His gaze flew to hers. Finally. “Are you cross with me?”
“No, I’m not cross, sir. Just resigned.” She tried to smile, but her lips refused to tug upward.
Her husband tugged at his cravat, only to realize too late he wasn’t wearing one and instead just jabbed himself in the throat. “F-Fitz will do, or Fitzwilliam, if you prefer.”
Oh! That seemed like progress. She opened her mouth to test his name on her tongue—
“Y-you don’t need to be resigned. I promise I’ll make it as painless as possible. There might be some pain, I’ve been told. I—I did some reading. And you see, there is something called a hymen…”
Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.Oh my God. He was not speaking of her hymen, was he?
“…a pinch, or so I’ve heard,” he was saying.
And then his rambling and his admission that he had donesome reading, and all their prior interactions came rushing to the forefront of her mind.
“Have you never done this before?” she blurted. She’d had the thought before, but she hadn’t believed it would actually hold any truth.
The incessant rambling stopped, and silence settled thick and suffocating over her chamber.
“No…” he said slowly.
Oh God, they going to be a pair of fumbling, stumbling virgins. Heaven, help her. She should just douse the lights, he could stick her with his prick, and have this done with.
He opened his mouth, but words didn’t come. He closed it and tried again. “Or at least, I don’t believe I have ever bedded a virgin before.”
His shoulders sagged.Phewf.All right. He would at least know where to put it. “So, you have bedded a woman before?”
“I…had a m-mistress,” he said carefully. “I know it is not something typically discussed between husbands and wives. I dismissed her upon our betrothal.”
She pursed her lips and examined him. A confusing mix of gratitude and disbelief settled over her. That he dismissed his mistress was quite thoughtful and not very common amongst the ton, nor the wealthy. But also—he had a mistress?
“You.Youhad a mistress?”
Whoops, that had come out rather rude. But she couldn’t see it.
He pursed his lips back at her. His lips looked soft.
“Is that hard to believe?” he asked her, but his eyes were somewhere in the evergreen canopy that hung over her four-poster bed. He looked adorably befuddled.
“Yes, I do find it hard to believe. You couldn’t even bear to look at my breasts. You can’t even look at me right now. And I’m to believe you had a kept woman. A womansolelyfor bedsport. Or did you not hire her for those kinds of services?”
His gaze found hers again, amber brows scrunched together. “You know of such things? And of course I had s-sexual congress with her.”
Sexual congress. Sexual. Congress. A little part of her died inside. As did her fantasies. She wanted a man to tell her she was a bad wench. To discipline her. Perhaps throw in a fewgood girls too. A delicate balance of punishment and praise. A man who saidsexual congresswould never.
His forehead lines deepened. “I’ll have you know, she was very pleased with my performance,” he said tightly. “It’s not as if I need an instruction manual.”
Interesting. There wasn’t one stammer in that sentence. So, he was capable of conversing with her. Apparently, if he was distracted enough, he could speak. She noted that.
“Excellent. I’m glad you don’t need a manual. Shall we get on with the consummation?”
She gripped his hand and walked backward toward her bed. He was back to gulping, and she had to tug him with more force than should ever be necessary when bringing a man to bed. But eventually her backside hit her bed, and she hopped up on the mattress.
His breaths came short and shallow, sharp mint and soft cedar wafting to her with each breath. His gaze flickered toward her, only to quickly dart away, like he wanted to look at her, but couldn’t quite handle it. He wrenched his hand from her grip, and ran it through his curls, his lips moving in what looked like silent prayer.
“Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you?” She was fairly certain that was not the question thebrideasked thebridegroomon their wedding night. But nothing about life this past week had come close to resembling something that could be deemed normal.
He was still praying.
