Gerard’s expression suggested he thought his lordship had lost his mind.
“Or wherever is easiest,” Neville clarified. He didn’t want his needs to dominate the small room they shared on this, the first morning of their married life together. “I would like her ladyship to have some privacy this morning.”
Gerard nodded. “I will make the arrangements. Dressed as you are, might I suggest you descend by the servants’ stair?”
“Probably best.” Even redoubtable Lady Sarah would balk at his current state of undress.
He grabbed a clean shift for Millie from the neat stack of clothes, tucked it beneath his arm, and lifted the bucket. Then, he reentered the bedchamber.
She had not stirred, thank goodness.
He glanced between the washbasin, the stove and the bed. Should he pour out the extra water in the foot warmer first? Or tend to the coals?
He chose her comfort and slipped the footwarmer beneath the sheets before making his way to the grate. There, he followed Gerard’s instructions as quietly as he could.
Poker. Thin layer. Blue flame. More coal.
As heat came pouring out into the room, he’d outsized satisfaction that he’d managed such a simple, but functional, task.
“The maids are much quieter,” Millie spoke from the bed. “Then again, they have more experience, don’t they?”
“I am sorry for waking you.”
She smiled and his heart, too, glowed blue.
“You didn’t,” she answered. “My little toe touched an extraordinarily hot footwarmer.”
“The tin contains water instead of the usual sand and coal.” How inept he felt! “I should have left it above the covers. Are you hurt?”
“Not very.” She raised her brows over lazy eyes. “But I’d be obliged if you came back to bed and made me warmer still.”
He set aside the poker and crossed the room in three long strides. Then, he slid back between the covers and took his wife into his arms. Her skin was soft. Her body warm. A comforting sense of appreciation washed over him. Was she feeling the same?
“Are you sore?” He asked. “From last night, I mean.”
“Not as much as I expected to be. I expected there’d be blood.”
“I don’t think bleeding is as universal as believed, especially in ladies who have ridden astride.”
“Astride?” Her hair slid along his arm as she turned. “How do you know I’ve ridden astride?”
“Asquith told us.”
“Ah. Yes.” She chuckled. “You should know I only stole his clothes because Lenora wanted him stuck in that pond so that—”
“Please don’t tell me more,” he interrupted with a groan. “I’d a devil of a time getting the image of you out of my head—and that image was pleasant.”
She chuckled. “Well, I decided I might as well make use of his clothes while I had them. And I’d ridden astride before. Mr. Winter was of the belief I should learn in case…” Her voice faded.
“In case you needed to escape from your father,” he finished darkly.
She nodded. “I’m much more comfortable in a sidesaddle.”
He brushed her hair from her face. “I’m relieved.”
“I have done some outrageous things, I know. Eliza calls me the Clandestine Escape Scholar.” Pensive, she ran her gaze over his face. “All that is in the past. I won’t be an embarrassment to you, I promise.”
He kissed her head. “I am sorry I ever suggested you could be. And I promise I will not be the tyrant you feared.”