While he settled in the adjacent chair, she read Gray’s lament for innocence lost, for the bitter wisdom that comes with experience. The poet warned that knowledge brings sorrow, that it is better to remain ignorant than to face the truth.
Gabriel was right. The words conjured new images, of a man whose trust and heart had been broken long ago. Her throat tightened as she reached the line he had underscored in pencil.
And happiness too swiftly flies.
That’s when she knew. He had studied the book she’d given him, noting every mark and crease on the page, the faint smudge where she’d gripped it too tightly, searching for truth in every leaf.
He was trying to strip her bare.
New images formed in her mind’s eye. Not him delving into her psyche, but sliding her nightgown slowly from her shoulder, his warm mouth tracing her collarbone, his strong hands cupping her breasts.
“You wish to know more about me,” she said, forcing away the erotic thought. “And believe my secrets are hidden within the pages of a book. Why not simply ask?”
He relaxed back, his legs wide, a picture of masculine dominance. “Because I doubt you’d have told me.”
“Told you what?”
“That you linger on the pages where the poet speaks of love. That you wept as you read. That you believe yourself undeserving.”
She might have snatched her wine and taken a gulp, anything to still the traitorous thud of her heart, but she refused to let him see her fingers tremble.
“Then what’s baffling is why a man who seeks to solve every problem, a man whose heart has shrivelled and died, would marry a woman with an interest in love.”
Something flickered in his eyes, perhaps surprise, but it was gone as swiftly as it came. “To prove that a marriage based on romantic love is folly.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” There were flaws in his reasoning he had not considered. “Your view is biased. How can a woman who’s never felt love or desire judge if it holds any merit?”
His fingers flexed against his thigh, a subtle tightening. “What are you saying, my lady? That you want your husband to give you a lesson in pleasure?”
“You should call me Olivia when we discuss pleasure.” Just saying the words sent a delightful shiver down her spine. “I’m saying that without knowledge of it, I cannot agree with you.”
“Desire is nothing more than a story conjured in the mind. The body reacts to a thought, nothing more.”
And yet merely sitting beside him, every nerve alive, told her it had nothing to do with thought, and everything to do with feeling. “It’s not a topic I can debate.”
Silence settled, but his gaze remained dark, impenetrable.The air seemed to hum with palpable tension. This was not the conversation he had intended.
They finished their meal and drank their wine, the space between them tight with expectation. Did she want to feel his hands on her body, to feel like a desirable woman on her wedding night?
She didn’t know.
She knew one thing: Gabriel would not want to be found lacking. Better to leave before either was tempted to test the theory.
“It’s late. The peacocks will be wondering what’s kept me.”
“You don’t have to sleep there.” He paused, catching himself. “There are fifty bedchambers in the house. I don’t like you being so far away.”
“You said the house is impenetrable.” Almost as impenetrable as the master himself. “That I’m perfectly safe here.”
He hesitated, long enough to unnerve her. “You are. Still, I shall walk you to your room.”
“So I don’t get lost?”
“So you can tell me how you like your desire best served.”
“There’s an option?” It didn’t matter how it came so long as it came from him.
“Yes. You might like it tender, smooth on the palate.” There was something undeniably seductive in his look. “Or hot, straight from the pan.”
