“Calm yourself, princess,” he said when she shifted her weight for the umpteenth time. “I know that ye can hardly control yourself around me, but do try, no matter how difficult you find it. We are not going to consummate our marriage in your cousin’s house, no matter how much you beg me for it.”
This was an egregious lie. If she begged him, he would make love to her in the middle of the Great North Road. But that was a private thought, one best kept inside the safety of his own skull.
To his relief, she laughed, sounding genuinely reassured.
“You are the most arrogant man,” she said, not seeming particularly upset about it. “And I’m used to that side of you already. But today you showed me that you can—I scarcely even dare say it, Hector—socialize.”
She whispered the word as though it were a shocking term. But she was clearly pleased that he’d dealt politely with her relations, and that pleasure lit up the oddest reciprocal pleasure in him, too. He felt almost … playful.
How utterly strange.
He reached out and shoved her so she toppled, laughing, onto the plush mattress.
Several strands of hair fell from its pins. The inky rivulets as they trailed down the sides of her face gave him all sorts of inopportune ideas.
“I like your cousin,” he said gruffly, trying to distract himself from how pretty she looked, sitting there on a bed in which he would soon join her. “She’s sensible. By which I of course mean Northern.”
Clio waved a hand to indicate their current circumstances so much for his distraction.
“This is what you call sensible?” she asked. “This right here?”
“By all the saints, woman,” he grumbled, because he didn’t know how to handle her infectious happiness otherwise. It was twisting his guts. “Can you not go one minute without thinking about getting me in bed? It’s starting to look like a proper obsession.”
She laughed again, and Hector took a moment to marvel at how truly beautiful she was. He didn’t dare say anything about it; he knew she was sensitive to the idea that he appreciated her beauty exclusively, that he thought her nothing more than a painted doll to parade about. He would love to have a few minutes’ conference with whatever bastard had put that idea into her head. Only a lunatic could believe her an airhead. Hell, she was far too clever and observant for Hector’s peace of mind.
But he couldn’t tell her that. After all, he was at risk of revealing too much of himself. He’d already gone too far with his honestyin the carriage ride on the way here. Something about leaving behind the London air had loosened something inside him. He’d told Clio things that he typically didn’t even let himself think about.
At least he’d controlled himself before he had admitted how much the fear of being cast aside again still ruled him.
Because if he said any of those things, then he might start admitting to the things that he wasn’t even prepared to acknowledge for his own part. Like the notion that his growing hunger for his wife wasn’t just because of her beauty, or the fact that she was intriguingly sensual when she let herself be free from constraint, or that he’d always preferred a saucy woman to a meek one. The notion that it was none of those things, actually–that it washer, that it wasClio, and maybe nobody else would ever suffice for him, not ever again.
Like his fear that when she cast him aside, when she finally insisted that he make good on his promise to let her be free, that it would hurt him far more than his parents’ rejection ever had. That it might destroy him.
So, he frowned and teased and poked, partially because it was his way, and partially because letting her in seemed like one of the riskiest things he could ever possibly do. He would be far safer standing in front of a forge and trying to beat the molten metal with his bare hands than he would be in the face of Clio Ferrars, the wife he could never deserve.
Even with that fear ringing in his head, he let himself soak up the sunshine of her laughter.
He left the room when she undressed, though, concocting some feeble excuse about wanting to check on the horses, even though this was a bloody duke’s estate and Godwin no doubt hired grooms that had ten times the knowledge of horses that Hector could ever hope to possess. He couldn’t trust himself not to steal a look if he remained in the room. And if he stole a glimpse of her undressed—or hell, even half dressed—he didn’t trust himself to be honorable and keep his promises to her.
Indeed, it was bad enough to return and find her lying beneath the bedclothes, the blankets tucked demurely up to her chin. She was feigning sleep–she truly wasnota skilled actress–and she wore her hair in a long, dark braid that nearly undid him.
Good God, how he wanted to touch that braid. He wanted to wrap it around his hand, wanted to tug on it–not to hurt, but to tease, to move her where he needed her most. He wanted to unwind it and run his finger through the strands. He wanted tokissit, a truly insane impulse that he’d never once had in his life. Hell, someone could wrap the damn thing around his throat and use it to choke him to death, and he didn’t think he would complain.
He was a bloodydisaster.
It was his habit to sleep in nothing at all, but tonight he made himself wear both shirt and trousers, the laces done up tightenough to be uncomfortable. His control was tenuous enough. He didn’t need to tempt himself any further.
As he slipped under the blankets beside her, it was all he could do not to gather her in his arms, where she belonged. The inches between them felt like miles.
“Good night, Clio,” he whispered, quietly enough that she could keep pretending to be asleep if she wished to.
“Good night, Hector,” she whispered back.
He clutched that sound to him as he drifted into oblivion.
CHAPTER 20
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and thatwrongnessburrowed under Clio’s skin, making her feel itchy and twitchy and—justwrong. She made a disgruntled sound, searching for the problem so she could put it right, but all she could find was more—more badness, more worry, discomfort, and fear.
