Chapter 16
Annabelle
Iwhimpered.
On more than one occasion.
It is a humiliation I can hardly bear.
I did not expect to lose myself so completely on his cock, in his arms, from his touch and from his mouth.
He is better than any man I have ever had.
Not because of his skill in the bedchamber—he is still so untutored—but because of his ardent passion.
Now his seed coats my fingers, making them slippery.
At least, I think, I have achieved one objective, even if I have failed utterly at the other. I am only more vulnerable to him than I was before. But at least I have succeeded in getting him to spend inside of me. I could soon be with child.
I had not expected him to insist upon a letter. I had not even thought he would ask about preventing a pregnancy. Most men are not very considerate on that score.
I was not lying to him when I told him I thought the letter would split.
In the future, if he is concerned, I will insist that hewithdraw—I am not confident in his ability to do so with accuracy. And now it might not even matter.
I thought bedding the man would cure me of my vulnerability to him, would turn me back into the woman that I know that I am, but it did no such thing.
And now he wants to apologize. For what, I have no idea. I told him that he could spend inside of me. He clearly is confused by my lack of concern regarding the matter. I have lied to try and calm his nerves. In reality, I have no reason to suspect that I cannot get with child. Before now, I’ve always been scrupulously careful with men.
“I am sorry,” he stutters. “I was too rough, perhaps?—”
I laugh.Him, too rough. No, he is far too sweet, far too soft. And it is far more dangerous for me than any roughness.
“It is not your fault,” I say, my tone acid. “I told you that you were too large. But it is no matter to me if you spend inside of me. As I said, I suspect I cannot get with child.”
“I want you to know that I will do the right thing. The honorable thing. If there are consequences.”
I feel as if the room is capsizing. His eyes appear like two shadowy emeralds in the dim light. He is so handsome. And so very mistaken about what I want.
I laugh again, but this time it is my harsh, bitter laugh. The laugh I emitted when I realized that my father left Trescott Abbey tome.
“I cannot think of anything I want less than to be your wife, Alfred.”
He flushes immediately. He swallows roughly and brings a hand to his jaw, no longer able to meet my eye.
“Of course. That was stupid of me. I just thought—if you were with child—you would need—you would have to marry. I do—I have always wanted—a child.”
He is so conventional. I forgot that while I was debauching him and extorting him and preparing him for ruin. He is the kind of man who listens to authority, who believes in the wisdom of the powers that be.
“If I were with child,” I bite off, “I would do whatever I pleased. I have no respectability left to lose. A child wouldn’t change that. And I have more money than most of the men in the House of Lords. A husband would only complicate matters. And be a most unwelcome addition to my life.”
He says nothing. His expression, however, speaks clearly. He is hurt. I have hurt him.
The warm atmosphere that permeated the room when I rode him, the intimacy that so scared me, is now completely gone.
His interest in a child is inconvenient. Later, he may try to insert himself where he is not wanted.
“But it will not come to such a point,” I say, trying to maintain my composure. “It is only one time. And there are things women can do—teas, tonics, and the like. I will take one. And as I said, I do not suspect I am fertile, anyway.”
