“And I in my selfishness persuaded you against your better judgment.”
“Perhaps against my judgment, but not against my will.” She opened her eyes and gazed at him. “I wanted to believe our marriage of friendship would work.”
He regarded her gravely. “Know this, Suzanne. All the choices belong to you. All the power is in your hands. Whatever you wish, you may have, even if it is an annulment, or a separation. The choice is yours.”
He turned and quietly left the room. She managed to hold back her tears until he was gone. Then she disintegrated into wrenching sobs so intense, there was no space inside her for anything but pain.
Gradually she ran out of tears and lay buried under the blankets, filled with bleak despair. She forced herself to think. For a few bright shining days, she’d thought her luck had changed and she’d found happiness with the one man in the world who could be a perfect loving friend, understanding her as no one else could and not asking the impossible of her.
Their brief Eden had shattered, ironically, because he had become happy. Their marriage had benefited him as much as it had her, bringing him to a level of happiness he’d not imagined and restoring vitality and desire. She couldn’t wish him unhappy; she suspected he had a chamber of horrors that matched hers.
Her situation was enormously better than it had been a fortnight before. Thanks to Simon’s generosity, she now had the money to live in comfort. She could have a home and friends—along with a return to loneliness that would be all the worse for having been briefly lifted. Their marriage had barely begun and already she was so used to lying with him that his absence made her bed feel achingly empty.
When they were discussing a possible marriage, they had talked in abstract terms about what might happen if one of them regained desire. They’d assumed that if that happened it would be in the distant future. They’d also rather smugly decided that they were French; they could work that out. Discreet lovers were mentioned.
Now that possibility loomed, and the thought of Simon lying with another woman made her want to vomit. She realized that her hands had curled into claws.
She could leave tomorrow and Simon would not reproach her. To spare herself humiliation and notoriety, she could reject the idea of annulment and leave him in limbo, unable to ever take another wife.
But those possibilities were superseded by a promise she had made to him: to do her best to make this marriage work. That meant not giving up after three days. She was, after all, French and very adaptable.
They could continue living together but avoid touching each other, but they both loved it so much. Was there a compromise that would enable them to maintain a mostly satisfactory marriage? Perhaps, though it would be more satisfactory for her than for him. It was worth trying.
Needing to act before she lost her courage, she slid from the bed and pulled off the quilt, then carried it in her arms as she padded from her bedroom, across the cold sitting room, and into Simon’s room. She’d not been in it before, but dim light from fireplace coals showed that the layout was much the same as her bedroom.
She was trying to move silently, but was unsurprised when Simon asked, “Suzanne?”
Apparently he couldn’t sleep either. “Who else?” She tried to make her voice light and calm. “I’ve found I don’t like sleeping alone.”
He sat up in bed and regarded her warily. “Neither do I, but sharing a bed seems likely to be disastrous.”
“Perhaps we can find a workable compromise.” She cocooned herself in the quilt and gave him a gentle push on the chest. “Lie down, milord.”
She clambered onto the bed, lying on top of his covers but close enough that she could roll on her side and drape an arm around his neck. “I promised I would do my best to make our marriage work, not just seize your money and run.”
Bemused, he said, “You can do that if you wish to, milady.”
“But I don’t wish to!” She drew a deep, steadying breath when she realized she was shaking. “For honor’s sake as well as for our mutual benefit, I must make a good faith effort to create a marriage that will satisfy us both as much as possible. Which means touching because we both like it so much.”
She sensed him studying her through the shadows. “I can’t promise to share a bed with you and not become aroused,” he said bluntly. “You’re a lovely and desirable woman and my wife, and I am no longer a virtual eunuch.”
She shuddered. “Don’t even joke about that! I hated the fact that men were maimed in order to become eunuch harem guards.”
“Sorry, that was an ill-chosen word. But much as I want you in my bed, I can’t promise not to upset you again.”
“If we have enough bedding between us, I think I can manage,” she said, hoping her words were true. “Part of the problem tonight was that your arousal was so unexpected and shocking.”
“Unexpected, shocking, and frightening,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry, Suzanne.”
“Don’t apologize,” she replied. “The problem is mine, and I will do my best to bridge the gap between us.”
“If the answer is to have a lot of bedding, that’s easy in February.” He wrapped an arm around her and drew her cocooned self over so that she was half lying on his chest.
She hadn’t realized how tense she was until she started to relax. With a long sigh of relief, she burrowed against him. “We can’t touch each other as thoroughly, but this is so much better than sleeping alone!”
“I agree.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “An American once told me of a frontier custom called bundling in which courting couples share a bed because the young man has to travel so far to visit with her. A board is laid down the middle of the bed and they’re supposed to stay on their own sides.”
That surprised a laugh from her. “Do you think they do?”
