Chapter 9
The thought of Hagen’s previous experiences intimidated Marigold. If she could control her nervousness, he would never know that she was an elderly virgin. He’d had other lovers. Everyone knew about him and Dido at school, and his sisters had commented on his sex life even before he had married Mercia. He was more experienced than she. She’d only had her dreams.
If she didn’t show confidence, he might guess. She hauled in a breath and tried to stop clutching him. As soon as her death grip on him relaxed, he leaned back to roll the covering onto what had to be the largest erection in the whole world, though she had never seen another. And she really liked looking at his.
“It’s a shame to cover that pretty thing,” she said, wishing she had held her tongue, because he looked astonished.
“You don’t want to risk anything.” His quick stare at her questioned and answered at the same time.
She moistened her lips. “Of course not.” So, now he thought she was an irresponsible idiot. “You could have all sorts of diseases for all I know.” She tried a spoiled bitch face that turned a bit soft.
“You’re right,” he answered, and he looked rueful. “But fortunately I had myself tested recently, and I don’t. But you shouldn’t take any man’s word for this, Marigold. You need to protect yourself.” He finished rolling on the condom and focused intently on her face.
“And I will.” She offered him her biggest smile. “If this turns out to be more than a one-night stand, I’ll also do something about contraception.”
Looking amused, he smoothed her hair back from her face with the flat of his hand. “Tonight is your audition. For all I know, you might not work out,” he said, with a soft kiss across her lips. “I don’t know yet.”
“Or you might not.” Frowning, she lifted a knee and settled one foot on his taut behind.
“There’s a thought.” He shifted between her legs, settling the line of his penis to connect with her most sensitive parts. “If I keep talking, I might turn out to be impotent. I’ve heard that happens to a man when he is diverted from his purpose and dragged into a deep conversation while he is lying splat on a woman.”
“There’s no reason why we can’t be friends, though,” she said, forcing her words past her constricted throat. Her spine locked as the condom moved against her.
“Friends with benefits?” He turned his head to examine her expression.
She unclenched her hands and shifted her palms to his upper back. His slow movements between her legs had turned into a tease. Despite her tension, she had to fight herself not to arch into him. Trying to remain coolly unsurprised, rather than unbearably excited by the hard thrill of his sliding, she swallowed to moisten her throat. “I suppose that’s what we’re working up to.”
“At this stage of my lack of impotence, I’ll take any relationship you’re offering.” His breath stirred her hair.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Hug me, Hagen. I’m nervous.”
“You’re not the only one.” He moved his hands beneath her buttocks, cupped, and settled his lips on hers. His mouth opened over hers. His tongue tickled at her lips.
Her hands moved from his wide back and down the sides of his ribcage to his narrow waist. She crossed her legs behind him, her hips tilting and her lower body wriggling until she had the tip of his pressure in place.
For a moment, he let her and then he shifted slightly to put his hand between them. His knowing fingers again found the place that shot a thrill of excitement through her, the clitoris that she’d found some years ago. He continued kissing her mouth, softly, tenderly, and his fingers treated her the same way, with delicate manipulation until she reacted with a hot flow. Then he found entrance, slowly advanced and retreated, pushing through all her years of abstinence.
She remained frozen in place, trying to ignore the sharp pain. When he filled her to the hilt, he stopped moving, which helped a little. He lifted to the full extent of his arms and gazed at her. Her eyes had leaked a little and the tears had flowed into her hair. Fortunately, he didn’t appear to notice. His face held an expression she read as a mixture of desire and apology, almost asking for permission too late.
She drew a deep breath and smiled. “You’re past the point of no return.”
He said nothing. Instead he gave an unreadable smile and began to thrust rhythmically, harder, and if possible, deeper, until she shuddered with each stroke. Finally, she hit the peak she had never reached before. A gush of moisture she couldn’t control caused him to utter a sound of wonder, not a known word, simply a sound. She wound her legs tightly around him, and he shuddered, too. Her insides sensitized, she experienced the final jerking of his penis inside her. Then he kissed her face, aiming for her eyes, her nose, and her mouth.
He only said one word. “Marigold.” Softly.
Although she’d done almost nothing physical, exhaustion overcame her. She flopped, her hands limp on his back. He settled his weight on her, and she didn’t mind a bit. She awoke to find herself snuggled into his arms. Morning light glowed through the sides of the blind.
She focused on Hagen’s sleeping face, all hard planes and angles, softened by his thick brown eyelashes. His pale hair sat almost perfectly in place and his bright morning stubble glistened on his cheeks. A welling of love filled her. She wanted him with her every night of her life. For six years she had yearned for this moment, which by rights should never have come.
Mercia should be with him, undeserving, hard, ambitious Mercia who hadn’t minded who she walked over to gain the man she wanted. Mercia had been his perfect partner, beautiful, wealthy, and surrounded by admirers who hadn’t been able to get enough of her. Marigold could never be Mercia. She didn’t have the glamour, the charm, the push and shove.
However, she could have Hagen while he was at a loss, wondering where he ought to go and who he should take with him, if anyone. Marigold’s practical self saw that, and her normal responsible self tried not to care. She pondered waking him, but she loved watching his face in relaxation. As she wondered what he might like for breakfast, he awoke. His eyes opened and fixed on her.
“Good audition,” he said in a morning fuggy voice. “You got the part.”
“How long is the season?” She pushed her fingers through her hair, trying to tidy herself for his view.
“That’s up for negotiation. But all the other applicants have been told the role is filled.”
“So, breakfast?”
“Let’s go out.” He rolled onto his back and stretched his beautiful body one long limb at a time, first each arm and then each leg. The man had class. He watched his diet and he exercised and he had the body of a Norse god.
“Where do you swim?”
“At home. I have a lap pool.” His expression looked relaxed. “Do you want to try it out later?”
“Is it heated?”
“Give me a break. Who would be motivated to swim in winter if the pool was heated?”
“Me?”
“When did you turn into a wimp?”
“Wasn’t I always?”
“Not as far as I recall. You held the school record for 200 meters for two years.”
“Someone beat my time?”
“It had to happen eventually.”
“I’m not a junior any longer, either. Okay, if I can brave the cold, I’ll see how I do in your lap pool.”
“That’s a date.” He kissed her. “While you’re drying off after your swim you can walk through my house and tell me what you plan to change.”
She snuggled closer. Apparently she would be spending the whole day with him. Then he kissed her again.
An hour later, after he had shown her exactly how he liked to wear a condom, she showered and dressed for breakfast, a sated but apprehensive woman. The only other time she’d been naked with him, she had expected him to blame her momentary lapse on the champagne served at the twins’ twenty-first birthday party. She had never expected him to want an explanation, one she wouldn’t give, as to why she wouldn’t go through what would have been a purely one-night stand. She had put that down to male ego. Without a doubt, she knew he would find a more suitable match than she among one of the many beautiful women in his crowd. And he had.
This time the ending wouldn’t be any happier than the last time, although the reason had changed. This time, although she wasn’t otherwise obligated, she knew he was. He had the sort of life she wouldn’t fit into with the smart, rich people who had scorned her before, who had noticed her cheap clothes and her make-do accessories.
* * * *
Deciding not to care for the time being, she enjoyed a beautifully cooked breakfast with him in a small restaurant in the foothills. After he drove her back to his house, she then enjoyed exhausting herself in his lap pool. She had missed swimming.
Sadly out of condition, she finished her final lap and dragged herself onto the step-out, where she sat with water trickling from the end of her nose. Although she had knotted her hair out of the way, orange clumps clung to her shoulders.
Hagen didn’t seem to mind her bedraggled state, though he looked as good wet as he did dry. The sun shone on his golden skin although the October day was cool, and he smiled indulgently at her as, barefooted, he stalked over the paving to the edge of the lap pool, constructed adjacent to the side section of the main heated pool.
“Warm enough?”
“Warm with exercise. Is that towel for me?”
He held out his hand to her, pulled her to a standing position, and he covered her, wrapping her in a thick, luxurious towel and his arms. She snuggled right into him, appreciating his body warmth. He hadn’t yet dressed after doing his laps, and he wore racing shorts. His body part pressed against her belly. “Oh, my.”
He laughed. “See what you’ve done to me. Turned me into a randy teenager overnight.”
She lifted her face for a kiss. “See what you’ve done to me. Turned me into a sex-starved spinster.”
He kissed her again. He had hurried her through a tour of all the rooms in his house so that they could swim before the predicted rain started, dopey really, when they would get wet either way. The rain hadn’t eventuated.
“Come inside, spinster, and get dressed. And then you can tell me what you think I ought to do with the house.”
She nodded. “Swimming has relaxed my brain. The ideas are bound to flow.”
Using the downstairs bathroom, she showered while he showered and shaved upstairs. He met her in the breakfast room off the kitchen, where she had decided to linger for a view of the lovely garden.
She turned when she heard him behind her. “I’m wondering how attached you are to your white furniture?”
He pulled out a chair at the table for her. “Not at all. Mercia chose it.” Whenever he said Mercia, his face closed off.
She understood that he loved and missed his wife and that she would only be a comfortable substitute sex partner, but after all that had happened last night and this morning she didn’t want to be reminded. “Well, starting on the hall—I think you ought to keep the marble tiling. This house had marble floors there originally because the hall used to be used as a reception room when the Reynolds had balls. Color on the walls would warm the area, and rugs on the floor. I love the Persian rugs you have in your study. That sort of thing would be nice. And a few paintings.”
He nodded. “What do you think of the study?”
“I think it’s perfect. I wouldn’t change anything there. In the rest of the house, you have a lot of white furniture. It’s lovely, but your idea of adding a few antiques would make the house look more relaxed.” She looked away, not wanting to criticize Mercia’s taste, but Hagen had asked for a change and a change he would have with Marigold’s input or without.
“What about my bedroom?”
“The same. We could go to auctions to choose the furniture. Or save time rather than money and use an antique dealer. If you get rid of some of the white furniture, what do you plan to do with it?”
He shrugged. “Donate it to charity.”
“What about Mercia’s family? Would they like keepsakes?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Good idea. I could ring around and find out.” Keeping his gaze on hers, he dragged his phone out of his pocket. “I have her parents’ number—and her brother’s number.”
“You don’t waste time, do you, when you have a plan?”
He offered a lazy grin. “No. My motto is do it now. Good morning, Eddie, Hagen here. Yes, yes, I’m well. I was wondering if you or any other member of your family would like something to remember Mercia?”
He listened. “I was thinking furniture. The white pieces.”
He nodded. “I remembered you liked the dining room, the table and chairs, the dresser. If you come and get them, they’re yours.”
He glanced at Marigold. “No. I think her things should go to her family, the cabinets, the hall table, the chandeliers, mirrors. Her bed. Whatever you like. Could you do me a favor and arrange this with the rest of your family?”
He stared at his fingers on the table. “I’m sure you understand why I don’t think I should keep her furniture, Eddie.” He sounded stiff. Eddie spoke. Hagen moistened his lips. “It’s only right.”
He nodded again. “Let me know, Eddie. Bye. Done,” he said to Marigold. He threaded his fingers together across his upper chest and leaned back in the chair. “Do you want to do a little antique shopping after lunch?”
She glanced at him, surprised. “Do it now,” she quoted. “Do they want everything?”
“They’ll take everything and work out what to do with it.”
“You made it sound as if it’s their duty to take it.”
“Well done, me. Look, if I had sent it to a charity, they never would have known. If they know a worthy cause or if they want it, it lets me off the hook.” He sounded hard, and she wondered about his relationship with his wife’s family.
“Don’t you like them?”
“They’re good people but not my relations any longer.”
Which told her nothing at all. “So, lunch. Do you have any food here?”
“Nothing much. Imelda caters for me on weekdays, and I buy food or go out on weekends. I’ll buy a couple of sandwiches and then we can spend more time shopping.”
After confronting his choice of expensively filled wholemeal sandwiches, and eating her fair share, she drove off with him to Magill Road, where antiques and secondhand furniture mingled with coffee and cake shops. In the first place they tried, she spotted an ornately carved mahogany credenza with a white marble top. “What do you think of this for the hall? It would match the floor.”
He shrugged. “Do you like it?”
“I like the color of the wood, and having a marble top is a good idea if you plan to decorate with vases of flowers. No water stains to worry about. But it’s up to you.”
“I plan to decorate with flowers.” He grinned. “Probably. I’ll get this, and we’ll move on.”
Farther down Magill Road in a larger antique shop, she found a mahogany dining table with two extensions. “This seats ten without the extensions and twenty with them.”
Hagen bought it. “What about chairs?” he asked the dealer.
“I could find something for you,” the dealer said, trying to look casual. Marigold assumed he already knew where, and he was mentally assessing the highest price he thought Hagen might be convinced to pay.
“I think it might be an idea to check out modern chairs first.” Marigold tried to sound apologetic. Although she didn’t want to burst the dealer’s money bubble, older chairs were often too uncomfortable to sit in for extended periods and with the entertaining Hagen did, he had to see to the needs of his guests first. Plus, she liked the look of old with new.
Hagen left both options open, disappointing no one. After exhaustive searches in every other possible shop on the strip for antique beds, Marigold chewed on her thumbnail. “There’s a shop on Unley Road that lets me borrow furniture for the houses I prepare for sale. His stuff is half trash, half treasure. We probably won’t find anything there expensive enough to suit you, but do you want to look anyway?”
“I’m known as a spendthrift, am I?” He raised his eyebrows.
“I have never listened to gossip about you,” she answered in a superior voice. As a matter of fact, she had rarely been offered any gossip about him; only snippets about Mercia. “But I’ve judged you recently and seen that you are not afraid to spend. You buy lunch when you could make it and the same with breakfast.”
“Do you want me to save money?”
“What you do with your money is none of my business except when you ask me what you should buy.”
“How novel,” he said, but when she glanced at him, he didn’t look at all supercilious. Instead, he looked indulgent. He pushed his hands into his pockets and raised his eyebrows at her.
Mentally shrugging, she slid into his car again, realizing the dreadful snob inside her loved being in his luxurious car. The dreadful snob also loved stepping out of the car in front of the enormous warehouse full of all the auction rejects.
Bill, the tall, slim, musty owner of the shop offered her one of his shy smiles. Although an astute businessman, he had a kind heart hidden under his unassuming manner. “Another house to do?” he asked her, lifting his shaggy gray eyebrows.
“Today I’m with a bona fide buyer, Bill. This is my friend Hagen. Hagen, Bill Evans.”
Hagen shook the older man’s hand. “You have set me up for hours of exploration time in here, Bill.”
Bill’s eyelids crinkled. “You won’t see everything in one trip, that’s for sure.”
“I’ve never made it to the end of the space, either,” Marigold said, laughing up at Hagen. “You could start at one end, and I’ll start at the other. I’ll meet you in the middle.”
Hagen nodded and began to walk to the far end. That’s the sort of man he was, methodical. She started at the beginning. That’s the sort of woman she was. Hopeful. She found a couple of bedside cabinets that she pulled out for Hagen to inspect. Antique bedside cabinets didn’t exist. Commodes were commonly used and some people repurposed them, but this pair had been quality carved from mahogany; modern replicas in bad condition. While she mentally contemplated a re-polish, Hagen loomed beside her. “I’ve found a treasure.” He looked smug.
“Oh, what?”
“A headboard I think will be perfect.”
“First look at these bedside cabinets. Polished up, they would look special. What do you think?”
“We’ll get them polished.”
She liked hearing him say we. “Let’s have a look at your headboard.” She followed him to the back of the shop, evading strings of dusty cobwebs.
He had dragged out an enormous slab of carved wood, clearly not an old English antique. “This looks rather exotic,” she said disappointed.
“That’s the word, either that or erotic. Look at the carvings.”
She peered and saw figures carved in the wood and a closer look revealed nakedness and group sex involving enormous phalluses and animals. “Don’t tell me you like that,” she said, half-shocked. She splayed her hand on the top of her chest, in a mercy-me gesture.
“I like it, yes. If it’s in my bedroom, it won’t be on display. I want it.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “It might be an antique, but I doubt it has any value other than as a curiosity.”
He shrugged. “It called to me.”
“It did not.”
He grinned. “Where would I find anything else like this?”
She crossed her arms. “In a brothel. That’s probably where it came from.”
Hagen stood his ground. Forced to relent, Marigold led the way to Bill’s porcelain crowded sanctuary at the front of the shop. She could barely look him in the eye when she told him that Hagen wanted the headboard.
“Where did you find it?” She tried to look purely professional.
“That carving has a story. A few years back, one of the old shops in Rundle Street underwent a restoration. They found this in the roof space. I reckon someone hid it. Those Victorians were mighty staid. The rest of the four-poster was rotten. I got this pretty cheap. Quite a bit of it is sandalwood. Like it, do you, Marigold?”
She glanced at Hagen who seemed to be staring off into the distance. “Help me here,” she said to him.
“She loves it.” He slung an arm around her shoulders, drew her to him, and kissed her forehead. “I wouldn’t normally look at anything so shocking but how could I resist her blandishments.”
She sighed. “We’ve known each other since school days,” she said to Bill.
“That explains it.” Bill gave one of his long slow smiles. “Want the bedside tables, too?”
Marigold nodded.
“Four-hundred dollars for the lot?” Bill raised his eyebrows in question.
“Feel free to spend my limited income any way you see fit, Marigold.” Hagen used a long-suffering voice.
She sent him a glance of reproof. “Four hundred it is.” She shook Bill’s hand. “Plus fifty dollars for delivery. Pass over your credit card, Hagen, and write down your address.” When she left the shop with Hagen, she said, “You’re right. We ought to have a budget. I can order a bed base for you tomorrow. What size do you want?”
“King size, what else? Mercia’s brother will have the white one removed tomorrow. I can be set up, minus the bed cabinets, by Tuesday.” He sounded pleased. “How long will it take to have the cabinets polished?”
“A couple of weeks, I would guess, at best.”
“I’ll use lamp tables in the meantime. I’ll take them out of one of the guest bedrooms. I think I can get the Allbrook painting team on to repainting the bedroom tomorrow. What color?”
“What color do you want?”
“I asked first.”
She wrinkled up her face, thinking. “A darker shade of gray than your carpet. Everything will match with that. That should give you time to think what accent color you would like.”
“Marigold,” he said using his patient tone. “I would like anything you would like. Find me something beautiful for a bed cover, and I will be happy. I’m sure I can move the paintings in the house around to fit whatever I end up with.”
“Right. I’ll furnish your bedroom to my taste. So, that’s the dining room done except for chairs, and the bedroom done except for accessories. Let me finish off those two rooms before I start on the sitting room. I think your guest bedrooms and bathrooms are lovely already. And I didn’t see your bathroom.”
“I’ll want you in the bedroom by Tuesday night—to see how everything looks.” He glanced away as he said the last part.
“Do you expect me to have found your bed coverings by then? I can’t. I’ll be at work. Unless you think I can spend my lunchtime on your extracurricular activities.”
“Now, there’s a leading statement. I can let you have a long lunch break, and I’ll drive you wherever you want to go in the interests of my bedroom.”
Her face began to warm, and she turned away. Although he’d strictly stuck to talking about decorating, her susceptible mind heard that he wanted her in his bedroom by Tuesday night, and she couldn’t focus on anything else. The thought of being in his bedroom for purposes other than decorating gave her a full body throb.
While he drove, she stared out the side window of the car, not concentrating on anything but her hopeless yen for Hagen. She had moved out of the one-night-stand category, which was a step up. Last night’s audition had earned her the highly desirable job of being his bed partner for the time being. By her reckoning, she would last with him at least until she had finished helping with his house, not that she thought he was fickle, but he clearly wanted to change his bedroom from being Mercia’s into his. This hinted at a man with plans to fill the bed with another, or at least rebrand himself for a new relationship.
Marigold wanted to dawdle with the job, but he had hurried her along too well for her liking.
“My bed will be gone tomorrow.” He sounded satisfied. “I’m going to need a place to sleep for a while.”
“Says the man with three spare bedrooms.”
“Let’s not ruin a perfectly good weekend by sending me off home on Sunday night.”
“Well, let’s not pretend you’re homeless. Let’s pretend you want to be with me.”
He pulled the car up outside her house. “Bad move, huh? I wasn’t quite sure you wanted to be with me, so I thought the pity card might work.”
“If you think I sleep with men because I feel sorry for them, you need to think again. I need to be very attracted to someone before I sleep with him.”
“Can I attract you two nights in a row?”
“We’ll see.”
He drew an extended breath and opened his door. Within moments he had rounded the car and opened her door, taking her hand to help her out. “What do you want to do about dinner? A quick meal at the local?”
* * * *
“Do you see anything you want on the menu board?” Hagen asked as he escorted Marigold to the empty table by the window. He had made a reservation at an Italian restaurant that he had always liked, while she’d changed out of the black pants and top she had been wearing all day, to a black skirt and top. Outside, the daylight had begun to fade.
“I’m going to get fat if we keep eating out. I’ll have the marinara.”
He paid for two. He had never much cared what he ate, but apparently she did, which worked in his favor since he wanted her to move in with him. If she did, she could get Imelda to prepare anything she wanted. That was the way meals had been organized when Mercia was alive. She had done very little cooking herself, despite her extensive shopping.
Marigold didn’t want wine with her meal, and that suited him, too, although he usually had a drink when he ate out, if not half a bottle. As he toyed with his water, he said, “I’ve heard that if you do the same thing for four days in a row, you’re on the way to forming a habit.”
“In relation to what?”
“Specifically, in relation to having a drink with a meal, but also for exercise, like taking a walk after dinner. Apparently you can make that into a habit.”
“I think I’ve made reading into a habit.” She twirled her spaghetti around her fork. “I always read a few chapters before I go to sleep.”
He grinned. She hadn’t read a word last night. “Unless you are otherwise occupied.”
“Let’s rephrase that to say unless I’m distracted.” Her lips pressed together as if she was deliberately trying not to smile, but her eyes crinkled slightly. “If you stay with me tonight, what are you going to do in the morning?”
Tricky. “How about what we did this morning?” He tried not to look too keen.
Her cheeks turned pink. “I meant about dressing and going to work.”
He considered. “I’ll go home and shower and dress and drive off to work as usual.”
“We wouldn’t want Sandra knowing where you spent the night.”
“She thinks I’m celibate.”
“And were you?”
He kept his gaze steady. “For some time.”
“Everyone has to break out eventually.”
“What about you?”
“I’m breaking out with you.” She looked away.
Once, he had thought he would never get that chance. Years ago, she had told him in no uncertain terms that his future success was assured because of his parents’ hard work and ambition, and not because he was any sort of genius. The harsh assessment had decided him to ask her to waltz with him at the school formal. Her date had left her with egg on her face. Even if she had seen Hagen as nothing but a rich boy, at least he had cared.
In those days, if she had refused to dance with him, he would have had enough front to imply he’d been joking, but back then he had the bolstering of his peers. Now, he was on his own, wanting a woman who had pricked his ego long ago, by being patently uninterested in him. These days, she seemed more likely to accept a relationship.
Bedding her had been a good start, but he wanted more than a quick tumble. Agreeing that she was breaking out with him was a step up from the, “no thanks,” he’d heard during his third year at the university when he had yet again tried to get a date with her. He waited for a year before he tried again. The fast-flowing champagne at his parents’ party six years ago had caused her to relax. Far from turning her back on him, she had latched onto his arm and said something ridiculous. He had kissed her. More than once. He hadn’t wanted to stop. She made him laugh, she made him think, and she stimulated him with her rigid opinions.
He had taken her to a rock concert the next weekend, and the next day to a barbeque that ended late at night, after which he circumspectly took her home. The next weekend they spent together with his friends. By that time, he was dazzled. Her kisses told him she was, too. One thing had led to another and they’d ended up in his university boarding house.
He had half undressed when she’d pushed him away with her polite rejection. And she’d told him that she didn’t want to see him again. Clearly his constant presence had begun to bore her to distraction. He saw no point in breaking his heart over a woman who only viewed him through champagne glasses. The confidence he had lost returned—to a degree. In his usual crowd, he was still a catch. So he had moved back with them and tried to forget Marigold, who had apparently forgotten him instantly.
And here she was, the same Marigold who picked and chose whatever and whomever she wanted. Last night had told him that if he had ever been a dud in bed, or if she had ever thought he might be, she didn’t now. She had been, as ever, the perfect partner for him. Sex with her last night was real, no deliberate scratching of his skin, none of that biting that was supposed to stimulate him into rough sex. He also wanted loving sex: he wanted to get to know her likes and dislikes.
That night, he discovered that apparently she liked him. When he awoke the next morning, he didn’t want to leave the bed, or leave her. She bemused him. She thrilled him. He had never experienced a night like that. Sex made with love was a whole other experience, on his part. He didn’t know about her. She had always been a mystery to him.
While she watched with sleepy satisfaction, he dressed and went home for a shower, a shave, and a change of clothes, quite determined to spend every single night in her bed until he could manage to move her into his.