She nodded slowly. “So be it. I only require the one.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “What if I want an heir?”
One red eyebrow shot up. “I assumed you didn’t give a toss or you’d have come looking for me before now.”
That was so close to the truth he snapped his mouthshut. They stood in charged silence broken only by the steady tick of the mantel clock.
Finally, Mark drew a deep breath and fixed his gaze on hers anew, searching for… what? He wasn’t certain. “So that’s it, one child? You don’t care whether it’s male or female. We… what? Make love until you find you’re with child and then we stop, I assume.”
“Precisely, but…” She bit her lip and glanced down at her slippers, the red in her cheeks deepening.
Oh, Christ, this couldn’t be good. “But what?”
“It wouldn’t be…” Her voice was nearly a whisper.
“Wouldn’t be what?” He leaned closer to better hear her.
She lifted her head again, the color still riding high on her cheeks. “It wouldn’t be ‘making love’ as you said. It would merely be sex for the purpose of procreating.”
All the air rushed from Mark’s lungs. What in the name of God was the woman talking about? He splayed his hands wide in a gesture of complete exasperation. “I don’t even know what that means.”
She delicately cleared her throat. “We don’t need to… ahem… enjoy it. That’s all I mean.”
His head jerked back as if she’d struck him. “Sweetheart, I’m going to enjoy it one way or another.”
Her mouth fell open, but she snapped it shut in a scowl. “Fine. I only mean it doesn’t have to be anything more than… the act.”
“Theact?” He was truly affronted. “You may recall that our time together in bed wasn’t our problem.” His tone dropped, and for a moment, he let his gaze slide over her features. “We always enjoyed ourselves, Nicole. I did, and I know you did too. You never had to act.”
Her eyes locked with his for an instant and darted away like a frightened bird. “Must you make this more difficult than it needs to be?”
He braced a forearm against the mantel and stared at her. “Yes, I think I must.”
She balled her hands into fists at her sides. “You’re infuriating. Just give me your answer. Yes or no.”
Mark straightened, brushed his hands down his lapels, turned on his heel, and strode toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she called after him, her voice slightly panicked.
“Back to the inn. This timeIneed time to think about it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nicole spent the next few hourstryingto reply to correspondence. Her cousins from England had written her. Her mother had written, too. As usual, Mother’s letter was riddled with persistent questions about whether she and Mark had been in contact. Letters had also arrived from acquaintances in both England and France. Nicole had put off her correspondence for weeks, preferring to go for a ride or to do something active versus sitting at a stuffy table in a pristine room to write about things that had already happened.
She was more interested in what was going to happen and how she could participate in it. It was why she’d chosen the life she had. Why she’d come to France. The French were less judgmental than the English. They overlooked things like women wearing riding breeches and married women being husbandless for years. Few people had asked her questions about her husband in allthese years. Theduchessehad. She was a dear friend. But even Henri had only asked a few questions, nothing too prying. Nicole had left England and her family for more than one reason. But despite the friends she’d made and the life she’d created in France, she was still lonely.
She propped an elbow on the writing table and rested her chin on one palm, the quill balanced in her other hand. She tapped the writing instrument against the vellum. What was Mark going to say? He had to say yes, didn’t he? He wanted his promotion more than he wanted anything else and she’d already made it clear that the babe would not be a burden to him. An image of his face, the way a muscle jumped in his jaw, darted through her memory. She’d angered him when she’d told him it would just be an act. It had wounded his pride.
The man took great pride in his performance in bed. She couldn’t mock him for it. He had been magnificent. She fingered the lace at the edge of her bodice. The nights she’d spent with him had been unforgettable. She still woke up some nights, restless and drenched in sweat, remembering them. A small sigh slipped from her lips. She’d been rash. She should have waited for him to say yes before she told him it would just be an act. Her own pride had got in the way, as it was prone to. She had wanted to wound him. It was deuced uncomfortable, asking one’s husband to take one to bed. He’d rejected her ten years ago. She didn’t want him to think she actually lookedforwardto it.
Feeling restless, she tossed down the quill.Wasshe looking forward to it? Ever since he’d arrived with his demands, she’d tried not to think about how it would beto be in bed with him again. If they even used a bed. A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. They didn’t have to. He’d taught her that. Up against a wall could be quite enjoyable given the right partner, and blast it all, Mark had been the right partner. They’d only stayed together a few months after their marriage, and in those few months he’d learned every inch of her body, knew exactly where to touch her and how. He’d taught her his body too. She knew what he liked and how to—
Her cheeks flamed. She grabbed a delicate boned fan from her desktop, snapped it open, and fanned herself rapidly.Merde.In the one day Mark had been back, she’d blushed more than she had in the entire last ten years. How could he do that to her again? She was no longer a modest young girl. She was a woman full grown.
She’d considered it all last night, had been unable to sleep because of it. She and Mark would have to have relations in order to produce a child. That was a fact. But she couldn’t give herself to him again. She couldn’t open up all those old emotions that had scarred over in the last ten years. She couldnotallow that to happen, and the only way it wouldn’t happen was if they didn’t repeat the passionate nights they’d spent together when they’d been young and, she at least, had been in love. That would end in heartache and disaster. She’d barely survived it the first time. She couldn’t live through it again. To make their bargain work she must have a condition on her condition: they would simply have sex.Notmake love.
She wasn’t naïve. She understood a man enjoyed the act regardless of whether a woman did, but Mark hadnever left her unsatisfied. In fact, he’d taken gratification in her pleasure, ensuring every time they made love that she had her release before he took his. The man was stubborn, unsympathetic, and dominating, but by God, he was a master in bed.
