Rolfe picked up the stool and sat down on it, gazing thoughtfully at the bed. His little wife was not going to unbend. He had thought his warning of the day before had given her new incentive, but apparently he had only made matters worse. He ran his hands through his thick hair, exasperated. He had not known what to do yesterday besides give her a show of his temper, but it hadn’t warmed things up, had it? No, anger did not inspire her. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure he could control his temper.
He’d been stung more than he cared to admit when she professed not to care how many women he had as long as they were not Pershwick women. Jealousy he could understand, but not to care at all?
How could he reach this lovely girl, show her he wanted to start anew? Had she not guessed his intention in bringing her here?
Rolfe quickly divested himself of the rest of his clothing. He did not blow out the candle, nor did heclose the heavy curtain on his side of the bed, for that would trap the bed in darkness.
Leonie had her back to him. She had not disrobed, and she was buried deep beneath the covers. He threw them aside and lifted her off the bed to set her down on his lap. She made no sound. He held her thus, cradled like a child, stiff and unyielding though she remained.
He held her for a long while, thinking. Finally he asked, “How old are you, Leonie?”
The voice was soft, yet startling in the quiet room. Leonie actually had to think before she could answer.
“I have lived nineteen years.”
“And I ten more than that. Do you think I am too old for you?”
“I—suppose not.”
Rolfe nearly laughed at the grudging reply. “Do you abhor my blackness then?”
“Blackness? You are not so hairy that your golden skin is—”
Leonie clamped her mouth shut, appalled. Next she would be telling him how handsome he was!
“Will you tell me, then, what displeases you so about my appearance?”
There it was. He really did want to hear it. She would rather cut out her tongue than flatter his vanity. If he wanted praise, he could find it elsewhere—as no doubt he did, often.
“You would be bored to hear it, my lord, the list is so long.”
Leonie was delighted to hear him chuckle at her jibe.
“Dearling, there is nothing about you that displeases me. You are a mite small, but I think I like even that.”
Oh, cruel lies! You do not send away what pleases you.
“You did not want a wife.”
“Why do you say so?”
“Is it a sign of a happy groom to drink himself into forgetfulness?”
“In truth,” he said uncomfortably, “I was reluctant to force myself on you after being told why you were hiding beneath your veil.”
Leonie was surprised, not surprised that he knew she had been beaten—her father would have been forced to admit that—but surprised to know he’d been acting out of consideration for her. Rolfe destroyed that illusion in a moment, however. “And what little I knew about you before the wedding was not flattering.”
“I see,” she said coldly. “Then I assume it was not my person you were interested in.”
“Few marriages begin differently.”
“True. But few progress as ours did. You did not want a wife.”
“What I found distasteful, Leonie,” he said in a burst of honesty, “were my reasons for marrying you. Anger led me to offer for you, and soon there was no way out. But it was time I took a wife.”
She did not reply, and Rolfe was mystified. He’d told her the whole truth. What was there left to say?
He moved her chin upward gently, coaxing her to look at him. “Is it not enough that, whatever the reason we married, I am now well pleased?”
