Wicked in the Regency Ballroom. Margaret McPhee

mattress. Bliss. For the first time in weeks Madeline was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

      A soft tapping sounded from the door. Madeline opened one drowsy eye and peered suspiciously at the oaken structure.

      The knocking grew louder.

      The pillow was so soft and downy against her head, the covers so enticingly warm.

      ‘Madeline,’ a male voice whispered.

      Madeline forced the other eye open, levered herself from beneath the sheets and padded through the darkness of the room towards the sound. Her hand touched to the key and stilled.

      ‘Madeline, it’s Lucien.’

      Her fingers hesitated no longer. The key turned. The door cracked open by the smallest angle, letting in the candlelight of the well-lit landing. Lucien was looking right back at her. The piercing gaze of his eyes blasted away any remnants of sleep from Madeline’s mind. She said nothing, just opened the door wider and watched with a beady eye while he entered. There was only one bed: Madeline waited to see what her husband intended.

      He locked the door before moving to the chair by the glowing hearth. First his coat was discarded, followed closely by his neckcloth and waistcoat. The bottom drawer in the chest opened to reveal a blanket. Lucien extracted it, kicked off his boots, sat himself down in the chair, and pulled the blanket over his body. All in less than two minutes.

      Madeline’s toes were cold upon the floor. She still lingered beside the door.

      ‘Goodnight, Madeline,’ he said and, leaning back in the chair, closed his eyes.

      Her mouth opened, then closed. ‘Goodnight.’ She climbed back beneath the covers, looked again at the figure of her husband slumped awkwardly in the small chair. The bed was spacious and warm. Madeline bit at her lip. Offering to share the bed might be misconstrued. And he could have taken two rooms for the night instead of only one. Madeline stifled the guilt and closed her eyes against the discomfort of the chair, only to open them several times to check upon Lucien’s immobile figure. Sleep crept unobtrusively upon her and Madeline’s eyes opened no more.