She was silent for a long time. There were moments when he thought she’d fallen asleep, yet she was deep in thought.
At last, she whispered, “You once said there were things a man and woman could do together…apart from outright consummation. Is that true?”
“It is.”
She hesitated. “And have you done these things before? I mean, you know how to do them properly?”
He smiled in spite of himself. “Yes, Cassandra.”
“Perhaps, once my week is over and done with—if you are still interested in making me your mistress—I think I should like to try them.”
Wade held her tightly, vowing, “It will be as you wish it to be.”
He was learning patience. She was teaching him restraint. By the time her week of suffering finished, his forbearance would rival the saints’. No matter how distressing or disappointing her illness became, he would never give up on her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Cassandra sat on the sofa with her feet propped upon an embroidered footstool. She’d spent little time exploring Pender Abbey, but suspected the drawing room, with its scarlet brocade and yellow-upholstered furniture—to say nothing of its peerless views of the sea—would forever be her favorite space. She and Wade could make themselves comfortable here.
Indeed, he lay sprawled atop the cushions beside her with his dark head nestled in her lap. He thumbed through a recent copy ofthe Times, commenting now and then on people he knew or issues of the day. Wade liked to hear her thoughts on even the most trivial news. They frequently clashed opinions—he being forward-thinking and prone to risk-taking, while she believed in a more cautious, introspective approach—but it was an invigorating experience to debate with the Duke of Wadebridge.
At any rate, it took her mind off her cramps. The aching in her abdomen had intensified overnight. Wade had been accommodating, though he could never understand her pain. Thankfully, their failure in the bedroom had not diminished his affection for her.
He turned the page of his paper. “Will you walk down to the sea this afternoon?”
“No, not today.” Cassandra ran her fingers through his thick, black hair. Feeling unwell, she preferred to stay indoors where it was cool, quiet, and restful.
She shifted against the cushions. Wade looked up from the article he’d been reading to ask, “Am I too heavy?”
Cassandra shook her head. His body was warm. His presence was comforting. He was precisely what she needed. She placed her hand upon his brow, toying with a stray lock of hair. “You’re perfect. Don’t move an inch.”
Her lover smiled up at her. It was difficult to look into the dark depths of his eyes and not remember his hands on her flesh. Cassandra’s mind flashed back to that heated exchange—the firm weight of him pressing her onto the mattress, his skillful fingers parting her thighs, the desire he stoked as he’d caressed that place which only ever caused her pain.
If Cassandra had been a normal woman, she would’ve given him what he sought. She would not have hesitated, for she wanted Wadebridge as desperately as he wanted her. But the timing had not been right. He’d not yet learned the rhythm of her body. He could not yet anticipate her needs.
A fresh wave of pain radiated through her belly. She groaned and did her best to breathe through the cramp.
Wade raised up, turned on the sofa, and faced her. His handsome features were slashed with worry. “I think we ought to do something about that.”
One large palm pressed her corseted abdomen.
“Nothing to be done, I am afraid, but to suffer through.” Cassandra had survived this week a hundred times. She was strong enough to endure one hundred-and-one. As the spasm subsided, she added, “I would not turn down a cup of tea…”
“With a spoonful of whiskey to take the edge off?”
She laughed, for he certainly had the right idea. “Mmm, yes, I think so.”
Wade moved to stand. He crossed the expanse of carpeted drawing room to reach the bell. He gave the cord a firm tug, and then waited for a servant to answer the call.
When a footman arrived, His Grace ordered tea. He then strode to the drinks cabinet and searched out a decanter.
Cassandra typically used ‘soothing syrups’ when the pain grew unbearable. She knew these patent elixirs were little more than alcohol or laudanum, yet they served their purpose when used as directed—one or two doses were enough to numb the pain. More than that, she became clumsy. Too much rendered her insensible.
After a few moments, the footman returned with the tea tray. The younger male servants of the house were infinitely curious about her. They peeked at her beneath their downturned eyes, admired her when they believed she could not see them. Cassandra found them harmless and kinder than their female counterparts.
Wadebridge merely smirked as the fellow puffed his chest out beneath his maroon livery. Once the footman had seen to his task, Wade pulled the stopper on the crystal decanter. He served a splash of amber liquid into Cassandra’s teacup. “More?”
She nodded, for she would need a more than a drop’s worth to dull this ache.
