“What he did was,” she said softly, “well,oneof the first things he did was... to put his hand beneath my—”Deep breath.“That is, my skirt was lifted and his hand touched my ankle to begin, so...” She let the sentence trail off.
Flashes of memory rushed back from that night. The darkness of the trees at the edge of the clearing. Marking’s face, lit by moonlight. The thin clouds sailing overhead, sailing smooth and fast, as if they couldn’t be bothered to stop, even to block the light from the moon.
When she spoke again, her voice was dazed. “To be honest, I am shocked I reacted to you as I did, because you did not even touch my, er, ankle. Not really. I am wearing leather boots—I always wear sturdy leather now—but that night, of course I had worn silk slippers. I suppose it was the pressure of your hand and not that you actually took up my ankle, not that you... er,shoved.”
Tessa stopped talking after that. She’d forced out all she could say on the topic of Neil Marking and silk slippers and ankles. No one knew these fine details, not even Willow or Sabine. Tessa kept them locked so deep in her brain that she thought sometimes even she could not remember them herself. But then a word or a smell would trigger a memory so distinctive and clear, she was immobilized, and she was reminded that it was all there, trapped in her head, and the key was very handy, indeed. The key was, in fact, in the lock, and she need only to turn it to remember the horrible events inside.
Was it the wrong decision to share them, even a few of them, with Joseph? What husband, convenient or otherwise, wanted to hear the details of previous trysts, especially about a man who impregnated her? There was a reason she had not told him before the wedding, even with their entire lives at stake.
She could not say what was at stake now. It felt very much like the rest of her life all over again.
A fresh wave of despair floated up, and she stared at the Earl of Falcondale’s hats, straining to hear her husband draw breath or clear his throat, straining for some indication that he would speak. That he would exonerate her.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, after the circles of the earl’s hats had seared into her vision, Joseph said, very lowly and with more steel than ever she had heard, “He was demanding inwhat way, Tessa?”
As much as Joseph did not wish to hear the details of his wife’s previous affair, he could not let go of the extremely troubling words that had, haltingly, emerged from her memory.
Demanding, she’d said.Took up my ankle.And perhaps most disturbingly of all, the wordshove. Added to that, she would not look at him. He was literally staring at the back of her head. And finally, terrifyingly, their kiss had ended because she’d leapt from his lap. She leapt like he’d jabbed a finger into a wound.
His wife, he realized—and he cursed himself for his slowness—had been coerced or strong-armed or, God forbid,attacked. By Christian’s father. He was suddenly as sure of it as he was that she conquered motherhood alone or saved a dock slip for his bloody boat.
The idea of a man forcing himself on her spilled rage into his veins like scalding water. Through sheer force of will, he paused. He cleared his throat. He was careful about the tenor of his voice. He would not grab her up or demand that she reveal everything,every detail, and reveal it this instant.
Shewastalking. It was a private, halting, pained sort of talk. But it was progress.
He’d wondered if there was some ulterior motive behind the heavy, dour clothes and the minimalist hair. He hadn’t asked what bothered her because he’d been too focused on what might please her. He’d thought mostly of the possibility of her feelings for him. Of a future. Hell, of a kiss.
And now they’d had that kiss, and not an everyday, neutral, accommodating kiss but a voracious, skin-searing, heart-exploding kiss that went so far beyond questions and answers.
But none of that mattered if she was being haunted by some incident or, God forbid,incidents. If she had been hurt in some way, emotionally or physically.
He rephrased his last question with forced calm. “Tessa, what do you mean when you say demanding?”
“Are you angry?” she whispered.
“No,” he said gently. He wanted to shout the word. He continued, “I am curious. There is a reason that an otherwise... amorous—dare I say, enthusiastic—woman suddenly leaps from my arms like a frightened rabbit. I should like to learn what it is.”
She said nothing.
He asked, “Is that reason me?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve said no.”
“Yes, you’ve said this. That means some other man has caused you to be afraid. I should like to know how and why.”
“Oh, Joseph,” she sighed, dropping her head in hands. She sounded exhausted. “Do you really?” A challenge, not a hope.
No,he thought, but he said, “Yes.” He meantyes.
She looked at the ceiling and nodded. The beautiful curtain of her hair rippled between them. She sat up very straight, took a deep breath, and then—slumped. Slowly, very slowly, she settled back against him. The heat of his body segued with the heat of hers. He wanted to gather her up, but her hands burrowed again into his. He held on.
“It is unpleasant for me to discuss it,” she said. “That’s putting it very mildly.Unpleasant.But I will do it, if you are willing to hear it. And you believe it will be useful.”
“The more we can tell each other, Tessa, the better off we will be,” he said. “I believe. I hope.”
She said nothing but squeezed his hands. She held his hands as if the grip kept her from falling from a great height.
When she kept silent, he said, “But perhaps this boot room has seen all the honest talk one corridor can expect for an afternoon. What do you think? Shall we seek out somewhere less muddy, with fewer of Trevor’s sweaty hats?”
