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Laughing lightly, she took the opportunity to wipe Miriam’s chin, after which the babe eagerly launched herself onto the nearby nipple again. William watched with utter fascination, then his fingers trailed onto Beatrice’s soft breast.
Her gaze shot to his, and he watched her back. “You’re beautiful, Bea. In every way.”
Speechless, she held their child to her while he returned to the settee.He’s not angry.Relief crashed over her. He didn’t think she had singlehandedly spoiled their first evening out. After a time, she found the words to thank him for accompanying her and Clara to the opera and for his understanding.
“My pleasure, my lady,” he replied.
Less than an hour later, Bea was asleep in her chamber when the door opened, waking her.
“I’m disturbing you,” William said quietly. “I—”
“No, no. I was only resting my eyes for a moment.”
He laughed. “That is as true as my love of the opera.”
Exhausted as she was, it took a moment for the meaning to register, and when it did, she laughed lightly, but most of all, she fell deeper in love with her husband.
“Forgive me for waking you. I’ll leave—”
“You will not,” she insisted quietly, rolling onto her back for good measure. The sight of him in his nightshirt was a welcome one, one she hadn’t seen in many months.
He froze, holding the candlestick. His eyes shone in the warm light, and when he swallowed, her eyes were drawn to his powerful throat. “God, I’ve missed you, Bea.”
“I’m here,” she said with a smile.
When he set the candlestick down on the table, her body reacted to the familiar cue. Granted, her response was a fraction of what it was before; she was just so tired. She had tried to prepare herself for this moment in the usual fashion preceding his visits—but had fallen asleep after only a few languid strokes.
William held her gaze while he crawled onto the end of the bed, lifting the bedclothes from her legs. Unlike his earliest visits, where he kept his touch to the strict minimum, he stroked her ankle and the inside of her knee. He parted her thighs gently, but his groan was harsh when he looked down at her.
“Memories of you sustained me these last months,” he said, breathing hard. “But to be back in your bed…” Taking himself in hand, he brought himself to her entrance.
Bea’s soft smile wavered, then disappeared as he pushed in. He paused, looking back up at her face, and she schooled her expression to be as pleasant as possible, even as fear gripped her. In truth, since giving birth, she had returned to pleasuring herself, but not nearly as often—and she had noticed that her moisture was not as prolific.
William used to enter her with ease, aided by her wetness, but it was absent now and he was struggling to push in.
“Do not cry out when it hurts. If the marquess is a good man, it will only take him longer to finish the task if he has to worry.”
Harriet’s words from the night before her wedding flitted back to her, and she fought to maintain a neutral expression, even when he worked himself in, slowly and cautiously. She was able to remain silent, despite the pain, until he started pumping.
William froze as soon as she cried out. Grimacing, he searched her face. “Is it paining you?”
“I—yes. Perhaps we can, erm, try to start slowly.”
“Of course, my lady.” Watching her closely, he shifted his hips, dragging his tip through her in increments.
She winced, until the discomfort tipped into pain. It felt as though she had broken bits of glass inside of her when he moved, and her entire body tensed. He withdrew from her gingerly, and she bit back a protest. She was not going to be able to tolerate conjugal duties as before; that much was clear.
Sitting up, she reached for his hand to stop him from leaving. “I’m afraid—I’m afraid something has changed after… I don’t understand what’s happening, and I’m sorry. I’ve missed you, William.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, my lady. It is I who hurt you.”
Her shoulders sank. He sounded genuine, but she knew that she had hurt him, too. “Let me help you.”
“Help?”
“Surely there must be—I could—erm…” She couldn’t help but look down to where his rod tented his nightshirt anew. His arousal had waned after her cries of pain and his withdrawal; as if it had ears and had heard her offer, it had perked up.
“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. No, I—”
