She sighed, anger replaced by resignation. “Not by his standards. He needed a wife who was an heiress and attractive enough to be worthy of his wonderful self. He said he loved me because he knew I expected it. He took pride in being an expert lover, so he made sure I enjoyed what he called bed sport.” She halted with a shuddering breath.
Sensing that she needed to reveal all her misery so that she could turn away from that past, he said encouragingly, “But?”
She swallowed hard. “At first passion was enough for me, but gradually I realized that any reasonably attractive young female in his bed would be equally acceptable. He never really saw me as an individual. He found his mistresses much more interesting.”
Simon could only imagine how painful that must have been for a devoted young wife who had believed herself loved. “Then he was a fool! And not a man of honor.”
“His honor didn’t include fidelity to his marriage vows. He told me that when I confronted him. But he wasn’t angry. He waspatronizing.He patted my hand and said that soon I’d understand the way things were done in our world.” Anger and pain were raw in her voice. “After I gave him an heir, or better yet, two, I could do as I pleased.”
Simon swore under his breath. “He didn’t deserve you!”
“Perhaps not, but he was sure he deserved my dowry, which was quite substantial.” When her voice broke, Simon began stroking her back soothingly.
She resumed, voice shaking. “He was thinking of putting me aside when several years of marriage passed without a child. He considered me worthless.”
Simon swore again. “What a thrice-damned fool!”
“His first and only concern was for himself and his reputation, or he would have put me aside earlier.” She rested an arm over her eyes to conceal tears. “He was still pondering his dilemma when he decided life would be safer and warmer in Naples and he booked passage for us there.”
Guessing where this was going, Simon asked, “Did you reach Naples?”
“No,” she whispered. “Our ship was attacked by corsairs. Seeing the inevitable, Jean-Louis shouted at some of the French sailors that he’d reward them richly if they took him away in the ship’s boat. They were anxious to leave, too, so half a dozen sailors and Jean-Louis piled into the boat and they tried to escape.”
“Leaving you to the mercy of the pirates,” Simon said, his voice shaking with barely suppressed fury.
“Of course. I was of no great value to him, and this was easier than putting me aside.” Her mouth twisted. “I was lucky. The pirates merely took me prisoner. He was less lucky. The corsairs blew the small boat to pieces. There were no survivors.”
“My poor, dear girl,” he whispered, drawing her so close that her face was tucked in between his neck and shoulder.
Her voice muffled, she said wearily, “If you and I were in such circumstances, you would have died trying to protect me.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” He took a deep breath, not wanting her to be intimidated by his anger at a man now dead. “But I’ll do my best to see that we never face such danger.”
Her arm came around his waist and she began to relax into him. “I’ve never told anyone about Jean-Louis because it was hurtful. With you, I can bear to speak.”
He was awed that she trusted him enough to reveal the anguish of her first marriage. Surely this was a good omen for their future.
She was all warmth and sweetness as she drifted into sleep, her head on his shoulder, her breathing soft and steady against his throat. He’d wanted more closeness and now they had that. He wanted to give her so much happiness and safety that she would never have to weep again.
He wanted . . . he wanted . . .
With a shock that struck to his heart, he recognized that the warmth curling through him was as much physical as emotional. He wanted her in every way a man could want a woman. Long-vanished desire was blossoming into life and he wanted so much more than the companionship they’d agreed to.
What the devil was he to do now?
Chapter 9
Lying still so as not to disturb Suzanne, Simon tried to come to terms with the fact that his long years of passionless celibacy had ended, a discovery equally exhilarating and alarming. Mostly exhilarating, but it complicated his marriage enormously. Though he had changed, Suzanne hadn’t, and he had pledged to do nothing to distress her.
If she felt different about passion someday, he’d celebrate, but for now and the indefinite future, his job was to protect and cherish her. And teach her how to shoot firearms and defend herself.
Eventually he fell asleep and awoke at first light to find that Suzanne still lay sleeping with her head on his shoulder and her arm around his waist. Her face was peaceful and very young. Carefully he flexed his right arm, which had gone to sleep along with Suzanne.
The motion caused her to stir and open her eyes. She was deliciously tousled, her green eyes making him think of mint leaves. “So I didn’t dream last night,” she said with a sleepy smile. “You make a marvelous pillow. I can’t remember when I’ve slept so well. What about you?”
“It took me some time to fall asleep,” he said honestly, “but when I did, I slept dreamlessly and well.”
She rolled onto her back and stretched and he tried not to stare at the way her breasts lifted under the soft fabric of her nightgown. “Perhaps we should continue to sleep together?” Her gaze shifted shyly away from him. “I’ve . . . never slept all night with a man. I liked having you there.”
