Being advised by the doctor to stay in bed until further notice was like being thrown into prison for doing something not entirely against the law. Therefore he was neither a prisoner nor a free man, but to be fair his prison was surprisingly comfortable. The problem was that he was not looking for comfort, but for the adventures that was never inside his bedroom. Surely, he thought he would die of boredom and not of blood loss. 

It was a good thing that Dr. McQuerin left for Nicholas the latest issue of The Times. “To keep you updated,” the doctor had said as he dropped the folded newspaper on the bed before he left. That was how Claire had found Nick – sitting on the bed, frowning at whatever he was reading. 

But before Claire knocked on the door, Nick was half-heartedly skimming through the pages. He had wanted to hear from his handler about his investigation, but the fact that Mr. Bennett was not going besides himself to inform Nick of the results, made him think that there was nothing to worry about. The windows were open and the cool breeze from outside the house was a welcome distraction until he found an article featuring the death of their Matthew Hawthorne. Nick sat up more straight and more focused. And that was when Claire knocked on the door.

Her gentle rapping barely caught his attention, though he absently called for the person at the other side to come in. His eyes, and his full attention, was on the text, as he scanned the words again to make sure that he missed nothing. It detailed the brief life of Mr. Hawthorne, a member of the nobility and a good man. His death was described as a failure of the heart. Oddly, there was no mention of poisoning or of prison. Strings were pulled, enough strings to cover for the real cause of the gentleman’s death. What Nick wanted to know, was whether or not the strings were pulled by people he allied himself with or by the enemy. This was another lead they could pursue.

[/i]“I waited a full five minutes in the dining room before someone finally informed me you would not be able to join me. How difficult is it to just pass along that kind of information? Especially at lunch time, when I know the staff is aware since they were going to bring this up for you. Well not this exactly, the doctor was going to give you that gruel again but I convinced the cook this would be better for you,”[i] she said, setting the tray down on the table beside Nick.

His blue eyes found her, and all traces of impatience and disappointment vanished. He greeted his wife with a slow smile saying, “Should you find yourself in dire need of money, there are people I know who could use a pretty maid, or a waitress.” He followed her with his eyes as he moved around the bed to find her seat beside him. They stared at each other, wordless, for a few moments until she brought her hand to cup touch his cheek. He was rather pale and his hair was tousled. Her hand felt warm and soft against his cheek, so he leaned in to the touch.

[i]“Be honest. No lying to me. How are you? Are you going to have to stay in bed even longer this time? I feel guilty. I swear I'm not touching you again until the whole wound is healed not even a scar.”[/i] She paused, a pretty shade of pink coloring her cheek. He found her blushing very amusing, and her words that followed next were fired in quick succession as if she regretted what she said. [i]"All right, that's not true...but I'm still being careful. You obviously don't know or follow your limits, so I have to be the responsible one here."[/i]

Finding it hard to resist teasing, he answered, “I find it unfair that only one of us bleeds on our first… So…” He left it at that, leaned forward and kissed her pink, inviting, lips. “Let’s find out how responsible my wife is,” he whispered on her lips, then his hands were on her, on places he discovered the night before that made her gasp. Her corset barely posed a challenge, but it was the pins on her hair that he enjoyed undoing.

“Excuse me, Mr. Rochford,” interrupted a meek female voice.

Raising his head from her collar bone, Nick moved so he was blocking Claire from view. He would have snapped at the person who dared to speak, but the maid was looking away, her cheeks red, and appeared to be as displeased as he was that she happened to walk into them the way she did. “I apologize,” she added, her blush deepening. “Your cousin wishes to speak with you. He waits at the sitting room. Should I ask him to leave, sir?”

“No,” he answered, steadying his voice and his pulse. “Give me ten minutes to finish,” he faltered, looking down at Claire. “To finish my meal, then I shall ring for you to take him to my room. That is all, you may leave.” 

Nick waited for the door to close, and the maid’s footsteps to fade away before he sighed, then laughed nervously, thinking how she might react to such embarrassing situation. “I’m sorry about that. Perhaps you’re right about me not knowing my limits.” He raked a hand through his hair then sat back against the pillows, beside her. He reached for the tray and balanced it on a pillow between them. “Will you share this with me?”