“We are going to cause confusion,” she managed, swallowing thickly. Her throat was dry, and the feeling of arousal still pulsed through her. She squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to calm the sensation. It did not work. In fact, it made it worse.
“Careful, wife,” Tristan murmured, his voice low. “I almost think that you are challenging me.”
He took a step forward, and Madeline backed away, knocking into the bathtub.
“I… I just want us to be true to our word,” she stammered. “It’s only fair.”
“Only fair? Feeling the way I do and having you so close, but not quite mine, is hardlyfair, my darling duchess.”
He lifted a hand, fingertips ghosting along the point of her chin. Madeline stared up at him, unable to shake the image of herself standing up on her tiptoes and kissing him deeply. She already knew how his lips would taste, how soft they were.
“Why don’t you want to be mine?” Tristan whispered, a line appearing between his brows.
“I am already yours,” she managed. “I am your wife. Your duchess.”
He rolled his eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. Now, Madeline, I know that you do not want children. I respect your choice. But we may…enjoyourselves without risking a child. None at all. I can promise you that. You may have pleasure without a hint of fear.”
Madeline had to drag her gaze away from him. Want bubbled inside her, so powerful it almost felt like a hunger pang, anachelow in her gut. She was not even entirely sure what it was that she wanted, except that it involved Tristan’s hands on her body, his lips on hers. It was like badly wanting a drink of water, except she dared not take a sip, or else she would drown herself.
“I am afraid,” she said at last, the three words sharp and simple.
Something like confusion crossed Tristan’s face momentarily. “What?”
Madeline pushed away from the side of the bathtub, putting much-needed distance between herself and her husband.
“My mother and my grandmother died young,” she murmured. “My grandmother died in childbirth. My mother very nearly did, and the complications stayed with her for the rest of her life. It… It has always terrified me. I know that I fear more than childbirth. I… I do not want to complicate things between us, Tristan. It has been going so well. I feel as though we are almost friends.”
She took a step forward and made an abortive attempt to take his hand, deciding at the last minute that it was a bad idea.
“I like you,” Madeline blurted. “I like your company, I mean. We have Adam to raise together, which is no small task. Today—yesterday, I should say—we worked together so well to save him. I nursed him, and you rode through the night to find somebody you thought could save him.”
“Mine was a needless journey,” Tristan murmured.
“That does not matter,” she insisted. “We can do this, Tristan. I realized today that Icanbe a good mother to Adam if only I apply myself, and you can be the father he needs. But distractions and complications will only get in the way. We must concentrate on what is important, and that is Adam.” She breathed in deeply, squared her shoulders, and looked him in the eye. “This marriage was not our choice. We did it for Adam, for your brother and my friend, so let’s concentrate solely on that. If we make a mistake now, I do not think we will forgive ourselves.”
There was a long silence after she had finished. Tristan only looked at her, his expression impassive and unreadable. Was he angry? Sad? Disappointed?
Perhaps he does not care at all,Madeline thought, swallowing.
“Very well, wife,” Tristan murmured at last, his voice so soft she had to strain her ears to hear him. He took a step closer, gently taking her hand in his. He bent down, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. Stubble on his cheek grazed her skin, making her flinch. He straightened up and leaned forward, his lips sliding against her cheek. It was an even lighter kiss, so light that she was not sure that his lips even touched her skin at all.
He pulled back, smiled wryly at her, and disappeared, closing the door behind him.
Madeline was left with a hammering heart, a pulse of desire in her gut, and a foreboding feeling that she had just made a great mistake.
CHAPTER 20
“Oh,” Madeline said. “Is Tristan not down for breakfast yet?”
Only Dorothea sat at the long dining room table, reading a newspaper. An unusual habit for a woman, as ladies were meant to confine themselves to reading scandal sheets and gossip columns, and popular novels if theymust. She glanced up from her paper and smiled at Madeline.
“Good morning, my dear. I didn’t expect to see you down so early, not after the chaos of last night. Doctor Hought is coming back before luncheon to check on little Adam, by the way. I don’t believe that Tristan will be joining us this morning. The butler told me that he breakfasted in his study and had gone out somewhere or other.”
Madeline felt her spirits deflate. She had not slept well the previous night. It had been close to dawn when she finally retired to bed, her head swimming and thoughts of Tristan thrumming in her head.
The sun was up by the time she fell asleep; she remembered that much. Just touching the horizon, but it had been enough to send the first few golden rays of light glittering through the curtains. She could only have had a few hours before she found herself awake again, this time in a fully bright room, with breakfast minutes away from being served.
She sat down heavily in her usual place and picked up a napkin. She was hungry, which was not surprising. Madeline could not remember the last time she had eaten, but it must have been before they had visited the dressmaker’s. In fact, she felt so hollow inside she wanted to groan.
