He chuckled again, a rich, bubbling sound in the darkness. "It's no wonder that you did. You've been in here over an hour."

An hour! Felicity winced, hearing his previous promise echoing in her mind: "I'll be along as soon as I can." Obviously, he was not nearly as eager for her as she was for him. Her embarrassment became mortification, and all her previous uncertainties came flooding back until she thought she might choke on them. He preferred drinking with his friends to his wife's bed. When his arms slipped around her, she stiffened, turning her face away from his liquored breath. "What the…?" he muttered when his lips encountered her ear. "Where are you?" Humor flavored his question. His own desire blunted his perceptions, and he did not sense her withdrawal. The softness of her body, the scent of her skin inflamed that desire, blotting all other thoughts from his mind. He swept her up, drawing her into the heat.

Felicity tried to resist. If she meant so little to him, she would not surrender, but she was no match for his strength. When his mouth finally found hers, he held her so tightly that she could not even turn away. She felt a groan rumble from deep in his chest and the bulk of his weight shifted over her, smothering all her protests.

As if from a great distance, Felicity heard an ominous creaking sound. For one awful moment, she imagined that all her bones were breaking, crushed under this unwanted burden. And then they both fell with a loud thump.

With difficulty, Josh and Felicity untangled themselves from the bedclothes and each other to find they were now lying on the floor surrounded by the high sides of the enormous bed.

"What the hell?"

"What happened?"

Slightly dazed, Felicity could not quite get her bearings. She sat up carefully, feeling for the headboard and sides of the bed so she would not bump her head. She heard Mr. Logan swearing some more. "What happened?" she asked again.

"The bed ropes broke, I guess," he said, twisting around to a sitting position beside her. "Nobody's slept in this bed for years. The ropes must have rotted."

"But Candace said she put new ones on," Felicity remembered. Candace had carefully listed all the preparations she had made to the room as she was undressing Felicity. Felicity recalled this one in particular because Candace had mentioned the bed would now be able to hold up to a lot of tossing and turning, a remark that had made Felicity blush.

"Are you sure?" Josh asked, but he was feeling along the side of the bed where the ends of the ropes still dangled. "Somebody cut them!" he informed her in outrage.

"Cut them? Who would do a thing like that?" she asked in confusion.

"Somebody who's going to regret the day he was ever born when I find out who he is," Josh muttered furiously.

But Felicity was remembering another conversation she had had earlier in the day. "I don't think it's a 'him,'" she said thoughtfully.

"You know who did it?" he asked ominously, turning to her in the darkness.

Felicity hesitated a moment. "I… I think it might have been Blanche."

"Blanche?" he echoed incredulously. "Why would she have done it?"

"She was… disappointed when I told her you weren't going to let the men have a shivaree. She said maybe she'd think up some mischief herself…" Felicity let her voice trail off, and she winced at a new spate of profanity.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Sitting there in the dark, on the floor, among the ruins of their marriage bed, Felicity began to feel a little ridiculous. She tried to remember that only moments ago she had been trying to fight off her husband's amorous attentions because she was angry with him, but somehow that seemed very long ago and far away. Now he, too, was sitting on the floor, fury having replaced passion as his most dominant emotion.

Although his large body was only a darker shadow in the blackness, Felicity could picture exactly how he would look, his broad shoulders stiff with frustration, his handsome face scowling grimly, his gray eyes glittering with rage. And his silver head the only thing visible above the side of the bed, had anyone happened to see them at that moment. His whole head and only the very top of hers. And they were sitting on the floor.

The absurdity of it all twitched at her lips. She slapped a hand across them, but the twitch continued. Before she could stop it, a bubble of laughter burst in her throat. She muffled it as best she could and it came out as a strangled sob.

"Felicity? What's wrong?" he asked in alarm. "Are you hurt?"

His concern, under the present circumstances, struck her as hilarious, and she had to use both hands to check the squeals trying to escape from her mouth.

The awful sounds raised gooseflesh along the back of Josh's neck. He reached for her with gentle hands. Good Lord, she was trembling. "What is it?" he insisted. "Where are you hurt?"

This undid her and she convulsed, collapsing against his chest. "I'm… not… hurt…" she gasped between shrieks.

She had to repeat it twice before he understood, and still he held her as tenderly as if she were spun glass. "Then what's wrong with you?" he demanded, though his voice and hands were infinitely gentle.

"We're… we're sitting… on the floor!" she explained raggedly, still half choking with her laughter. "It's so funny!"

His hands tightened on her arms. "Funny?" he repeated. "Funny! Are you laughing?"

She nodded her head furiously against his chest, too limp to even straighten up.

"Funny!" he said again, incredulously, sending her into another fit. Instinctively, he pulled her closer to allow her laughter to spill over his bare chest. The sensation was fantastic, much the same as receiving a refreshing rain shower on a sultry day. He smiled in the dark as her small body quivered against his. He had never heard such a wondrously joyful sound. His own smile began to twitch.

Felicity felt his laughter before she heard it. The silent quaking shook her and then the sound came pouring out like a jubilant geyser to splash over her.

Josh sank backward onto the pillows, carrying his wife with him, clinging to her until the last rumbles of their mirth died away and they lay together, weakly gasping for breath.

After a long time, he spoke. "What do you think we should do now?" he asked a little breathlessly.

"Do?" Felicity repeated stupidly, too drained to even figure out what he was talking about.

"Yes, do. About our bed."

Felicity found this cryptic remark entirely beyond her depleted ability to analyze. "Huh?" she asked, lifting her head attentively.

He sighed with exaggerated patience. "Our bed is broken. Remember?" he said slowly. "I could, of course, carry you off to one of the other bedrooms, but I'm not exactly dressed for a move."

The word "dressed" lodged in her mind. What did he mean, he wasn't dressed? Suddenly she realized that the fuzz beneath her cheek had been hair. And naked flesh. Tentatively, she moved the arm draped across his waist. Her fingers grazed bare skin.

"You aren't wearing any clothes!" she squeaked, jerking her hand away. She would have jerked the rest of herself away, too, but he was holding her too tightly.

"No, and you're wearing too many," he said, running his hand up and down her back, testing the warmth of her through the thin fabric. The desire that the fall had quenched proved only to be banked. It now flickered to life again, but the raw edge of his need was gone, replaced by a languorous sensuality. His other hand reached for her face and drew it down to his.

Had he tried to force her, she might have resisted once more, but this time his touch was light, almost teasing. When her lips grazed his, all thoughts of resistance vanished.

"Mmmm, you taste so good," he murmured against her mouth as he nibbled at her bottom lip.