Lady Valentine's Affair

Chapter Eight

Gwen rolled restlessly to the side and slammed her fist into the pillow. "I don't know what to think," she mumbled aloud.

She chewed at her bottom lip, certain she could still taste him and his passionate kisses. A tumult of thoughts and emotions rolled through her. She'd glimpsed an entirely different side to him this week. She'd glimpsed a man humbled by his failures and passionate to make amends. She'd glimpsed a man that she could love. Maybe he did want her. Maybe on their wedding day he'd been as frightened as she. Maybe she should give him a chance.

Her gaze settled back on the journal. Slowly she reached for it, curiosity about Sarah's wedding night getting the better of her. Her pulse quickened as she lifted the book and leafed through the yellowed pages, searching for the entry. Her palms grew clammy and her hands actually shook a bit as a flush of embarrassment warmed her neck. I can't believe I'm about to read this. So improper, but... She didn't want to be that naïve girl that her own husband wouldn't bed anymore. She needed information. This was research. Thusly confident in that bit of logic she faced the page and plunged into the entry.

Oh, my dearest Diary,

Where shall I begin?

My wedding night was better than anything I could have imagined.

Better than anything she'd imagined? Gwen's interest piqued.

Today I am more in love with George than ever before. I hadn't believed it possible. When he first came to my room last night my heart pounded so furiously I thought I might expire, but my husband was so kind and gentle that any doubts floated away. Diary, I will never forget the sight of him coming into my room in only his shirt and breeches. I had never seen him without a coat and vest and—

Gwen startled as her bedchamber door exploded inward.

"Gwen!" Anthony rushed through her doorway holding a wine bottle over his head, sloshing red liquid onto his arm and the floor. "Gwen, you're not going to believe this."

Cheeks blazing hot, she bolted upright, slamming the journal and the scandalous entry shut. Momentarily shaken, she blinked in shock, taking in the sight of her husband standing in her room garbed only in a white linen shirt with sleeves rolled above his elbows and tan trousers. It was as though George Stratford had mysteriously materialized from the ancient castle walls and passed through her door. "Wh-what are you doing in my room?" she stammered, gaze fixed on the tantalizingly muscular hollow where his throat met his chest. The soft candlelight lent his flesh a swarthy hue that contrasted strikingly with the crisp white of his shirt. Her pulse quickened, but this time it was due to her own Lord Valentine, Not Sarah's.

"I found the next clue!" He waved a slip of paper in the opposite hand, and fully entered the room, kicking the door shut behind him. He crossed to the bed, seemingly oblivious to Gwen's discomfort, and, to her absolute horror, he sat on the edge of her bed.

Heart in her throat, Gwen tossed away the journal as though burned, the heat of embarrassment scorching her cheeks. "I, er... You mean the scavenger hunt clue?"