Page 7 of Lord of the Darkness

Chapter Three

Benedict had allowed Quincy to assist him to undress, and then drawn on his silk banyan with the nervous anticipation of a man who had rarely touched a woman before. His face was pale, his hands sweaty, and his thoughts full of desire. He hadn’t known how much he wanted this until tonight, until the possibility of touching his wife… that way… was only moments away.

He had frowned when he entered his bedchamber, having expected her to be awaiting him there – but perhaps she was in her dressing room, still preparing herself? Now, as he emerged from his own dressing room to find the bedchamber still empty, annoyance filled him.

Could it be that she did not know…?

Perhaps. So be it then, he would seek her in the other bedchamber.

He went through the parlour, where all was silent but the tick of the clock and the crackle of the fire in the grate, and approached her door. His tap received no response.

He stood there a moment, and a flash of almost rage filled him – she was his wife, and this was his wedding night. This was not how it was supposed to be.

Driven by that annoyance, he opened the door, and strode into the room. He stopped, struck by the picture before him, and his heart sank.

She was dressed in a dowdy flannel nightrail, which had a high neck, and was tied with a ribbon, and her hair was braided up tightly. She sat propped on pillows, the coverlet pulled up around her, and a book in her hand.

She glared at him for a moment, and he expected her to speak, but instead, she turned her eyes back down to the book, as if expecting that by not looking at him, she might magically make him disappear from the room. She sat there and continued to read in silence with her lips pursed, as if daring Benedict to make her stop, if he was so stubborn as not to remove himself from the room.

“Ariana…?” said Benedict slowly.

Ariana glared up at him, as if she really were wondering what he was still doing in the room and why he wouldn’t leave her alone.

His banyan was wrapped around him, but he felt oddly exposed, standing there in the candlelight at the foot of the bed. He thought it was plain from his state of undress and the look on his face what he wanted — what he expected. He wasn’t going to humiliate himself by asking for it.

He shouldn’t have to.

“I prefer separate rooms.” she said finally. “I’ll sleep easier.”

“Husbands and wives usually sleep in the same room. In the same bed, even.”

“It’s a ridiculous tradition, if you ask my opinion, and my mother has her own bed, so I would question your statement,” Ariana spoke in the slightly petulant tone that she had adopted since the wedding - when she had spoken more than minimal words. “I don’t need another big, sweaty body taking up half my space.”

Her tone was aggrieved and irritated, but Benedict thought that he glimpsed a flicker of fear at the back of her eyes, as if she were hoping to keep him at bay with her caustic air. Her resistance baffled him. He had heard of women denying their husbands the pleasures of marriage, but never this soon and never without reason. Certainly not on their wedding night.

Ariana went on reading, or pretending to read, but Benedict could see that she was watching him warily, with the look of an animal being pursued by a larger predator. He closed the door to the parlour, and went to stand near the window, feeling increasingly foolish and desperate. He had no idea how to persuade an unwilling woman.

He had once, as a young man, clumsily attempted to kiss a girl, a maid, on the lips, but she had pushed him away, and been slapped across the face for his efforts. That rejection had stung, but it was nothing compared to this. This left him feeling fifteen again, and as if what experience he’d had of women had been pointless as preparation for this moment. She was his wife, damn it! This was not how it was supposed to go.

The whole situation felt like a cruel joke at his expense. Finally, he was married, and his own wife not only hadn’t shown any interest in the ordinary rituals of married life, but appeared to be actively attempting to avoid them. A hot, creeping feeling of shame worked its way up the base of his spine and along his neck.

He began to wonder if maybe there was something wrong with him, something that others had been too polite or too afraid to point out. He could almost feel the ghost of his father looking down on him with disapproval. When he felt like he couldn’t put it off any longer, Benedict turned from the window.

“Ariana?”

“Hmmm?” Ariana said with a bored air.

“We’re married now.”

“So I gathered.”

“And as a married couple I think it behoves us to do what married couples do.”

Ariana flipped a page, never once taking her eyes from her book.

“Must we?”

Benedict had known that she was trying to avoid the duties of the marriage bed, but it stung to hear her being so blunt about it. Feeling pushed to his limits, he did something he would never have done under other circumstances: he walked over and took the book out of her hands. Ariana let out a mild cry of surprise and objection, then sank back and glared stonily up at him.