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‘I’ve read some stuff,’ she admitted a little shyly. ‘I figured that an inexperienced wife might drive you into the arms of someone else if I wasn’t careful.’
The unexpected candour and humility of her response made Kulal’s heart punch painfully in his chest. ‘But I promised you my fidelity,’ he growled.
‘I know you did, but I...’
She seemed about to say something else when he saw a shadow cross over her face, and instead she shrugged.
‘What?’ he probed.
‘It doesn’t matter. Honestly.’ She fastened her arms around his neck and planted a lingering kiss on his lips. ‘What matters is that you should enjoy your coming home at night as much as I do.’
‘I certainly enjoy coming,’ he mused.
‘Kulal!’
He gave a low laugh. ‘I don’t really think you’re in any position to be shocked by my words, Hannah—not when you seem pretty unshocked by some of the things we do together. Now...’ his voice dipped ‘...why don’t we rid you of this nightgown—beautiful as it is—which, in my haste to be inside you, I neglected to remove?’
He helped her slide out of her nightdress, but took his time while undressing himself, deliberately making himself step back from the easy intimacy which seemed to have developed between them. Because sometimes, didn’t disquiet whisper over his skin—as warm and as insidious as the slow trickle of blood? Instinctively, his fingertips went to the ridged scar which ran all the way from nipple to belly. At the time, he hadn’t felt the knife enter his body because he had been on a rush of adrenalin, and sometimes he felt the same way now, when he was in bed with his wife.
He had warned Hannah what he would and wouldn’t tolerate within their marriage yet he hadn’t expected her to be quite so accepting of his demands. Hadn’t he anticipated rebellion once she realised he would not bend the stringent rules he had imposed on their union? But she had confounded all his expectations. She hadn’t sulked, or bargained, or pleaded for him to spend the whole night with her. She hadn’t drummed her fingernails on the table and told him what she wanted. She had just seemed to slot into palace life as if she’d been born to it. According to his aides, she spent her days quietly, either in the gardens or in the library, with the occasional trip into the city as she prepared for the birth of their child.
‘Kulal.’ Her voice sounded soft—like a harp playing on a spring evening.
‘What is it?’ Yanking off his robe, he slid into bed beside her.
‘I want...’
‘What do you want, Hannah?’ he questioned indulgently.
‘To...to kiss you.’
It was such an innocent request—how could he refuse? Why would he even want to refuse? Was it because he detected a trace of some indefinable emotion in the melodic caress of her words? Or because kissing represented an intimacy which sometimes felt as if it was mushrooming out of his control? As he bent to brush his lips over hers, he told himself it was only a kiss, but within seconds they were having sex again. If she hadn’t been pregnant he might have been a little rougher with her—made her ride him like a cowboy riding a bucking bronco, to demonstrate that this was nothing more than physical.
But if she hadn’t been pregnant, she wouldn’t be here, he reminded himself as his orgasm hit him like a muffled burst of stars. And that was his last coherent thought before he fell into a deep sleep.
His dreams were fitful and he awoke to an unfamiliar smell, forcing open his eyelids to see Hannah on the other side of the bedroom, tipping strong coffee into two tiny glimmering cups. Sitting up in bed, he raked his fingers back through his tousled hair—scowling in confusion as he noticed slats of bright sunlight slanting through the shutters.
‘What time is it?’ he demanded.
She was undulating towards him, her silken gown flowing around her like a waterfall as she carried one of the tiny golden cups.
‘Almost nine,’ she replied, putting the coffee down beside him. ‘You slept right through.’
Was he imagining the hint of triumph in her voice and the look of satisfaction on her face? ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ he questioned, pushing aside the sex-scented sheets and watching her aqua
marine gaze automatically flicker towards the hardness at his groin, before she lifted her eyes to his face. ‘You know I like to exercise my stallion before dawn.’
‘I know you do. But you looked so peaceful lying there that I couldn’t bring myself to wake you. And I assumed one of the servants would take your horse out in your absence.’
His mouth thinned. ‘How quickly you have become used to having servants, Hannah,’ he commented drily. ‘But I think we’re both aware that nobody gives Baasif a ride quite as hard as I do.’
He saw colour creep into her skin and knew that she wasn’t thinking about horse-riding. The throb at his groin intensified. Neither was he. But she needed to understand that this wasn’t going to become like a regular marriage, with them spending every constricting moment in each other’s company. Did she think he would give up his morning ride and become sedentary and fat? To lie in bed with her, drinking coffee and eating pastries? He scowled as he reached for his robe.
‘Why don’t you drink your coffee, Kulal?’ she said calmly and her words suddenly felt like the domestic kiss of death.
‘I don’t want any coffee,’ he snarled.
He pulled the garment over his head and saw the disappointment on her face. But he would be tolerant with her. He wouldn’t berate her for forcing him into something he had told her he didn’t want—not when it was his own fault for falling asleep like that. But it would not happen again, he thought grimly. Never again would he waken to some commonplace scene of domesticity, with her giving him that doe-eyed look which was suddenly making him feel so trapped.
