Page 21 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

Amie tossed and turned all night from an upset stomach. She woke in the morning feeling groggy. Pillows were sprawled across the other side of the bed. Ian’s side. She hadn’t heard him get up. Easing out from under the covers, she went to the bell pull and gave it a tug. Edna had better hurry. If she dressed quickly, Amie could begin playing the dutiful role of hostess and smooth over some of the awkwardness of the night before.

When she turned around, she noticed something sticking out from under her bed. She moved toward it, curious about what it was. Stopping suddenly, she realized the subject of her gaze. It was a foot! She hurriedly crept over the bed. Ian hadn’t woken. He was asleep on the floor! He had one leg tucked under the bed, and the smallest corner of the quilt draped over his chest and one arm. How cold and hard his night must have been.

Oh dear. Edna would be here any moment. Her chatter would wake up Ian in an instant. Sucking in her breath, she realized something worse. Edna felt it her duty to report the comings and goings of the house to Amie. She was a bit of a gossip. If Edna witnessed Ian sleeping on the floor, Amie wasn’t certain she trusted the maid enough to keep such a matter a secret.

After donning her robe, Amie moved to Ian’s side and crouched beside him. She took his arm in her hand and gave it a nudge. “Ian. Ian !”

Ian’s eyes flew open, and he sat up quickly. His hands came up around her arms. “What is it? What’s wrong?” His eyes darted around her face, neck, and nightgown.

His instant concern made her forget what she was doing for a moment. “It’s Edna. My maid. I didn’t see you here on the floor, so I called for her.”

Dropping his hands, he seemed to understand her halting sentences and climbed to his feet. Amie tried to look away, but she wasn’t fast enough. She should have been relieved that he was still fully clothed, but even though this was the second time she had seen Ian in just his shirtsleeves, this time, she had a much better view of him.

Although his half-dressed attire emphasized his well-built shoulders and chest, it wasn’t exactly indecent. No, that was not what she would call it at all. It was a state of vulnerability—of normalcy. In his shirtsleeves, he wasn’t the viscount or the imposing man who wouldn’t let anyone dare try to control his life. With his shirttails sticking out and his hair ruffled, he was human. And so utterly real it nearly stole her breath.

“What is it now?” Ian asked, taking up his discarded waistcoat.

She’d been staring. But how could she not? In one moment, one of the many walls between them had simply vanished. She didn’t know the removal of fine clothing could do that. It was just the two of them, her in her nightgown with her tangled curls in a haphazard braid and him—the man who had slept beside her—standing thusly.

“Nothing.” She blinked and looked away. Their strange, guarded relationship hadn’t prevented them from finding themselves in another intimate situation. It was as if fate were trying to tell them something. But perhaps fate would be better off focusing on a more willing couple in less trying circumstances.

Clearing her throat, she suggested an idea while he put on his waistcoat. “There is a dressing screen in the room next door covered in Holland covers. Could we not bring it in here? That ought to solve some of our problems for the next several days.”

“Brilliant.” He arched his back and groaned.

“Was the floor more comfortable than the bed?”

He pinned her with a glare. “The floor does not kick me in its sleep.”

She blinked. “Oh my. I did have a restless night. I apologize.”

Ian shook his head. “You didn’t move more than an inch the night of the storm, but last night, pillows were flying as though someone had dragged a catapult in here.”

She wanted to disappear into the cracks in the floors. “How ... mortifying.”

“Nonsense. You cannot control what you do in your sleep. At least, I don’t think you can. Perhaps you subconsciously wanted to abuse me.” He moved to her dressing table and looked at himself in the mirror. “No bruises on my face, thankfully.”

“I kicked you in the face?” Her hand went to her mouth.

He turned to her, his defined jaw clenching. “You weren’t asleep, were you? You broke rule number one again, and I daresay you’re getting more creative in how you do it. Was this my punishment for imposing on you?”

She quickly shook her head.

“Now I understand why you asked me to sleep upside-down. I did apologize for this situation I put you in. Why couldn’t you have merely told me that you hated it?” He set his hands on his hips and stalked toward her, stopping just in front of her. His eyes peered steadily into hers, searching for answers he surely would not find.

Last night, she had felt as though they were two members of the same team—partners, so to speak. He had even answered her question about his father, even though it couldn’t have been easy. How could she have kicked him in the face and ruined all their progress? Now he thought she wanted to abuse him?

Annoyed at herself, she blurted in a frustrated tone, “If I’d wanted to kick you, I wouldn’t have done it covertly.”

One thick brow rose. “What does that mean?”

“It means if I had wanted to kick you, I would have done it just as we are and not while you were unconscious.” Maybe. With the way he looked at her, rendering her nearly breathless, she wasn’t sure her weak knees could produce a kick at all.

Ian put his hand up against the wall behind her head. When had she stepped back against it? “I see. Are you feeling particularly like you want to kick me just now? Because I would rather have it done here in private than anywhere else. Could you please give your generally nice husband such a courtesy?”

“I ... I ...”

“I’m tired, Amie. If you’re going to get out any aggression, do it now. I’ll let you.”

Her eyes flicked to the grim line of his mouth. It was easier to look there than meet his gaze while it peered into her very soul. A sudden memory came to mind—one where she had experienced touching that mouth before. Fiddlesticks! She shouldn’t have looked at his lips either. Heat flooded not just her face but her entire being, too, and she glanced back up at his eyes. “I ... don’t want to kiss you.”

His eyes smoldered. “Who said anything about kissing?”

She frowned. What had she said? Kiss you? She frantically shook her head. “I mean, kick you. Not kiss you.”

“Really?” His words came out low. “Because you seem to have an affinity for both.” His gaze dropped to her mouth.

“Who, me?” She gave a nervous laugh. She started to explain herself but her words died. Was it her, or was gravity pulling them closer together by the moment? Either there was no air in the room, or she had forgotten how to breathe.

A knock on the door sounded, and Ian’s eyes met hers once more. He didn’t pull away like she thought he would but stayed in that same position, with his hand on the wall beside her head, studying her. The heat in his gaze seemed to burn her cheeks.

She blinked, and the spell broke.

He pulled back and cleared his throat.

What did it mean? Did he resent marrying her? Or had his thoughts gone the same direction as hers?

But surely he would never kiss her again ...

It wasn’t as though he were as affected as she was. He had so much control over himself—over his emotions. But did he ever think of kissing her? Was he thinking of it now? Ian raked his hand through his hair and finished buttoning the top of his shirt. “I’ll see to the screen,” he said before he stalked away.