“I hold you in the highest regard.”
Disappointment crossed her face. “I understand.” She turned and walked to the gig. She climbed in, taking her seat.
Matt followed. “Do you?”
She scrunched her nose as if confirming she did. “Yes. I believe you are saying that I won’t ever measure up.”
“Wait—no, Willa, I’m not saying that at all—”
Willa stopped his flow of words with her fingers across his lips. “You’ve been kind. I appreciate that you haven’t forced yourself on me.”
Forced. He did not like the way that word sounded. It offended him.
“It shouldn’t be ‘force’ between a man and his wife.”
“You know what I meant, Matt.”
Actually, he didn’t. “We will make love again, Willa. I can’t promise it won’t hurt. I’m a big man.”
And what if it did? His every intention was to honor his marriage vows. Could he go through life married to a woman as lovely and charming as Willa, and remain celibate? “Make love,” she echoed. “Interesting choice of words. Especially since love can mean so many different things. I don’t want anything from you that isn’t freely given, Your Grace. That is, anything save your honesty. I always want honesty from you, Matt.” She moved over on the seat. “We need to return home. We mustn’t be late for the Evanston rout. Minerva would be greatly disappointed. She has made all the plans.” She spoke as if what they’d been discussing did not matter, and yet, it did.
He stood there a moment more, scanning his mind for something he could say. He wanted to return to their earlier contentment.
“Willa, perhaps given time—”
She held a hand up. “No, don’t give me banalities.”
“But I admire you.” He did. After the raging passion he’d been through with Letty, Willa was a cool, refreshing spring. She was clear-eyed and uncomplicated.
“I admire you as well, Your Grace.” She could have been speaking to anyone, and it made him angry.
Matt untethered the horse, a sign to the mare that her nap was done. He climbed into the gig. It swayed in his direction as his heavier weight took a seat beside Willa. They were thigh to thigh.
But he didn’t move the horse on.
Instead, he sat. And she sat waiting.
Then she broke the silence. “My lover’s kiss is like no other, an answer to my soul. On a bed of roses, we joined, finding our peace in each other.Do you recognize the words?”
He feared he did. “I wrote them. Bad poetry.”
“I don’t agree. I thought it noble and proud. When I read what you’d written, I said to myself, here is someone who understands what love truly is.”
“Actually, I wrote the book as a way to honor my parents. It is what I’d observed about them. Not the sexual parts. Those were merely the fevered yearnings of a young man who thought himself a poet.”
“Or who believed in a love that was above all others.” She turned to him. “You are fortunate. My parents have never moved me to poetry. Or to emulate them in any way.” She turned away, looking straight ahead. “So, here we are. Two people who don’t quite know what love is.”
“I know it can eat you up inside. That it can be soul crushing.”
“That wasn’t what you wrote, Matt. Perhaps you would be wiser to trust the younger you. Now, can we go home? I need a bit of time.”
“To prepare for tonight?”
“No, to lick my wounds.”
For the first time since he’d confronted her the afternoon before their wedding, he sensed a barrier being built between them, and he didn’t know what he should do.
So he drove her back into the city.
