Never Less Than a Lady by Mary Jo Putney Page A

have something to eat before you collapse, too. Cutting shrapnel out of a husband looks right tiring.”
    Julia considered. “Not so bad as attending a two-day labor, but bad enough.”
    “You’re a midwife?” Mrs. Ferguson needed no encouragement to talk about her own confinements and the fine, healthy bairns she had produced.
    Julia was happy to sit quietly and let the talk flow around her while the landlady provided her with thick cock-a-leekie soup, fresh bread, cheese, and a pot of tea. By the time she finished eating, it was full dark. Mrs. Ferguson sent her back to the room with a lamp and the promise to arrange carriage hire for the day after tomorrow. Randall would have to rest for a day whether he wanted to or not.
    Her brand new husband was dead to the world when she entered their room. He’d obviously managed to get up safely, for he was now sprawled under the covers. He looked…peaceful. She realized she’d never seen him without an undercurrent of pain in his expression.
    Wryly she thought that she’d agreed to marry, not share a bed. But since she didn’t want to sleep on the hard, cold floor, she didn’t have much choice tonight.
    Glad her shabby brown riding habit scarcely showed the blood stains, she stripped down to her shift. It was a relief to be out of her stays and stockings. Even her head was relieved when she let down her hair.
    If presenting themselves as married before witnesses meant that today was their wedding day, she supposed this was their wedding night. She winced as she remembered her first night with Branford. This wedding night was as different as humanly possible, and thank God for that.
    She checked Randall’s temperature and the bandages. No sign of fever. No further bleeding, either. As she’d told Mrs. Ferguson, he’d do.
    After turning the lamp down to a faint glow, she slid under the covers on Randall’s left, keeping as far away as possible. She was too tired even to feel alarmed at sharing a bed with a large male. Luckily, he was practically in a coma.
    Even without touching, she was aware of the warmth of his body. As she closed her eyes, she had to admit that warmth was pleasant. Very pleasant.
     
    Randall drifted to awareness slowly. His head suggested a little too much drink and his right leg ached, but the pain was no longer acute. His internal clock said it was around four in the morning, so he’d had a good night’s sleep already. Not that he felt inclined to move. Not with a warm, soft female cuddled against his left side.
    The fact that Julia hadn’t chosen to sleep on the floor gave him hope for their evolving relationship. She fit under his arm nicely. Her own arm was draped around his waist. He wondered which of them had moved during the night. Both of them, perhaps, since they seemed to have met in the middle.
    Enough moonlight came in the window to illuminate her face. She looked like a sleeping angel with dark hair flowing softly over her shift-clad shoulders. He felt a stirring of emotions. Awe. Gratitude. Tenderness.
    Neither of them would feel properly married until they had a real wedding in Edinburgh. Yet here they were, sharing a bed. Part of each other’s lives.
    He was startled by another stirring that was purely physical. Thinking back, he realized that desire had been muted to almost nothing since he was wounded at Albuera. That muting had been mental as well as physical. Now, finally, the black cloud that had engulfed his life was beginning to dissipate.
    Gently he stroked Julia’s back. He’d wanted her since first seeing her. That desire had been rooted in mind and emotions. Now it was strengthened by unabashed lust. Desire would complicate their situation greatly. Yet he couldn’t be sorry.
    He wasn’t sorry at all.
     
    Julia woke slowly, feeling peaceful and…safe. She floated in a contented haze until she realized that she was pressed against Randall’s side, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her.
    She stiffened,