Page 86 of An Inconvenient Vow

“Yes. Such a heavy one with a double veil,” he elaborated. “Encompassing everything.”

There was a pause, then she shook her head. “N-no,” she admitted. “At least, not until my first husband and I were estranged. Then my mother thought it might be advisable.”

“Why?”

“Such a headdress is considered the epitome of respectability,” she pointed out. “Even the holy sisters at Fulford Abbey were not swathed any more thoroughly than I.”

“I cannot argue with that,” he admitted. “Though I might wonder at the necessity.”

She shrugged. “My mother did not want my respectability to be called into question,” she answered lightly. “I was living apart from my husband and she did not want me to fall prey to vicious gossip or speculation.”

Perhaps Thora Burrell was not so vapid as she had appeared. “That shows good sense,” he conceded, “but why now do you continue with such garb?”

Her face turned blank. “Well, then, I was widowed so suddenly…” She let her words trail off.

“But now you are a married woman who is not separated from her husband,” he pointed out.

Sabina flushed. “I have not yet had time to adjust my attire,” she said defensively. “You will admit the change happened so fast that neither one of us was prepared for the change in our circumstances.”

“I will admit that much,” he acknowledged. “If you will agree that I have ample resources to clothe you as befits my station.” When she made no answer, he fixed her with a stern eye. “You saw the quantities of fabrics I already own in my store at Ganford Chase.”

“Those are for your own wardrobe,” she protested.

“If you liked none of them, then I can obtain more.”

“It is not that!”

“What then? What possible objection can you have dressing as befits my wife?”

She huffed out a breath. “All those fabrics were extremely sumptuous—so sumptuous that I—I could not possibly swan about Ganfordshire clad in them! Not in front of people who have known me all my life!”

He snorted. “Your sister and mother did not seem to feel the same way.”

“That was Isemay’s wedding day! It was only fitting—” She broke off, narrowing her gaze at him. “Do you find my manner of dress displeasing?” she asked outright.

“It neither does you justice nor reflects well on me that you should dress thus.”

“I see.” Her chin came up and her words were clipped.

Jeffree regarded her frankly. “It is good you are proud,” he commented, nodding. “De Crecys are always proud.”

Sabina gasped and seemed to struggle a moment with a response before electing for stony silence. Jeffree waited a few moments, feeling oddly disappointed nothing else was forthcoming, not even barbed words. He could not be annoyed the subject had been raised for it needing broaching; however, he was strangely sorry to be in her bad books again so soon. In the face of such a straightforward question though, he could never tell her a bold-faced lie.

She deserved always the truth from him, and the truth was he wanted her in silks and satins and the costliest raiment his purse could afford. He wanted her to acknowledge she was a De Crecy, that she was his wife. He wanted others to be in no doubt of the fact. This current state of affairs could not be allowed to continue, where others could mistake her for his servant, so meanly was she attired.

Jeffree stole another look at her and was forced to conclude she was ignoring him. With some reluctance, he maneuvered Radax back into the lead position again and resigned himself to the fact Sabina was unlikely to welcome his embrace in the privacy of their inn room later. This thought made him feel oddly depressed in spirit.

For someone who had never much valued the society of others, this newfound clamor for the good opinion and company of another was a strange one to him. Doubtless, a good deal of it was grounded in his desire for her, he reflected, but not all of it. No, not all of it. He was shocked by the strength of his ardor, he would admit that much to himself.

Previously his idea of admiring women was of a vague, idealistic sort, not earthy or sensual. He had curled a lip at ribald talk, despised those that seemed weak to the lures of the flesh, thinking himself above such coarse and debased pleasures.

Now, he found himself contemplating things he had previously dismissed as completely beneath his dignity. If he had entertained lewd thoughts, they had been in the privacy of his own bedchamber and his own hand had brought him the temporary relief he had sought. Afterwards, he had felt mildly disgusted with himself. He did not feel disgusted after joining his body with Sabina’s, though; he felt exhilarant. Elated even.

These strange new urges to kiss and embrace her were a little alarming. If they were confined to the bedchamber he could understand it, but today he’d had random promptings at the oddest of times. Just now on that grassy hillock, the urge had been almost overwhelming. If she had not fled, he would certainly have succumbed to temptation.

He wished someone would tell him the words he was supposed to say in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Words of comfort or praise, that was what she had said. He took those words out and puzzled over them for the hundredth time as the afternoon wore on. Now that he came to consider it, he could not actually think of a time he had praised anyone. In Jeffree’s world, if someone did well, you gave them a curt nod and held off on the scathing comments for a while.

A curt nod would not really cut it when acknowledging your wife’s magnificence between the sheets. You were magnificent. He had some memory of gasping out those words the last time, though the vague memory made him squirm slightly. In any case, that had not been after the act but during. He was not sure those counted. Why did he have such a problem with it? Such words tripped off the tongues of others with ease.