“You look tired, my lord. Please, let me,” Alice said, coming to him.
He nodded, no thanks forthcoming, and allowed her to lift off the tunic, then the undergarment. Alice tried not to touch his skin, but failed, and she shuddered. He did not notice.
He bent to release his garters, and Alice hurried to do so for him. He let her, and as she removed them, he stepped out of his chausses and hose. Alice made a show of folding his things neatly, so as not to have to look at his blatant nudity. The man had no modesty, no shame. She remembered how it had felt, his male organ, poking at her, and she felt her tension rising. She fought with herself and managed to maintain a semblance of calm.
He was already in the bed, one arm outflung, eyes closed. Alice approached, blinking. He did not look like a lusty groom, he looked like an exhausted man about to sleep. She slid in beside him and, once under the coverlet, removed her robe. He did not move. An awful realization arose—he was going to sleep! He was not going to touch her!
A part of her rejoiced. Yet her smarter self, her ambitious self, was cool and calm and knew this could not pass. Alice shifted her body so that her knee touched his. There was no response.
She was not a seductress like her sister. How was she going to get his attention? And why, why was he behaving like a monk? He knew his duty! Alice touched his arm. “My lord?”
He wasn’t asleep, for his eyes opened immediately, and he gazed at her lucidly.
Alice’s mouth trembled. “I am so sorry,” she whispered, her lashes fluttering down, “I did not mean to displease you. Can you not forgive me?”
“’Tis forgotten,” he said with a grunt. “Now, go to sleep.” He rolled over, facing away from her.
She wanted to take this good fortune and escape his attentions, but she could not. “My lord? Might I have a word with you?”
Rolfe turned back over, sitting up. “What is it you wish, Alice?” His tone was short and rude.
Her temper flared. “You do not wish to consummate this marriage?”
His eyes narrowed. “No, I do not.”
She blinked, shocked, not having expected this answer. For a moment she was at a loss. “You do not want to consummate this marriage?” she repeated.
“No.”
Alice shrank back against the wall. “I do not understand. I am your wife.”
Rolfe’s eyes were blue flames, and in a violent action, he jerked out of the bed, pacing away from her. When he turned, she saw that he was very angry. He could not possibly be harboring such rage at her!
“Then I will explain,” Rolfe said harshly. “Your behavior today sickens me. I have no desire to touch you. None—as you can see.” He gestured crudely at himself.
She went white, then red. A long silence prevailed. Finally Alice broke it, stunned. “You do not wish to be wed to me?”
“You are my wife,” Rolfe said. “We are wed.”
“Not truly. Not in the eyes of God.”
His stare was cold. “Perhaps, when the mood takes me, I will rectify that. But not today. Not tonight.”
Alice covered her trembling chest with her hand. She could not believe this. He might consummate the marriage one day, if the “mood” took him. And yet what was she to do? Shout her humiliation to the world? No, she would never be able to hold her head up again, if everyone knew he had not taken her as was his duty—when all knew he lusted openly after her sister. He must know she would say nothing. Tears came to her eyes. “You do not want sons? I can give you many heirs, my lord. I am young and I am healthy.”
Rolfe smiled, without mirth. “I have sons—half a dozen scattered from Normandy to Anjou. I have two more bastards in Sussex. Believe me, madame, I do not lack for heirs.”
“So ’twill be a marriage in name only,” Alice said bitterly—and then she was struck with a thought. She hated the very idea of his touching her, and she always had, yet because she wanted to be his wife, and it was her duty, she had wanted this consummation. But now she was his wife, and if no one knew the truth, then she could be his wife without suffering his touch….
“When the foul memory of your malicious pleasure in your sister’s pain recedes, I will most certainly exercise my rights,” Rolfe was saying. “But ’twill not be this eve, so you may rest easy, your maidenhead is yet spared. Good night, Lady Alice,” he ended firmly, striding back to the bed.
How she detested him.
How very lucky she was.
And of course, she would have to make sure all of Aelfgar assumed their marriage was truly consummated. But that would be a simple task, indeed.
Despite exhaustion, his sleep was not deep, and it was troubled.
