Iris nodded to herself, pleased with her logic, and quietly walked further into the room. She stood at the side of the high, wide bed, the Earl still thrashing about in the centre. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to join him on the bed if she was to free him from his torment.
Reminding herself that it was only a scandal if people knew and were talking about it, she placed the candlestick on his bedside table, gathered up the folds of the voluminous nightshirt and climbed onto the bed.
What would her mother say if she could see her now? Iris hated to think. While she might be commended for her concern over someone in distress, she knew her mother would not be able to excuse her daughter from joining a man in his bed.
But your mother is someone else who will never know.
The Earl continued to twist and turn, his head tossing from side to side on the pillow. She reached down and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, which were slick with sweat. He turned towards her and clung on like a drowning man. He needed help, needed her, so to hell with propriety. No matter what anyone might or might not say, Iris knew she was doing the right thing.
She pulled him closer to her body, placed his head on her shoulder, and gently stroked his hair. That was what her mother had always done when she was a child and having a bad dream, and it had always provided such comfort.
‘There, there, you’re safe now,’ she said in the same soothing voice her mother had always used. ‘I’m here now. Everything is going to be all right,’ she added. It was also what her mother would have said.
His thrashing became less intense and she smiled. Yes, she was doing the right thing, and surely no one could disapprove, even if the Earl’s chest was bare and he was possibly completely naked. She had no idea what state he was in under the twisted sheets, and, as a well-brought-up young lady, she should not even be speculating.
She gently ran her hand across his sweat-soaked brow, brushing back his damp hair.
His thrashing subsided further but he continued to gasp out no, no, repeatedly.
She tilted her head and leant it gently on top of his. ‘There’s nothing to fear,’ she murmured. ‘I’m here now and nothing or no one will hurt you.’ Her lips were close to his forehead, so she gently kissed him, telling herself that she was merely doing what her mother would have done.
He relaxed in her arms, although his breathing was still laboured. He was mumbling, and she could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He needed her, needed to be comforted.
Her kisses moved down slightly to his cheek. Just to comfort him, of course, for no other reason. Then her lips lightly skimmed his lips. That was purely to still his fevered mutterings in the best way she could think of, for absolutely no other reason.
And it worked. Proving that she had nothing to admonish herself for. His breathing settled down and he relaxed completely in her arms, his still head resting on her shoulder, his chest pressed against hers.
She should go now, gently lower him back onto the bed and quietly slip away. The demons had left him and there was no reason for her to remain.
But she stayed, enjoying the feeling of having this muscular man in her arms. Loving the sensation of holding him. She placed her hand on his chest. His heart was still rapidly pounding. That convinced her.
She needed to stay. It would be wrong to leave until he had completely settled down. Once she had confirmation that the demons had completely left his mind then she would depart. In the meantime, there was no reason why she shouldn’t continue to have her arms wrapped around him, his head on her shoulder. It was only right and proper.
She nodded, as if, since she was alone in the room, there was no one else to give her permission, so she granted it to herself. Her hand continued to rest on his chest, feeling the strong pounding of his heart, then moved slowly across the sweat-slickened muscles of his chest, causing her own heart to increase its furious beating. In the warm light of the flickering candle, his skin appeared bathed in a golden glow, showing off his sculpted muscles to perfection. He really was rather magnificent. Her fingers traced a line over his shoulders, and she could sense their strength and power. It was as if he had been chiselled out of marble, except that he was warm and very much alive. She traced her finger along a prominent vein that ran the length of his upper arm, then back up again.
Slowly her hand moved up his neck, to his cheek, running across the dark stubble of his unshaven face. When she had first met him, she had been tempted to place her finger in the cleft in the middle of his chin. So that was what she did now. After all, she thought, smiling to herself, she might never get another opportunity.
His face was now completely composed. She placed her hand back on his chest, just to check that he was indeed settled. His heart had returned to a regular rhythm. She had her confirmation. There was no justification for staying a moment longer.
She paused and touched his chest one more time. His heart now pounded slowly and strongly under her fingers. He was completely recovered. It was all over. It was time she left.
As gently as possible she unwrapped her arms from around his chest and lowered his head back to the pillow. Then, moving as slowly as she could, making sure she caused no disturbance, she eased herself to the side of the bed, determined not to wake the Earl, who was now sleeping restfully.
But she failed.
He sprang up. Jumped off the bed and turned towards her, his body rigid.
‘What? Where?’ his panicked voice cried out. His arms flailed in the air, his breath coming in quick, harsh gasps. Then his arms dropped to his sides. His spine straightened and he pulled back his shoulders.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, his voice cold.
Iris wasn’t sure if the you he was referring to was her or someone in his dream, but as she was the only other person present she decided she had better respond.
‘It’s just me. Iris Springfeld.’
‘I know who you are. What are you doing here, in my room?’
‘How did you know it was me?’ After all, he couldn’t see her and a few moments ago he thought he was being attacked by some invisible demon or other.
‘Your scent. You smell of orange blossom, and the rosewater you presumably apply to your face.’
And you smell all masculine and lemony, Iris was tempted to inform him, but instead she bit her lip to stop that embarrassing revelation from escaping.
‘Answer my question,’ he said sharply. ‘What are you doing in my room, in my bed?’
Good question. What was she still doing here? She looked over at him and her hand shot up to cover her mouth, but not quickly enough to stop a small squeak of surprise from escaping. He was scowling at her, but presumably he didn’t know he was completely naked.
She was in a bedroom with a naked man. Now, this really was scandalous. And what was even more scandalous was that she was staring at him as if she had every right to do so.
Her hands flew to her eyes to cover them from the sight they had just seen, something a young lady should never see before her wedding night. Then, as if with a will of their own, her fingers slowly splayed open and she peeped out at the naked man standing in front of her.
Her hands moved from her eyes, where they were serving no purpose, and covered her mouth to stop any further gasps from escaping. She should not be doing this. It was so wrong. But how could she not? He was standing in front of her. Naked.
‘Well, are you going to answer me?’ he demanded.
Iris tried to answer, but instead she merely gulped and continued to stare at him.
And she wanted to do more than just stare. The temptation to run her hands over him was almost overwhelming, and her fingers were actually itching to do so. She swallowed again, lowered her hands from her mouth and tucked them under her legs, as if they needed to be restrained from doing what they longed to do.
This reall
y was a shocking situation for any young lady to find herself in. Her intentions on entering his room had been honourable, but some of her subsequent behaviour had been decidedly improper. If he was horrified to find her in his room, heaven only knew what he would think if he realised that she had stroked his cheek, his chest, his lips.
‘I...um... I was just...’
He placed his hands on his hips, waiting for the explanation that she was finding herself incapable of forming.
Her mind was too occupied by what she was seeing. While she was trying to tell herself to behave, to answer his questions and leave as quickly as possible, the part of her brain that controlled her eyes was not listening. They continued their own unforgivable progress down his body, taking in the dark hair on his chest, which thinned out into a line as it moved down his flat stomach. Her hand flew back to her mouth to cover the gasp that threatened to escape as her gaze moved lower.
She should not be looking. She really should not be looking. This was unforgivable for so many reasons, and not just because it was not the way young ladies behaved. She was taking advantage of him, and she should be thoroughly ashamed of herself for acting in such a wanton matter. Yes, ashamed, she thought as her eyes lingered. Then her gaze flicked back up to his face, which was contorted with annoyance while he waited for her answer.
Tell him.
‘Um...you’re probably unaware of this,’ she said, then paused, ‘but I brought a lit candle with me and you’re...well, you’re standing in the middle of the room...and you’re completely...’
She tumbled to her side as the sheet was wrenched off the bed from underneath her. When she sat back up and looked in his direction the lower half of his body had disappeared behind white linen, the sheet draped around his narrow hips. But there was still his chest on display, and an emboldened Iris felt no compunction about feasting her eyes on that part of his anatomy. After all, if he hadn’t wanted her to look, he should have covered himself up completely, she reasoned, or was that justified?
‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ he barked at her. ‘What are you doing here? Or do you make a habit of this sort of behaviour, coming into men’s rooms in the middle of the night? Uninvited? And climbing into their beds?’
Now that some of him at least was covered her brain was able to function a bit better and she could focus on countering his accusations.
‘No, I most certainly do not.’ She jumped off the bed and placed her hands firmly on her hips, even though the defiant stance was wasted on him. ‘You were crying out in your sleep, if you must know.’
The anger on his face slowly subsided, to be replaced by a hard look of reproach, either for her or for himself.
‘And what did you think you were going to do? Rescue me?’
Iris shrugged. ‘I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know why you were screaming out.’ She looked up at him and remembered how he had been when she had entered the room, his handsome face distorted in pain and distress. ‘You were having a bad dream,’ she said gently.
‘A dream!’ he all but shouted. ‘You came into my room because of a dream?’
‘Well, yes. It was a very bad dream.’ She indicated the tousled sheets, then remembered that he couldn’t see them.
‘But still just a dream,’ he spat out.
Iris shrugged. ‘Sometimes dreams can be just as frightening as real life, or even more so.’
He shook his head as if not believing her.
‘And, as I said, it was a very bad dream. You weren’t just crying out. You were tossing and turning...your heart was pounding hard.’
He tilted his head and Iris hoped he wasn’t wondering how she knew about the rate of his heartbeat. She didn’t want him to know where her touch had taken her.
‘So I really couldn’t leave you like that, could I?’ she raced on.
He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘Dreams cannot hurt you and I am not a child who needs comforting.’
He was wrong. Dreams could hurt you and he had quite clearly been in pain. Something terrible had caused his nightmare. Something or someone had hurt him. Something was causing his belligerence. Possibly the same thing that had caused him to cut himself off from the world, and she was curious to know what. But now was not the time to ask such questions.
‘Everyone needs to be comforted at times,’ she said instead, wanting to add, And you, I suspect, more than most.
Instead of arguing with her he merely huffed out his disagreement.
‘Do you know what the dream was about?’ she asked, keeping her voice low and soothing.
‘I do not,’ he barked back. ‘Nor do I want to discuss it with you.’
‘It’s just that—’ Iris raised a shoulder, undeterred by his fury ‘—whenever we had bad dreams as children Mother always got us to tell her what they were about. She said that talking about them was how the bogeyman lost his power.’
He said nothing. Merely remained standing in the middle of the room, his hands now back on his hips.
‘So that’s why I think you should talk about it, so it loses its power.’
‘I...am...not...a...child,’ he finally said, his words drawn out, his anger barely contained. ‘I am not frightened of the bogeyman and I do not require mothering.’
‘I know... I just thought...’
‘Thinking is one thing that you do not appear to do much of, Lady Iris. Intelligence is clearly not one of your strong suits.’
Iris glared at him. That was what everyone assumed. Because of the way she looked, everyone thought she could not possibly have a brain in her head. Few people outside the family ever wanted to hear her opinions. All men ever expected of her was to look pretty, to laugh at the appropriate times, and to enjoy their attention and flattery. And the Earl was no different. Even if he couldn’t actually see the way she looked, he was still making the same assumptions about her as every other man she had met.
‘How dare you?’ she seethed. ‘Just because I tried to help you doesn’t mean you have the right to insult me.’
‘And just because you want to mother me doesn’t mean you have the right to barge into my bedroom in the middle of the night.’
‘I did not barge in. And I do not want to mother you.’ She looked him up and down in defiance. Then looked him up and down one more time, somewhat less defiantly and somewhat more appreciatively.
‘If you weren’t here to save me, then what were you doing in my room? Why were you on my bed? And why are you still in my bedroom?’
Iris swallowed. It was a good question. The real reason why she had stayed in his room after he had calmed down had nothing to do with mothering him, but she could hardly tell him the truth.
She could hardly tell him it was because she wanted to look at him, that she wanted to hold him, to touch him, and that she had done just that. She could hardly inform him that she knew what his muscular chest felt like, knew what it was like to run her fingers over his stubbled cheek, to touch his lips with her own.
She clasped her hands together, as if they contained a memory of his hard body, his soft lips, his rough cheeks.
Then she reminded herself of just how rude he was being to her, when she had only wanted to help. He didn’t know what she had done and had no right to rebuke her. Instead, he should be thanking her for trying to save him from whatever demons were torturing his dreams.
‘You really are the most infuriating, ungrateful man,’ she said, preferring to be angry with him rather than thinking about her own inappropriate behaviour. ‘You can’t even be grateful when someone tries to help you.’
‘I don’t need your help, or anyone else’s.’
‘Well,’ she said, her hands returning defiantly to her hips in imitation of his angry stance, ‘the next time you cry out in the middle of the night, don’t expect me to come running.’
The
edge of his lip curled, presumably in disbelief at her statement. Was he thinking the same as her? There would not be a next time. After tonight she would probably never see the Earl again.
‘Well, I’ll go, then, if that’s how you feel.’ She sent him a fierce glare, then remembered that even her best glare was wasted on him, and looked back at the tousled bed, where moments ago he had been uncontrollably thrashing around.
‘Perhaps I should just straighten the sheets and covers before I go so you can get a good night’s sleep.’
She moved towards the bed, but her progress was halted when he grabbed her arm and barked out, ‘Leave it.’
He really was insufferably rude.
‘I just thought...’
‘You just thought that you’d mother me one more time before you left. I do not want your help and, as I have already said, I do not need your mothering.’
‘Oh, very well,’ she huffed out, still looking down at the messy bed and wanting to tidy it up. How on earth he thought he was going to get a good night’s sleep in such tangled bedding she did not know, but if that was what he wanted, well, be it on his own head.
He released her arm. ‘Just go,’ he said.
She huffed out another disapproving sigh, but, as there was nothing left to do or say, there was no reason for her to remain in his room a minute longer.
‘Well, you appear to be all right now,’ she said as she picked up her candlestick. ‘Back to your old grumpy self. So I’ll leave you to try and get some sleep in your destroyed bed.’
Although he could not see her, she lifted her head high and swept out of the room, determined that her exit would be one full of self-righteous indignation. At the doorway she stopped and turned. Even in a state of self-righteous indignation she could at least indulge herself in one last look at that exposed chest. After all, as they both knew, there was not going to be a next time, and she was not going to be able to feast her eyes on him ever again.
Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 27
