid pulled the pins from her hair.

“Oh. Er, Mr. Court was showing me his special method for laundering bed linen.”

Katie blinked. “What?”

But Becky had gone into the dressing room to fetch a nightgown and didn’t hear her.

“Does the duke not employ washerwomen?” she asked when Becky came out a moment later, bustling around her and refusing to meet Katie’s eyes. “Are you blushing?”

“Of course not! I just hurried to get up here and am a bit winded.” Becky yanked the chemise over Katie’s head.

“Ow! You caught my ear.”

“I beg your pardon,” Becky said, not sounding particularly contrite.

Katie caught a brief glance at Becky’s even redder face before her maid dropped her nightgown over her head.

“You should have waited until I put your gown on to unpin your hair. It is a mare’s nest.”

“You are exaggerating; it’s only a foal’s nest. So, tell me about this laundry you were doing.”

“’Tis naught,” Becky muttered, her color deepening. “Just that His Grace is somewhat particular about his bed linens. Mr. Court said he is especially sensitive to textures. And as he—” she worried her lower lip. “As he, er…”

“Are you trying to say comes to my bed?”

“Just so, Miss Saucebox,” Becky snapped, her face fiery, now.

Katie laughed.