Page 48 of His Forsaken Bride

She was wearing the velvet headband again with the veil suspended down her middle back. The only jewelry she wore was the small turquoise ring. She had on the shabby blue dress she had said was her best from her previous life. Even that couldn’t detract from her heart-shaped face and clear, creamy skin. He shifted in his seat. With a hand that trembled slightly he reached for the pitcher and poured himself a cup of water. “Did you receive any packages today?” he asked with a frown.

“Yes, I meant to thank you. Some books of poetry,” she said with enthusiasm. “They are bound in red leather and have such pretty clasps. I am very much looking forward to reading them.” She glowed. Such a small thing. His wife went pale at the sight of jewels, but a present of books gave her a pretty blush. He had forgotten he’d even ordered them. “What about clothes?”

The neckline on the blue gown she wore was unfashionably high and at his precise moment he had never been so glad of anything in his life. Current court fashion dictated the necklines were worn very low and Fenella’s abundant figure would be spilling out of her dress. He wasn’t sure he could cope with such a sight in such close confinement. It had been bad enough at the feast the previous night. He tugged at his collar as he strove to banish such an image from his rioting mind’s eye. What the hells was wrong with him? As if suddenly catching on to his inner turmoil, Lady Fenella straightened up and blushed.

“Oh – I almost forgot. How ungrateful of me. Yes, two very lovely gowns arrived from signor Pezzini.” A sudden thought occurred to her which had her practically jumping out of her seat. Oswald spilt a trickle of water down his sleeve. If only the dratted woman would keep still and let him get a control of himself!

“Shall I fetch them, so you can see?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he assured her.

She settled back into her seat and peered at him again, leaning in closer. “Indeed, you do look tired, my lord,” she told him softly. “Can I not persuade you to an early night’s sleep?”

Her eyes were bright with concern. He had been quite wrong about their color, he noticed distractedly. Up close you could see they were more of a deep amber color than brown. Her mouth, he chose not to dwell on for it was wide and pink, the bottom lip disturbingly plump. Oswald’s nostrils flared as he imagined her sat on his lap clad in nothing but a transparent shift. He stood up jerkily from the table. “I find I am tired. No,” he said as she came to her feet. “You do not have to rush to join me.”

“Oh, tis no bother,” she assured him. “If I come with you now, I can show you the gowns.”

“Fenella,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut a moment. The poor woman was clearly worried he was overworking, while he was sat imagining her underneath him! It wasn’t like him. He wasn’t usually such a pig.

“What is it?” she sounded alarmed.

“Pour me a cup of wine,” he gritted out.

“But you do not drink?” she pointed out, even as she reached dutifully for the wine jug.

“There are occasions when I do,” he corrected her.

An expression of curiosity flickered across her face, but some instinct held her back from asking what occasions. Instead she poured his wine and handed it to him. He tossed it down and handed it straight back to her. “Another,” he said.

Fenella’s eyes widened, but she re-filled his cup. He took it and carried it with him toward the bedroom. He heard her footsteps following him as trusting as a lamb, and prayed for strength. He had promised her, that he would be considerate and give her time. His hard, yearning body did not care one whit for this. It was aching and ready to cleave to her and none other. She shut the bedroom door behind them and he set the wine down by his bedside and unbuttoned the top of his tunic. The wine was already flowing through his veins, making him flushed, though it had not taken the edge yet off his need. He could hear rustling behind him and guessed she was retrieving her new gowns to show to him. Gowns he had absolutely no interest in seeing. He shut his eyes briefly and steeled himself to ignore the steady pulse in his groin. Abstinence had been a way of life for him for so long, that desire was almost a stranger to him. He had honestly thought he could sleep beside a wife and it not mess with equanimity in the slightest. He had been a bloody fool.

“This one is very lovely, is it not?” she said happily holding an expanse of green-gold brocade up for him to admire.

He gazed past the gown to focus on her and the blue gown she wore. “Very lovely,” he said. “Take off that gown,” he said testily. “I don’t want to see you wearing it again.”

She looked startled, maybe even a little crestfallen. But she did not argue. Of course not, he told himself savagely. She was used to peevish, unreasonable husbands. Instead she draped her new gown over a chair and to his alarm made her way round to his side of the bed. She turned her body so that her back was toward him. “Do you mind?” she asked. Dimly he realized she was angling her lacings toward him to unfasten. “Twill be the last time for Trudy will start on the morrow and-”

He put his hands to her waist and yanked her almost roughly toward him. As his fingers worked on the strings, his mind raced. He wanted her. And why the hell shouldn’t he have her? She was his. He had the documents to prove it.

“Is all well?” she asked timidly as he prized the lacings apart. He spun her round and clamped his hands to her waist again.

“You call me husband now,” he said abruptly.

Her gaze wavered a moment uncertainly. “Yes,” she nodded.

“Does that mean you have accepted me as such?” He had to work to keep his voice calm and even. He sounded confrontational, though it was not his intention.

She seemed to consider this for a heartbeat before answering. “Yes,” in a quiet voice.

The pause annoyed him. He knew it was irrational and didn’t give a damn.

“Am I your husband, Fenella?” he asked in a hard voice.

“Yes,” she answered, her eyes flying to his and he had the oddest feeling she was trying to comprehend his gaze rather than his words. That probably wasn’t something he should encourage. When had she started doing that?

“I want to bed you,” he said harshly. “Tell me now if it’s too soon.”

She looked, quite frankly, astonished. “Oh,” she said. Then seemed to struggle for words. “Of course, if that’s what you want, husband-“