“What is the matter now?”
“I should sleep in my old chamber this evening.”
“This is your chamber, my sweet. I do not think I can sleep if you are not with me.”
“It is not proper!”
“How so?”
“The blood—”
“I have fought in battles. I have seen blood.”
“The pain—”
“You have seen, nay, you have touched my scars. They brought me a fair amount of pain.”
“The vileness—”
“My sweet, nothing about you is vile. Your cycle is your mark of femininity, and I shall not be exiled from your company because of a little blood.”
To prove his point, he lifted her from the seat and placed her gently on the bed. Cautiously, he began to pull the hem of her nightdress up, though her small hands batted at him. He paused, scrutinized her impatiently, and her hands fell away. With the nightdress pushed up around her tummy, he gave the creamy expanse of her belly a playful kiss before he retrieved the washstand. With great care, he pulled it over, making sure it was in reach as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.
“We have rituals our people talk nothing about, my sweet wife. A man takes great satisfaction in caring for his woman when the need arises. It is not spoken of in polite company because a woman's cycle is rarely acknowledged at all, but when I was a young pup, my Papa took me to a brothel, and I was educated very well.” He gently opened her legs to remove the undergarments she was encased in. “I was introduced to Violet, a whore not much older than I, but far more worldly. She informed of the secret ceremony that all men perform for their women.”
“Desist in talk of whores, my lord.”
“I am merely explaining,” he said with a smug look.
She huffed. “Odd. It sounds much more like gloating.”
He took the cloth from the washbasin and dipped the edge of it in the lavender-scented water.
“My lord,” she whispered. “No.”
“Just a moment, my sweet, and you shall be ready for bed. Let me care for your body in my way.”
Her knees fell open a little more, exposing her sex. He wet the cloth again and wiped her skin gently. When she was clean, Darcy dressed her in fresh undergarments and righted her nightdress. Satisfied he had cleansed her as thoroughly as possible, and with the sudden intention to keep this to himself, he cleaned the washcloth as best he could and dumped the soiled water out the window. After he returned the washbasin to its original place, Darcy climbed into bed next to his exhausted wife.
They laid side by side for a few moments before she insinuated her body into his embrace. Her lips found his, kissing him slowly.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I know that was repulsive.”
“It was not,” he assured her. “When will you understand that there is nothing which I would not do for you? Washing blood from your body is hardly disgusting, sweet Elizabeth. In fact, I think you might have enjoyed it.”
“I did not say I did not enjoy it. Ye were touching me. Since we married, I have found that thy touch brings me nothing but pleasure.”
“Then I shall employ my touch as much as possible for these next few days and then we shall put forth another effort to make your belly swell with child.”
“Did ye mean it earlier?”
He did not play coy; what would be the point? “When I said I loved you?”
“Yes.”
“Of course I meant it. I know you do not feel the same, but I do love you.”
She remained silent but wrapped her arms around him and snuggled against his body. He suspected it was all she could do without bursting into tears due to her delicacy of situation and loved her even more for it.
