Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception. Marguerite Kaye

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СКАЧАТЬ an early riser, but she seemed to pride herself on being ahead of him. The post had come and she had kept a single letter for herself and arranged the rest at his place. Then she made sure that his plate and cup were prepared just as he would like it.

      Today, instead of greeting her with a curt nod, he went to her side and kissed her lightly on the cheek. He glanced down at the paper in front of her.

      He frowned. Despite what had happened between them, she still seemed to stiffen at the touch of his lips and shift nervously away as though fearing a blow. Her movement obscured the note, which had all but disappeared beneath her plate. Then she relaxed into the passive doll he had come to expect. ‘Good morning, William,’ she said dutifully.

      ‘And good morning to you, my dear.’ And where have you gone? It was not as if he expected her to arrive at the table like a slave in a harem, attired in nothing but scarves. But when he looked at her, he’d expected to find some sign of the change between them.

      She glanced down at the paper peeping out from beneath her breakfast plate. ‘If you are wondering about the letter, it is a note from a friend of my parents, congratulating me upon our marriage. I will answer it after breakfast.’

      ‘Of course,’ he said. It was not so unusual that she had friends, nor that they would correspond with her. But since she had not mentioned them before, he had flattered himself that he was her entire world. It did him no credit that he felt jealous of the person who wrote to her and the time she would spend on them. ‘And you will write to your sister as we discussed?’

      Her expression, which had been pensive, changed to a brief, radiant smile. Then it faded to the more sedate half-smile she usually wore. ‘If you still wish me to, I would like that.’

      It was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud only to disappear again. He grinned at her, hoping to remind her of the previous night. ‘Of course I still wish it. And if there is anything else that will make you smile as you have just done, you must ask immediately. On such a fine morning as this, I could deny you nothing.’

      She glanced at the window, as though expecting to see a change in the weather. ‘I thought it rather chill, when I was walking.’ She looked back at him, giving no indication that she understood the reason for his happiness could be traced back to last night. She held out his cup, ‘Coffee?’

      He took his usual seat and accepted the cup. ‘Thank you.’ Perhaps it was an ordinary thing for her, or had been so before the accident. If that was true, then damn him for forgetting so much. He leaned closer to her, catching her eye and smiling. ‘And thank you for last night as well.’

      The delightful pink of her cheeks clashed with the reds in her hair. ‘You are welcome.’ She glanced down at the table. Toast?’ She pushed the toast rack closer to his plate, as though appeasing one appetite would make him forget the other.

      He ignored her offer of bread and continued on his original topic. ‘I enjoyed what you did for me, very much,’ he said, thinking the words oddly polite. But they seemed a match for her reserved response.

      ‘I am glad,’ she said, sending the marmalade pot after the toast with a nudge of her finger.

      He ignored that as well. ‘Did you enjoy it as well?’

      To this, she gave him an odd look, as though it had not occurred to her to have an opinion about it. ‘It makes me happy when you are happy.’ Then the placid smile returned.

      ‘That is not what I asked,’ he said. ‘I want to know if you enjoyed touching me.’

      She glanced around her, as if to remind him that they were in the breakfast room, not the bedroom. She looked down at her plate as though trying to decide if it might be possible to pretend she had not heard. She took up her knife and fork and began slicing the sausage on it into ever smaller bites. Then, as if she’d noticed what she had done to the rather significantly shaped meat, she set down her utensils with a clatter and said, in a rush of words, ‘Enjoyed it? Of course. Why should I not? You are my husband, after all, and it is my goal...’

      ‘To make me happy,’ he finished. ‘That brings us back to where we began.’ He pushed the toast rack out of the way and reached for one of her hands, holding it gently in his and noticing how cold the fingers were. ‘It is not that I object to being happy. But I assume, when I married you, that I wanted you to be happy as well. Surely I said something of the kind.’ He hoped that it was true. This morning, she was acting almost as if she was afraid of him.

      She blinked at him, as though the details of their past were as murky to her as they were to him. Then she glanced down at their joined hands with an expression of such modesty and beauty that he wanted to capture it in oils. ‘Of course, my love. It is just that I do not want to seem less than grateful for all you and your family have done for me. Your offer last night, to allow me to send for Margot...’ She looked up hopefully, as though fearing he meant to retract it in the cold light of day.

      ‘Grateful?’ Was that why she had been so affectionate? It was oddly annoying to think that her treatment of him had been some sort of a reward for a perfectly normal offer of hospitality. ‘You needn’t be, over such a small thing. Where else would you sister stay, if not with us? If you pine for her company, then you shall have it.’

      ‘I do. Very much so.’ Her smile returned, and for a moment he was afraid that she might cry. Or stranger still, that she might repeat her behaviour of the previous evening and sink to her knees before him during breakfast. Exciting though the idea was, it was rather alarming to think of her putting a hand in his breeches each time she wanted a favour.

      ‘Then it is what I wish as well,’ he said carefully. ‘For I want to see you happy, just as you wish to see me happy.’

      She nodded, as though all was settled.

      ‘But I wish that your happiness, last night and in nights to come, can be separate from the thought of your sister’s visit. It is quite a different thing, you see.’

      ‘Of course it is,’ she said, nodding. But there was something in her tone that announced she had no idea what he was talking about. What kind of a selfish beast had he been, if he had not taught her that the bedroom was a place to seek mutual pleasure? This obtuse behaviour on her part was almost enough to set his mind to doubting again. It did not sound like him, at all.

      At least, it did not sound like the sort of husband and lover he had wished to be. But how was he to know, really? His experience thus far had been limited to the sort of women who knew what they wanted in bed, even if it was only to pretend satisfaction in exchange for jewellery and rent.

      Did gently bred virgins behave in the same way? Were they taught to submit to their husbands and trade favour for favour like courtesans? Did no one speak to them of the pleasure of the act? Perhaps it was his job to teach that particular lesson. The prospect of that made him want to grin like an idiot. Instead, he smiled at her with as much kindness and gentleness as he could muster, then leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek again. ‘Tonight, I shall demonstrate what I mean.’

      ‘Oh.’ It was but one word. But she said it in a tone that said, oh, dear. Or, worse yet, oh dear, you needn’t bother. If he had not seen her on the previous evening, totally in control of both his body and her own nerves, he’d have thought she was frightened.

      ‘For now, let us finish our breakfast,’ he said, dismissing the subject until later. ‘I will leave you alone so you might go to the morning room and write letters to your friend and to your sister.’

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