Page 17

When she put her cool fingers on his overheated skin, his body had leapt to attention and refused to settle.

With her kneeling between his knees, her hair loose, her hands tending his wound, it all seemed so domestic. And so extremely erotic.

If she lowered her hands just a little, she could touch him where he craved her touch.

She could pull down his breeches, lower her head and⁠—

"First we need to agree on some terms," he said, his voice hoarse.

She sat back on her heels, putting space between them and taking her warmth and her scent with her. Then she picked up the bottle of brandy, its neck still smeared with his blood, and took a swig.

This conversation is not pleasant for her.

She wanted a child, someone to love, but the idea of spending the night with him was clearly not appealing.

He grimaced. "If we are to do this, it is simply part of our marital obligations. I need an heir, and you want the companionship of a child. So..." He cleared his throat. "I propose simple terms. No kisses. No gentleness. No pretense. Just the act itself."

She stared at him.

"I will prepare you and make certain it is not unpleasant," he added hastily. "I will not force you to endure more than you must."

"Endure," she repeated.

He nodded. "Exactly."

"And what should I refrain from doing that might make this difficult for you to endure?" Her voice had a sharper edge.

"Just... tell me if it hurts, or if you want me to stop at any point. I would rather not do anything that makes you uncomfortable." He paused. "You are not... this would not be your first time, would it?"

She lowered her eyes, and a sharp pain cut through his chest. Of course it wouldn't.

"No. I have... with D-Daniel."

Sutton winced. That name still dragged the old wound to the surface.

"It was before we ever met," she said quickly. "I have been faithful to you since."

"Right," he scoffed.

Part of him was glad she had said the name. It was like ice water dumped over his head. The old betrayal cooled his desire.

"That night, we were only saying goodbye," she said, and Sutton shot to his feet, wincing as the stitches pulled.

"Can we not relive it, please?" he barked.

She flinched.

"Forgive me. It is just... I would rather move forward." He was an ungrateful oaf. She had just stitched his wound and he had barked at her. His gaze fell to her hands. "Would you like to wash my blood off your hands?"

She blinked, her mouth falling open. "Pardon me?"

"You have my blood on your fingers from sewing me up," he said. He waved toward his dressing room. "You may wash there."

"Oh." She looked down at her hands and shrugged. "Yes. Thank you."

He filled the basin and gestured for her to proceed. When she finished, he finally cleaned himself up.

He had expected Temperance to flee in the meantime, hide in her room before he could take her up on their deal. Instead, she walked to the dressing room door and leaned against the frame.