It was time he made good on that promise.
Mary sat on the blue velvet chair near the window with her feet perched on the cushion and her toes curled around the edge. Her satin nightgown was drawn down over her legs, creating a tent over her limbs. Pressing her chin to her knees, she decided she was going to remove every damned clock from every damned room. She was already weary of the ticking serving as her only company.
Sebastian hadn’t said good night when he escorted her to the door. He hadn’t said anything at all. He simply opened it, and when she walked through, he drew it closed. But she had sensed the tension radiating through him during dinner and later when he’d walked her through many of the rooms. The residence was so large that she felt swallowed up inside it. It required a bold master, and Sebastian certainly seemed at home here. It also required a strong mistress, but she wasn’t certain if she was up to the task. How could she manage this household if she couldn’t manage her marriage?
Why did he touch her so infrequently? Where was the passion that had seared them in the garden?
She heard the click of a door opening and nearly shot up out of the chair. Instead she took a deep breath to calm her clamoring heart and watched as her husband prowled into the room. He glanced at the bed, seemed surprised by its appearance, and then his gaze found her.
He didn’t appear happy, but he did seem relieved. Perhaps he thought she’d run off.
He’d removed his cravat, jacket, and waistcoat. A few buttons on his shirt were loosened. He wore the patch. She’d wondered if he would. It made her feel as though he were hiding from her. His large feet were bare, revealing his crooked toes. She’d first seen them when they decided to cross a small babbling brook as children. The sight of them reassured her. Something about him hadn’t changed.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked suspiciously.
“Your toes. They’re as funny looking now as they were when you were a boy. I didn’t think you were going to come.” The words had all run together, and she realized she was nervous. She shouldn’t be. This was Sebastian, after all.
His progress into the room ended at the bed and he leaned against the post. She wondered if her words, pushed out while she still had the courage to say them, had halted his progress.
“Would you rather I hadn’t?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I’m your wife. You’re my husband. I want to be your wife.” Could she sound any more idiotic?
He glanced down at his bent toes, wiggled them, then his gaze met and held hers. “I assume ... you’re chaste.”
She nodded, swallowed, her mouth suddenly wretchedly dry.
He plowed a hand through his hair. “I’ve never—”
“Oh dear Lord. You’re a virgin, too? I was hoping you’d have some experience. I haven’t a clue where to begin. All Aunt Sophie advised me to do was drink two glasses of brandy.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. Was it possible that here, at least, she would see his smile? She tilted her head, peered up at him. “Are you trying to smile? I’m not a virgin at smiling. I could teach you to do that.”
She saw a flash of white that quickly disappeared.
“I’m not a virgin at all,” he said. “I was going to explain that I’ve never taken an inexperienced woman to my bed. I understand that the first time can be painful. I wish it weren’t so. I never want to hurt you, Mary.”
She slid out of the chair and padded over to him. Reaching up, she cupped his face between her hands and turned it until she could see all of it. “Then share more than your profile with me.”
She watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed. He placed his hand over hers, the one resting against his scars, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to her palm. She felt the heat from his mouth coating her skin with dew. She wondered how much of her might receive the same treatment.
“Perhaps in time,” he said quietly, “but not tonight.”
She thought about reminding him that she’d seen his scars, more than once, but she knew that he could excuse those moments as weakness when he’d been unable to prevent her from assisting him. Tonight they would share an intimacy that he no doubt thought would be marred if he revealed his true self. Or perhaps it was simply masculine pride. Whatever it was, she would forgive it. They would have many more nights together, and she would eventually gain what she wanted from him.
She touched her fingers to his mouth. “I want to see a real smile.” She laid them against his throat. “And hear you laugh again.”
“You don’t ask for much.”
“No, I don’t. Not really.”
“You’ve always been so feisty,” he said. “I tell myself you’d have not been happy with Fitzwilliam. That perhaps what happened was for the best.”
“Do you know I have not given him a moment’s thought, not since he strode out of my father’s residence? I regret that I may have caused him hurt or embarrassment. But I do not regret that he was not the man waiting for me at the altar. You must believe that, Sebastian. We can’t spend our lives wondering, ‘what if?’ We must simply make the best of what we have.”
“And did you have two glasses of brandy?”
She laughed lightly. “Three. But that was some time ago. I fear the effects have worn off. I’m not feeling quite as warm as I was.”
