It was only a very little, and that discovery eased one weight from his mind. He hadn’t hurt her so badly as he’d imagined.
He shouldn’t have hurt her at all.
He should have been content with keeping his cock out of a place where it didn’t belong.
But no. He couldn’t be content with touching her and pleasuring her with his hands and letting her pleasure him with her hand, her wicked, wicked hand.
Never mind. It was done, and at least there was no obvious evidence on the outside.
The matter could be dealt with quietly.
Quietly, that is, if she would cooperate.
He knew Zoe too well to count on that.
He had better be careful how he approached this. He took a moment to determine the best way to put it to her. Then, “Zoe,” he said.
She was giving a few final adjustments to the lace at her neckline. “You’d better fix my headdress,” she said. “I can’t see whether it’s straight or not.”
He adjusted her tiara. He brushed from her hair and his coat bits of feathers that had got loose during the orgy.
“Zoe,” he said.
She looked up at him and smiled the beatific smile.
“Zoe, would you mind very much becoming the Duchess of Marchmont?”
The smile faltered a little. She gazed at him for a long, long time.
He made himself wait.
“It’s because of this,” she said, her hand sliding to her belly. “Because I’m not a virgin anymore.”
“I know I should have controlled myself,” he said. “I know you wanted to meet other men—but even if we hadn’t done what we did…Zoe, I’m sure I wouldn’t like it at all if you did that with someone else.”
Those were not the smoothest remarks he’d ever uttered, but he felt anything but cool and composed at the moment. He was too painfully aware of having destroyed her chances of choosing a husband for herself. He was too painfully aware of having betrayed her father’s trust. At the same time, he didn’t regret what had happened, and it was quite true that he didn’t want her to choose another husband.
“Possessive,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
Her expression brightened again. “Only a crazy woman wouldn’t wish to be the Duchess of Marchmont,” she said.
It wasn’t quite the answer he’d expected—but what should he expect? “Does that mean yes?”
She nodded, plumes bobbing.
He started to lean forward, to kiss her.
The carriage stopped.
He glanced out of the window and sat back hastily. “Drat. We’ve arrived at your house already—and speaking of crazy people, there’s a trail of black feathers to the door.”
Zoe knew there were girls in books who declined financially advantageous offers on noble principles. She knew there were fictional girls who threw everything away for love. She certainly knew that only a short time ago she’d decided that Marchmont would not make a good husband.
She still believed that.
He was the kind of man who was quickly bored. He’d soon grow bored with his wife. He’d stray, and no matter how discreet he was, she’d know, and it would hurt her.
