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“Alexandra,” Branford said, “I could certainly hold you down and listen to you cry as I took pleasure with your body without thinking of you. I’m physically capable of doing that every night for as long as we live.”
He took a deep death and leaned a little closer to me.
“I could do that,” he repeated, “but if I did, every time I would lie here with you, you would give me the same look you are giving me now—one of trepidation and fear. I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Alexandra. I don’t want to come to this bed every night, knowing you don’t want me here.”
“I would…I would want you here…” I stammered and then paused. I had no idea what I could say and finally just blurted out what was in my head. “I don’t want you to go somewhere else!”
“Those are not the same things,” Branford said as he shook his head. “You may consider my presence preferable to my absence, but that doesn’t mean you want me here. You are adept at serving those above you, and I’m sure you would manage to find a way to hide your loathing of me, but you would never look at me the way I want you to—with desire in your eyes. That’s what I want to see, Alexandra. When I come to this bed and lie beside you, I want to look into your eyes and know you want me.”
He used his fingers to roam over the skin of my cheek, then my chin, and down my neck. He rested his hand on the top of my shoulder, where the slightly opened fabric of my nightdress met my skin.
“How could you?” he finally said quietly, and I again wondered if he was talking to me or to himself. “You know nothing of what is to come except what little rumors of horror you have heard, so how could you ever want me?”
A light came into his eyes, almost as if the firelight leapt out from the logs and entered them, only to be directed at me. His back arched slightly, and he focused on my eyes.
“Alexandra, I would like to try something,
” Branford said. He shifted closer to me again. “Will you let me?”
“I’m yours,” I whispered softly, trying not to show my increasing panic. What did he want to try? Why was he even asking me such a question?
“Yes, you are.” Branford let out a short, sharp breath and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips for a moment. When he spoke, his earnest voice was just a little above a whisper. “I don’t know you, Alexandra. I chose you on a whim, nothing more. I’m sure if you ever did think of marriage, this was not the picture your mind painted. If I am to be honest, I didn’t think far beyond the wedding and the idea of marriage itself, and…well…I don’t know what I should do now.”
His candid words surprised me.
“You don’t know me either,” Branford continued. “Regardless, I’m going to ask you to do something that may be difficult at first.”
“What do you need of me?” I asked quietly. I had no idea what he wanted and feared his words.
“I’m going to ask you to trust me, Alexandra. I want you to listen to me and trust what I tell you to be the truth. You don’t know me well enough to know if I can be trusted or not, but I’m asking you to do it anyway or at least try. Will you, Alexandra? Will you try to trust me?”
“Yes, my lord,” I responded.
“Alexandra…”
“I’m sorry—Branford,” I corrected myself.
“Much better.” Branford positioned himself on one arm again and looked down at me. “I'm not going to hurt you. Do you understand?”
“Yes...Branford,” I said.
“There’s one other thing you must do.” Branford’s tone was serious. “If I ask you a question, you must answer me truthfully. Do you understand what I’m saying, Alexandra?”
“Yes, my…Branford.”
“Do not say what you think I want to hear—I want only the truth from you.”
“Yes, Branford. I will.”
“Good.” Branford took a deep breath, and he moved his hand over to cup my cheek. His thumb traced over my cheekbone, and he looked into my eyes. “May I kiss you?”
“Yes, of course.” My answer was automatic, ingrained. When a noble asked something of a commoner, the commoner gave it without question though what the noble required may or may not have been pleasant.
He moved slowly, his gaze still on mine, and his lips brushed against me much like they had during our wedding ceremony. He backed away and smiled down at me.
“Do you like that, Alexandra?” he asked. “Do you like being kissed like that?”
“Yes, Branford.” The ingrained answer was also surprisingly truthful. He had kissed me softly, carefully—almost like he was afraid I would break if he pressed too hard—and I did like it.
