And he had left the candle burning!
Desire almost died in him.
But if it did, she would know that he knew—and how would they be able to carry on together? She was doing this for him, because she cared. Shedidcare, he knew.
He quickened the rhythm. He shut his mind to all else but his own sexual need, and finally he held deep in her and felt the blessed release of completion. He almost despised the pure physical pleasure of the moment.
He moved off her almost immediately and tucked the blankets up over her shoulders. She was looking at him, he saw in the flickering light of the candle. He wished she had kept her eyes closed and pretended to sleep. He smiled at her. Perhaps she did not know he knew. She had been so very kind to him tonight.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
But he was alarmed to see her eyes fill with tears. Were they not going to be allowed to pretend to each other, then?
“Sydnam,” she said. She was almost whispering. “It is not you. Please,pleasebelieve me that it is not you. It is me.”
And the truth of what she had said crashed in on him like a tidal wave. But, of course, of course! He suffered from dreadful nightmares because of the unspeakable atrocities that had been done to his body.
Anne had suffered an atrocity at least equally unspeakable.
Did she suffer from nightmares too?
Or was it physical intimacy that was her nightmare—a physical intimacy that had happened twice since the atrocity, once at Ty Gwyn, and once tonight.
He gazed back at her, appalled. Had she known with her mind on both occasions that it was he but had felt with her body that it was Moore?
“It is me,” she said again. “Please believe that it is not you. You are beautiful, Sydnam, and you are sweet and gentle.”
“Anne.” He touched his lips to hers. “Anne, I understand. I do. Like a block, I did not even really consider it before now. But I do understand. What can I do? Shall I—Would you like me to go sleep in the sitting room?”
“No!” She clung to him, pressed herself to him. “Please, please, no. Not unless you cannot bear—Sydnam, I am so sorry.”
“Shh,” he said against her hair. “Hush, love. Let me just hold you as you held me earlier. Shh.”
He kissed her temple and made sure the blanket was tucked all about her. He warmed her body with his own.
And incredibly, blessedly, he felt her warm and relax within minutes and realized soon after that she slept.
He ought not to have slept too. It had been a night of turmoil.
It had also been totally exhausting.
He fell asleep only a few minutes after.
Anne woke up when something tickled her nose and a few sleepy swipes with one hand did not dislodge whatever it was that was doing it. She realized before she opened her eyes that it was a human knuckle—Sydnam’s, to be precise.
She opened her eyes.
“Good morning, Mrs. Butler,” he said. “Are you planning to get up sometime today?”
He was lying on the bed beside her, but on top of the bedcovers, fully clothed, and now that she was awake, she could hear his valet bumping around behind the closed door of the dressing room. It was unlike her to sleep late.
“You have even shaved,” she said, reaching out a hand to touch the smooth skin of his jaw on the left side.
“Are not pirates usually clean-shaven?” he asked her.
“Bluebeard?” She raised her eyebrows. “Blackbeard?”
He grinned at her.
