Page 18 of Their Wildest Dreams

“Our arrangement was quite clear,” he said. “You were to have your own chamber. Circumstances have denied you one tonight, so I have supplied the separation we agreed upon by the only means available.”

“Our arrangement did not require you to cripple yourself in a demonstration of honor. It required only that you make no demands upon me.” Harriet's irritation sharpened her voice, but beneath it he heard something else. Embarrassment, perhaps. Or concern she would deny if he named it. “I am not demanding that you touch me. I am suggesting that you occupy your own bed and permit both of us to sleep.”

Benedict folded one arm beneath his head. “You have a touching faith in the restorative powers of proximity. I doubt either of us would sleep more soundly for it.”

“Why should we not? You gave me your word, and I believed you.”

The simple declaration silenced him. She trusted him. Not without reservation and certainly not in all things, but in this she had accepted his promise as sufficient. Benedict ought to have been gratified. Instead, her confidence made him feel more keenly the desire he was concealing from her.

“Your trust is not misplaced,” he said at last. “It is also not a reason to abandon the terms that secured it.”

Harriet threw back the coverlet on the empty side of the bed. Pale linen flashed in the firelight, an invitation entirely innocent in her mind and nothing of the sort in his. “Look at the distance between us. You could place a barricade of pillows along the center if you require a visible frontier. I promise not to launch an invasion.”

Against his will, Benedict pictured the scene: Harriet on one side, himself upon the other and a ridiculous rampart of pillows between them. By dawn, one of them would dislodge it. She might turn in her sleep and lay her hand upon him. He might wake with her curled against his side. The thought arrived with such force that he sat up too quickly and drove one hand against the floor to steady himself.

“No.”

Harriet regarded him across the darkened room. “That is not an argument. It is scarcely even a word.”

“It has the advantage of clarity.” Benedict dragged the slipping blanket back over his legs, though the room had ceased to feel cold. “Go to sleep, Harriet.”

“I cannot sleep while you carry on like a penitent monk before the fire. Every sigh announces that you are suffering nobly on my account.”

“I have not sighed.”

“You have sighed repeatedly.”

“I was breathing.”

“With unnecessary emphasis.” Her answer came so swiftly that under any other circumstances he would have laughed. Instead he pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes and attempted to summon patience.

“Very well. I shall breathe more discreetly. You may return to sleep secure in the knowledge that I am suffering without theatrics.”

She did not lie down. Benedict could feel her watching him even after he lowered his hand. Their quarrels had always possessed a private rhythm. Harriet advanced whenever she sensed him retreating, while he prodded at her defenses until she forgot she had meant to preserve them. In a drawing room or upon a country lane, that pattern had been entertaining. Here, with the room dark and her bed only a few steps away, it had become perilous.

“You are being obstinate,” she said.

“I am attempting to honor the agreement you required before consenting to marry me.”

“And I am telling you that sharing a mattress does not alter that agreement. If I believed you incapable of behaving as a gentleman, I would lock the door between us and place Mrs. Mercer before it with a pistol.”

“Mrs. Mercer would not require the pistol. Her disapproval would be sufficient to dispatch me.”

“Then you acknowledge that I am in no danger.”

“I have never suggested otherwise.” He rose because remaining on the floor while she addressed him from the bed placed him at an intolerable disadvantage. The blanket fell away, and cool air struck through the fine linen of his shirt. He stood before the fire with his back to her, bracing one hand upon the mantel. “The danger is not that I shall forget my promise.”

Silence followed. He had said too much. Behind him, the bed ropes creaked softly as Harriet shifted.

“What danger is there, then?” she asked.

Benedict watched a coal collapse in the grate. Sparks flared and vanished. He could tell her that the danger lay in what proximity would permit him to want. He could admit that the sight of her with her hair unbound had driven every sensible thought from his head, or that the idea of lying beside her had become more tempting with every attempt she made to render it practical. Honesty, however, would oblige her to answer knowledge she had not asked to possess. It might frighten her after all—or worse, awaken her pity.

He chose the only defense left to him. “The danger of making exceptions on the first night. If we alter our understanding whenever it becomes inconvenient, it will very soon cease to be an understanding at all.”

“That is nonsense dressed as principle. Everton House will afford us separate chambers. Tonight is an exception because we have no better alternative.”

“I have an alternative. It happens to be hard, drafty and determined to deform my spine, but it remains available.” Benedict turned. Harriet was still sitting upright, the counterpane gathered beneath her arms. Firelight traced the line of one bare shoulder where her nightrail had slipped. She noticed the direction of his gaze and drew the linen into place.