“I hardly think that’s any of your concern.” Though Nicholas had been thinking along those same lines too. He rather wished he was in bed with Miss Blackstock, now Lady Nicholas, but every time he considered the possibility, his leg gave a painful twinge, reminding him he was a cripple, and no woman would want him. He hadn’t married for a bed partner. He’d married so he could avoid his mother’s marital machinations.
“Too true. But if my wife were there”—Rafe pointed toward Battle’s Peak—“instead of an ocean away, I would be in bed with her. I can assure you of that.”
“If you ever want to see your wife again, you need to learn to stay in your bed chamber.”
Rafe leaned forward. “If you want me to stay in my bed chamber, you have to remember to feed me.”
Nicholas closed his eyes. “Right. In all the chaos today, the servants must not have remembered to leave you a tray. I’ll fetch you something from the kitchens now.” Nicholas gave Dominion a last pat and put the grooming tools back in their place.
“I’ll go with you,” Rafe said. Nicholas might have argued, but it would be hard enough to go upstairs without having to manage a tray of food for Rafe as well.
The two men entered through a back door, Rafe going ahead to check that their path was clear. He peered around corners and slinked through shadows as though he had been trained as a spy. Which he hadn’t. During the war, Rafe had been known as the Seducer. It had been his job to gather information by seducing the wives of officers for the French. He’d saved the troop from more than one ambush, but despite the fact that he always asked for dangerous missions, he’d never been given any.
And then after the war their commander, Lieutenant Colonel Draven, had pulled Rafe aside and given him the dangerous mission he’d always wanted. From what Nicholas had heard, Rafe had been tasked with gathering information about a woman suspected of being a French spy. She was the daughter of a notorious French assassin and living in England under a false name.
But instead of turning the woman in, Rafe had fallen in love with her. She was indeed the assassin’s daughter and she’d been in England spying for the French—apparently under duress—and Rafe had fled with her to America. The official story was that the two of them had disappeared, but Nicholas and the other men of Draven’s troop—the twelve Survivors—knew the truth.
Rafe had taken a great risk returning—not that Nicholas blamed him. Lord Haddington was a kind man and a loving father. Of course, Rafe had wanted to see him in his hour of need. But if Rafe was caught, he’d be hanged, and his wife would be a widow and his son an orphan. The stakes were life and death.
Which was why Rafe probably shouldn’t be the one leading the reconnaissance. “Get behind me,” Nicholas hissed. “If I’m seen, no one will comment.”
Rafe sulked, but he did as he was told. After Nicholas checked the kitchen was empty, he motioned for Rafe to enter. Rafe proceeded to begin filling a plate with whatever he could find.
“Cover that back up,” Nicholas instructed. If Rafe left the kitchen in a shambles, Cook would not be pleased. Rafe was sampling cheeses and pastries as he went, and Nicholas was just about to tell him to take the plate upstairs when the door opened, and his bride stepped inside.
Both Rafe and Nicholas froze, Rafe in the middle of biting into an apple.
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt,” Lady Nicholas said, her gaze going from Nicholas to Rafe and back again. She was dressed for bed, her hair plaited in a long river of amber over her shoulder. She wore a white robe cinched at the waist and her feet were in slippers.
Rafe looked at Nicholas, the apple still clenched between his teeth. “My lady.” Nicholas gave a stiff bow. “I don’t think you have been introduced to my friend Vicar Osgood.”
Rafe chewed through the apple and lowered it from his mouth. “How do?” he said.
Not the Yorkshire accent again. Nicholas wanted to hit him. Lady Nicholas greeted him, but before Rafe could answer, Nicholas said, “The vicar is originally from Yorkshire, but he lost most of his accent as he’s lived in London for some time now.”
Rafe shook his head, but Nicholas ignored him. “Did you need something, my lady? You can always ring for your lady’s maid.”
“Every time you say that, I look around for someone else.”
Nicholas raised a brow.
“When you say, my lady,” she qualified. “I’ve always been a miss before.”
“That is the beauty of the sacrament of marriage,” Rafe said in a preachy tone. “It makes two, one.”
Lady Nicholas blushed, and Nicholas tried again. “Is there something you need?”
“Not for me,” she said. “But Sweetie is hungry.”
Rafe shot a confused look at Nicholas, who realized he hadn’t seen the pig in the stable. “The grooms fed all of the animals,” he assured her.
“She wasn’t in the stable,” Lady Nicholas said. “I brought her to my chamber. She’s not used to sleeping outside.”
“Who is Sweetie?” Rafe asked.
“Lady Nicholas’s pig,” Nicholas answered. “A Gloucestershire Old Spots.”
“Oh, of course.” He put his plate down and appeared intent on staying and listening to the rest of the conversation.
“Have you just arrived, sir?” Lady Nicholas asked Rafe. “I don’t remember meeting you at the wedding breakfast.”
“The vicar arrived last night and has not been feeling well,” Nicholas said. “He needs rest.”
“And food,” Rafe said. “I’m famished.”
Nicholas gave him a hard look. Rafe looked back then seemed to understand. “But I am indeed very tired. I will take my plate to my chamber.”
“You needn’t leave on my account,” Lady Nicholas said. “I will just gather a few scraps and go.”
Rafe made a show if yawning. “No, no. Too tired to stay. Good night, my lady. Good night, Nickers.”
When he was gone, Lady Nicholas turned to him. “Nickers?”
“I don’t suppose you can pretend you never heard that?”
“Probably not. Will the cook mind if I take a few scraps?” She lifted a small pail near the door and gave Nicholas a questioning glance.
“Not at all. She puts vegetable scraps just there.” He pointed to a corner.
“Oh, that’s perfect.” She crossed to the rubbish bin and emptied it into her pail. Nicholas couldn’t quite keep himself from staring at her bottom as she bent. Then he forced himself to look away. No point in coveting what he could not have.
She turned back to him, seeming unsure what to do next. “It was a lovely wedding,” she said.
Nicholas detested awkward conversation, but he could hardly avoid speaking to his own wife. “It was. You looked beautiful.”
“So did you.” Her cheeks colored again. “I mean—”
“Thank you,” he said. “Are you settling in? Is there anything you need? Other than food for Sweetie, that is.”
“No, I have everything. My bedchamber is exquisite. Green is my favorite color.”
He gave her a questioning look.
“The walls are green,” she said.