Page 57 of An Inconvenient Vow

He hurried away and Sabina drifted about the shadowy room, examining the gleaming plate and polished glass as Jeffree sat in a chair and started pulling off his boots.

“They certainly saw to the bishop’s comfort,” she murmured. “Why, it is fit for a lord in here.”

Jeffree grunted. “Oh, they don’t stint themselves at the top,” he commented wryly. “Not in my experience.”

“I do not remember the Bishop of Ganford’s residence being quite so richly furnished as this.”

Jeffree frowned. “I doubt you saw the inside of his bedchamber.”

Sabina flushed. “Of course not!”

“Well, there you go then. For all you know, old Risdale sleeps on satin sheets and eats off gold plates.”

Sabina thought of the watery-eyed bishop with his bony hands and thinning hair and could not quite believe he lived so luxuriously behind closed doors. She was just trying to imagine him lying atop six feather ticks like a prince when the door creaked open. Half a dozen monks glided in and started industriously building the fire, pouring wine, and lighting the candlesticks.

None of them would meet Sabina’s eyes or even draw down their hoods. Seeing her puzzled gaze, Jeffree beckoned to her. She hastened to his side. “Brother Michael is the only one permitted to speak,” he murmured in her ear.

“Truly?”

He nodded. “This is a silent order.”

Unsure what else to do, and feeling vastly out of place, Sabina plunked herself down into the chair beside her husband’s. He poured her wine and she sipped at the goblet. It was not long before the fire was lit and the monks once more melted away.

“Do you suppose I am the first woman to sleep in this bedchamber?” she asked as the thought occurred to her.

“Most likely,” Jeffree concurred, unfastening his cuffs. “Wash now, while the water is hot.”

Sabina stood up and made her way to the carved table where the steaming basin and ewer stood. “This room is even fancier than your own at Ganford Chase,” she commented, drawing out the pins to remove her headdress. Hearing a rustle and realizing he was stripping down to his braies, she held her tongue, removing her wimple and setting it to one side.

Her mind raced as she reached for the soap flakes. For some reason, it appeared Sir Jeffree wanted to keep her close. Why? Could it really be concern for her first time out of her home county? Or was this another aspect of his pursuing their supposed future together? She scrubbed her neck with the washcloth and ventured a glance over her shoulder. He had his back to her and was rolling the chauses down his muscular legs.

Sabina turned hastily back to the washbowl, her face hot. She needed to remember how she had determined to deal with him. What was her strategy? This was the problem, she thought as she dunked the cloth in the soapy bowl and wrung it out. He kept wrong-footing her and her plan kept flying out of the window.

Something about using Jeffree’s contrariness against him, she recalled as she scrubbed her face. That was it. She would turn the tables on him, initiating intimacy and he would back away in alarm. She flung down the cloth and squared her shoulders. Now was probably a good time to try it, before he started getting carried away with this idea that their marriage could… function.

Taking a deep breath, Sabina pivoted around. To her surprise, she found herself faced with the broad expanse of Jeffree’s chest. “Oh!” She jumped back, slamming into the table and almost upsetting the bowl. “I did not—had not realized you were there,” she blurted, sounding like a flustered idiot.

“Are you finished?” he asked coolly, lifting a blond brow at her. Sabina practically gnashed her teeth at his infuriating calm.

“Quite. I was going to empty out the water for you…” She trailed off.

“I can do it.” He stepped up to the table and Sabina scampered off like a scared rabbit to undress. Internally, she cursed herself. Why, oh why do I keep getting discomposed? She wasn’t usually so timid. It was infuriating! She unlaced her boots and then her wrists and bodice as she took steadying breaths, reminding herself that she needed to stay calm and focused. Jeffree was the one who was going to be unsettled, not her!

By the time she had stepped out of her gown and draped it on the nearest chair, she had reined in her nerves once more. Blowing out the majority of the candles, she sat on the bed in her shift, unpinning her coiled braids. It was not until she had removed the very last pin that she realized Jeffree’s eyes were on her. Turning her head, she saw that he was leaning his hip against the table and watching her as he rubbed a drying cloth over his head.

Did he dunk his whole head in the bowl? she wondered distractedly. And wasn’t he cold stood there clad only in his braies? Giving herself a slight shake, she threw back the sumptuous bed covers and slid under them. “Aren’t you coming to bed?” she asked, sounding more challenging than seductive. Inwardly, she winced. She was useless at this. Hopefully, Jeffree was too inexperienced to notice.

Instead of answering, Jeffree discarded the cloth and crossed the floor, climbing into the opposite side. This time, the mattress was so vast there was no need for their limbs to touch. Typical, thought Sabina. The one time a small bed would have been useful and there was not one to be found. Turning her head on the pillow bearer she found Jeffree already steadily contemplating her.

“Wh-what is it?” she croaked, sounding about as far from a siren as was possible.

“I want to…” Jeffree’s words were gruff, his eyes studiously avoiding hers. “I want to touch your hair. Can I?”

Oh. “You want me to let it loose, you mean?” she asked. To her surprise, he shook his head. “You want to touch my braids?” Sabina tried not to show her surprise, but from his embarrassed expression guessed she had not entirely succeeded. “Of course, if you want to,” she said quickly.

The words were barely out of her mouth before he slid across the mattress to her side. Sabina found herself holding her breath as he reached out a hand toward her, his fingers closing about one of her thick braids, gliding lightly over the pattern of woven strands. The look on his face was of total absorption as he followed the length of her braid from her ear to her waist. When he reached the end, he seemed to hesitate before wrapping it about his hand three times. He gave a light tug. “You have good hair. Strong,” he added, still gazing at the braid looped about his hand.

Sabina gazed at him. Strong? “Thank you?” she ventured.