“No, please. I want to understand you,” she said. “I want to learn…” She gestured toward his hands. “But before I do, let me ask the right questions. May I?”
He nodded, and the corner of her mouth lifted a little.
Almosta smile.
How might she look if she smiled properly?
And how might she look with her face flushed with pleasure—not the fake pleasure of whores, but the genuine response of a woman well satisfied? It was not something he’d seen, but he’d heard enough talk among gentlemen to know that it was the most glorious sight a man could behold—a woman screaming her climax at his hands, evidence of his skill and virility.
“Are we perhaps staying at an inn tonight?”
He nodded.
“And the journey. How long is it?”
He held up four fingers. Then, compelled by the urge to see her smile, he raised his hands, as if playing an imaginary violin.
She frowned and folded her arms, watching his hands, then a flicker of a smile touched her eyes for a heartbeat.
“Are we staying at the Fiddlers’ Arms, where we’ll arrive in four hours?”
Slowly, he nodded.
“I knew it!” she said. Then she checked herself, as if the burst of mirth was once more conquered by her melancholy. “A-and tomorrow?”
He held up three fingers.
“Another three hours then we’ll be at your home?”
He shook his head, then pointed to her and back at himself. Confusionclouded her gaze, then she parted her lips, and a faint bloom colored her cheeks.
“Three hours, yes,” she said, “but you want to tell me that it’sourhome?”
He nodded, and she blinked, a sheen of moisture glistening in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, almost in a whisper, and turned to look out of the window. Unwilling to intrude on her distress, Charles looked out of the opposite window at the landscape passing by.
After a moment, he heard her soft voice, the tremor piercing his heart.
“My lord?”
My lord? Bloody hell, she wasn’t his housekeeper. She was his wife. Had that bastard brother of hers taught her to be subservient?
He turned toward her, and she lowered her gaze, but not before he caught another glimmer of fear.Devil’s breeches, he’d have to learn to conceal his anger, or at least tell his little bride that his anger was directed at others, not her.
At length she lifted her gaze, and he raised his eyebrows in inquiry.
“I-I was wondering…”
He forced the frown from his expression and leaned toward her—but not so close as to crowd her.
“I was wondering whether you minded very much being married to me.” She spoke quickly, as if she feared the outcome of her question and wished to be done with it as quickly as possible. “Please don’t say what you think I wish to hear. I’d rather know the truth.”
He raised his hands.No.
“I-I don’t…”
He shook his head.
