“Henrietta.” The word was a harsh rasp. She finally looked away from his phallus, and, oh, she had never seen such a rueful look as that upon the face of her husband.
“Your shirts,” she got out and put the stack down on a chair and fled into her own chamber. She locked both doors and threw herself down onto her bed, her whole body aflame, consumed by such a rush of need that she could not even stand.
She had finally seen the man she loved, the man she desired, undone by his own desire.
She clawed at her skirts in a frenzy. She was damp, her nub already swollen, and she rubbed herself with the same fierceness Oliver had used on himself. Indeed, in her mind, he had his long fingers on her, demanding her climax.
Within a minute, she was gasping out her release as waves of rapture rocked her body.
Relief. Followed by tears.
Because as pleasure ebbed away, an enormous loneliness rushed in like a terrible tide.
Poor her. And poor Oliver. He tended to himself when she’d be so happy to tend to him. More than happy. But he didn’t want that. He had warned her before they married he didn’t want that.
What had he said? He would notimposeon her.
She wiped her tears on her sleeve. They had been married for two years. Knowing her feelings now, her want, her need, would she still marry Oliver?
Yes.
Yes, of course, she would still marry Oliver. She didn’t want a life without him, without Nathaniel. She didn’t have what her parents had, but look at how much shedidhave. So many people didn’t have love. Better to have love without copulation than the other way around.
Because there was an abundance of love here at Crossthwaite. Her love for Oliver and Nathaniel. Nathaniel’s love for both her and Oliver. Oliver’s for Nathaniel.
And Oliver was fond of her. He didn’t love her the way he must have loved his previous wives, but she knew he cared for her. He was so thoughtful, so obliging, he always said she could have anything she wanted?—
Wait.
Did he know she wantedhim? That she had nursed thoughts of him for years, even before they married? That, in her imagination, he had been present each and every time she had ever achieved ecstasy?
Please, God, no. Please don’t let him know. I couldn’t bear his knowing how much I’ve yearned for him. How much I still do.
But this was a foolish worry. He couldn’t know. No one knew. Henrietta had been so careful to limit herself to friendly hugs, kisses on the cheek, brief touches. She’d denied herself so many times. Painfully many times. There was no way he could know.
But.
If she decided to make her desire known to him, would he fornicate with herjust becauseshe wanted him? Would he give himself to her, just as he had given her everything else she had ever asked for? Like the saddle-making lessons and embroidery needles and even things she hadn’t asked for, like silk stockings and perfume?
She toyed with the idea. Asking forthat. With her husband. Who did not return her desire.
No. She couldn’t. She had longings at times that threatened to overwhelm her, but she couldn’t bear telling him she wanted him when he didn’t want her.
She didn’t even know how she would face him at dinner tonight. Knowing he knew she knew he took his pleasure alone. Rather than with her.
She would just have to pretend like this afternoon had never happened.
Oliver must have made the same decision because that evening they looked at each other over the dining table and spoke without awkwardness about all the usual, ordinary things—the celebration of her and Nathaniel’s birthday in two days, the house, the sheep, the shepherds, the tenants, happenings in the village. And after dinner, as usual, he read his newspaper and she embroidered.
But, in bed that night, she thought of Oliver lying alone in his own bed, and what he had said two years ago on the eve of their wedding.
He would not impose on her. She had no obligation to him; all the obligation was on his side. She did not need to fear his coming into her bed.
At the time, she had felt sure she knew the reason why he didn’t want to perform his marital duty. He wasn’t attracted to her, just like so many of the young lords during her Season. Just like Geoffrey.
And although he had been very polite when he told her their marriage would be a chaste one, she had been hurt. But she had never been one to linger on unhappiness or to hold grievances. It was better to keep going and to concentrate on more joyous things.
But in her hurry to get past her pain, could she have confused things and made assumptions?
