“I rather enjoyed your undressing me, and being like this. I liked feeling you against me. It seemed a bit wicked, and since I am being naughty I thought I might as well get full benefit of it.”
“That was your thinking, was it?”
“When I was thinking at all.” She rose up on one arm so she could see his face. “Of course I am thinking now, quite a bit. Your restraint on my behalf was heroic. I did not even know men could hold back like that. I just assumed their need required quick resolution.”
He did not know what to say to her. Not what his mind cursed out, that was certain. It sounded as if nothing more than quick resolutions occurred in her past. He had suspected as much. Her claims of not being normal when it came to sensuality had made no sense, since the evidence showed she was very normal. She had merely not known pleasure because no man had given her the time or made the effort.
She poked at his side. “The truth now, so you get full credit.”
“If you must know, it was damned heroic.” He smiled when she laughed. “It almost killed me.”
“Thank you.” Such depth in her eyes when she said that. “I will always be grateful that you showed me I might . . . that I was not so different.”
“So you enjoyed it after all?”
“Oh, yes. Couldn’t you tell?” Her brow puckered. “Did you?”
“What a question. Of course. Couldn’tyoutell?”
“Well, you seemed to. You were able to finish. I did not ruin it for you.”
Her words stunned him. He flipped her onto her back and looked down at her. “Forgive me, but . . . are you saying your husband could not finish?”
She nodded. “Other than a few times at the beginning of our marriage.”
“He was impotent? And he blamedyou?”
She just looked at him.
The scoundrel. Real anger gripped him. This man had made his young wife think his own physical problems were her fault. From the sounds of it, he hardly helped matters with his expectations of aquick resolution. He had probably turned the marriage bed into a place of nightmares.
“Listen to me, Minerva. You had nothing to do with his problem. He knew it, too. It did not start with you, I would wager. His ignorance in how he treated you probably made it worse, but that is not your fault either. It was ignoble of him to blame you in any way. Stupid and unforgiveable. It was not you. It was never you. It was him.”
He could picture those nights, much as he would rather not. The anger. Her dread. No wonder she experienced arousal like a girl. Of course those first kisses in her library had confused her so much she abruptly ended them. For years she had been told she was so cold she made a man impotent. If the man were not already dead, he would thrash him senseless.
She caressed his face. “It is in the past. It may take me a while to appreciate just how thoroughly it is now. I assumed something about myself, and now I know I was wrong. That is a great gift.”
“No. You have it wrong. Backward. You gave me yourself. You gave your passion. That is the gift. You owe me nothing, least of all gratitude.” He kissed her deeply, then gathered her into his arms and a peaceful silence.
She fell asleep soon. He waited until she dozed soundly before leaving. He looked down at her before going to the door. No wonder she had changed her name.
* * *
She awoke in the earliest hours to find herself alone. His presence still drenched the chamber, however. And her bed. She felt him there as if he still embraced her.
She rose and pulled the drapes so she might watch the dawn. A new day would start soon, in so many ways. She looked out the window, waiting for it.
It was never you. It was him. At first she had regretted that they had allowed Algernon’s specter to shadow their night. However, when Chase said those words, so forcefully, with such certainty—it had crystalized her own thoughts and reactions, and given voice to something she had dared not claim. She had long ago realized that all the rest had been his fault too, but with her utter absence of passion or pleasure—she had no experience, and could not know. Her deadened responses said the blame had indeed been hers. That she was lacking in the most essential part of femininity. Inadequate. Deformed.
It had taken five years to even begin to wonder if maybe she had it wrong. Dreams at first. Then her attraction to Chase made her truly hopeful. Now she knew for certain. Algernon had robbed her of many things, but this had been the worst. This was the one repercussion of that bad marriage that she had not been able to escape on her own.
She had not lied. She would forever be grateful to Chase. But, as she watched the black of night change to the misty silver of dawn, and saw the trees begin to take form, she knew that while he had been the right man for tonight, he was not the right one for anything more. Not even another tonight.
All those arguments against him that passion had obscured presented themselves again, fully clothed in their rationality. Worse, he may now be curious about her marriage, and ask her about it. Or ask others. Any chance that her old life would escape inquiry had just become less likely.
She left the drapes open, but returned to her bed, to await the sunrise. She inhaled what was left of his scent, imagined his embrace, and dwelled within the night’s magic for a few minutes more.
* * *
