Willa turned her head from him. She stared at the far wall. She would not thank him for the strength of will he had exerted over himself. She was done with him.
Moving to one side, he fell upon the bed, one arm across her chest. He could not move.
And then she coldly shoved his arm away.
With energy he did not have, he made himself rise up. “Willa—”
She gave her back to him. He reached for her but she swatted him away, drawing her knees up. “You hurt me.”
“It won’t be like that next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.” She pulled the covers around her. “I hated that.” Her shoulders shook, and he realized she was crying.
“Willa, please. You tore. It had to have been painful—”
She shot him a wild look as if he was a murderer. “The whole thing is disgusting. I feel dirty and used. It isfoul.”
Her voice had risen, and Matt feared she was in danger of growing hysterical. How was it that he, a man who enjoyed sex, who worked to be a good lover and please his companions, had botched the whole matter with his wife?
He looked at his spent sex. It was already stirring. The bastard had a mind of its own.
Matt reached to put his hand on her shoulder but then thought differently. She cried silently and it broke his heart. This was a woman who was accomplished at protecting her feelings. If she’d been one of his sisters, she would be tearing the room apart. Or him.
Instead, Willa dove deeper into her despair. It worried him.
“Willa, let me fetch you something to drink.” A brandy would help steady her nerves.
She didn’t respond so he acted. Rising from the bed, he found himself covered with her blood. He poured water in the basin and quickly cleaned himself before pulling on his breeches and his shirt. He went to the door.
Earlier, he’d given Marshall instructions on preparing a meal to be delivered to his room. A maid waited in the hallway for the sign.
Matt found himself praying that the walls were thick enough that she hadn’t heard a sound from the bedroom. Fortunately, she was tactfully stationed far enough away that possibly she hadn’t.
At the sight of him, she came to attention. He motioned for the food and mouthed, “Bring brandy.” She nodded her understanding and was off.
He closed the door. The day’s light was fading. Willa had turned her head as if she could not stand having him step into her line of sight.
Matt sat on the bed next to her. She edged away from touching him.
“Willa, I know this is hard to believe right now, but it won’t be like this all the time.”
Her silence was deafening.
“You will heal and we’ll give it another go. It will be better.” God, he hoped it was. What a curse it would be to have a wife who could not tolerate his touch.
He would not let that happen. It was his responsibility to help her, to guide her. He was the one with the experience.
Leaning toward her, he said, “You liked what we were doing before.” He had to remember that. She’d been extraordinarily responsive. This had led him to believe that her passion matched his own. He’d forgotten himself.
“It will be good between us.” How many times had he already said this to her over the last two days? Now he prayed the words could be true.
Instead, she kept her back to him, hiding her face behind the blanket of her hair.
There was a knock on the door. He rose from the bed and answered it. Marshall himself stood with a cart. “There is brandy.”
“Thank you,” Matt said, taking the cart from him and rolling it into the room to leave the butler in the hall.
“I thought you might like to know the dowager has returned.”
