She gave a little shiver at the wordsurrenderand his cock responded accordingly. Oh, he would give her surrender, demand it in return. But later. Later, when everything didn’t feel so sharp. When he could regulate the wild beating of his heart.
The door between the parlor and the dining room slid open and one of the footmen appeared there. “Supper is ready, Your Graces, whenever you are.”
He held out a hand to motion her toward the dining room. “Are you ready, Your Grace?”
“I am. Very ready.”
He chuckled as he followed her in and watched her be helped into a seat just to the right of his place at the head of the table. He didn’t want her far away and had asked for just this arrangement. He settled in and for a few moments it was all hustle bustle of dishes being placed and wine poured. Finally, though, the last member of the serving staff stepped away and they were alone again.
She smiled at the dish before her. “White soup with almonds and rice? This is one of my favorites.”
“I know,” he said as he picked up his own spoon.
She tilted her head. “You know? How?”
“I do pay attention, you know,” he said, and though he had planned this meal so that it included a great many of Etta’s favorite foods, now he felt exposed. There was a vulnerability to knowing someone and he hadn’t fully taken that fact in until she was staring in wonder at him, her eyes bright with how much this meant to her.
He wanted to push that vulnerability away. To shut the door to it and put the spotlight back on her. He waited until she’d taken a spoonful of soup, smiling at its familiar, favorite flavor, and then he said, “May I ask you a question?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“I’ve noticed you always refer to your late husband by his title, Tunbridge,” he said.
She took another spoonful of soup, he thought to create a pause for her to collect herself. After she had swallowed, she said, “Yes, I suppose I do.”
“But you aren’t usually so formal,” he pressed. “At least with people you know well or care for. I wondered if there was a reason why.”
He could see how tender a subject he had hit upon by the way the light left her eyes. He almost regretted asking, because he realized how personal this was. It wasn’t a way to build a wall, not really. He wanted to know the answer, more desperately than he was ready to admit, even to himself.
“Our marriage was rather formal,” she began. He noted how she slowed the conversation by taking another spoonful of soup. Soon the bowl would be empty, though, and then there would be no buffer until the next course was brought.
“Because it was arranged,” he encouraged.
“Yes. I suppose that was the reason at first. He was older than I was, it was arranged, we didn’t know each other very well. All of those things were reasons it was distant at first. And I spent a great deal of time trying to console myself that those were the reasons it remained so. But you know, Flora’s husband was far older than mine when they married. It was also arranged. And she loved him. So it’s made me come to realize that it wasn’t only the circumstances that kept us apart.” She bent her head, sadness flitting over her expression.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried,” he said.
She shrugged. “No. With what we’re doing, I think it makes sense you would want to know. You’ve gotten me to reveal more about my marriage than anyone else already, actually.”
He shifted as she pushed her now empty bowl away a little and instead began to worry the napkin in her lap. Her pain cut him. He wanted to soothe it. “Are you talking about the fact that he didn’t attend to you…physically?”
Her cheeks flamed. “Yes.”
“Did he ever…hurt you?” he asked.
“No,” she said instantly, and it relieved him beyond measure. “Thank goodness for that. I’ve appreciated it all the more after knowing what Valaria went through. Though it wasn’t out of some great concern for me. He was simply too indifferent to pleaseorharm me.”
“Always?” he asked, trying to wrap his head around a man who wouldn’t want this woman. Who wouldn’t see all her wonderful qualities and be drawn to them. Or at least not wish to spend a great deal of time exploring her pleasure.
When she shifted, he reached a hand to cover hers. At the same moment, the door opened and servants entered to change the courses. She pulled her hand away, placing them both in her lap with another blush. The bowls were removed and soon replaced with plates of haricot lamb, which elicited a swift smile from her as she saw it.
But he was still too attuned to her pain to enjoy that small pleasure. Once they were alone again, he said, “Etta, if you don’t want to talk about this, we don’t have to do it.”
She swallowed and met his gaze, holding there a moment, searching. “You and I have long been friends, so I know I can trust you.”
That trust, given yet again and in such a different circumstance, hit him in the chest, just as it had when it had simply been about her body. “You can,” he assured her.
“And since this subject has already impacted how I react when you…when you touch me, I think you might deserve to know all of it. I just hope it won’t change how you think of me.”
