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“And what truth is that?”
She looked away briefly, white teeth sinking into a plump bottom lip. When their gazes met, there was a decidedly nervous look in those lovely eyes. His wife lifted her chin. “I did not want you to see that I was uncertain…abouteverything. We did not court or have any tender moments before marrying. I fainted on our wedding night, and whenever I saw you, my lord, you were so frigidly polite. Though I longed to be brave and unruffled and confident, I knew that you would see my nerves and uncertainty once you looked at me. I did not want you to regret choosing me as your countess. I did not want you to see that I find you terribly handsome and wanted your…your kisses. I was afraid for you to see all that in my eyes, and I was just as petrified to see the indifference in yours.”
Every nerve he had went taut at that soft confession. “I was never indifferent to you. If you saw my eyes, Prue, your sensibilities would have been ruffled, for you would surely have glimpsed the need I battled to….”
An unreadable emotion touched her gaze for a fleeting moment. “To what?”
He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it hopelessly disheveled. Oscar had not thought their conversation would have taken this turn. “To take you to my bed.”
Her cheeks burned a brighter red, but his wife did not look away from him but allowed her lips to curve once again into that beautiful, mysterious smile.
“Ah, consummation at last?” that bit was said with amused mockery.
“That is not what I said, countess.”
He was aware of her watching him, studying his expression and body posture.Humor lit up her eyes with a rare beauty.
“Afraid of bedding me, Oscar? I assure you I’ll not faint again.”
That sultry promise slid wickedly against his senses, stirring something raw and possessive inside Oscar. “Why did you change?” he demanded abruptly.
“Growth and self-awareness are simply a part of life,” she said pertly.
Oscar sensed there was more to it, but he would not press her. There would be ample time to unravel this lovely creature before him.
I’ll not faint again.
“I believe—”
Her words died, and an inscrutable expression settled on a face that had been enchanted all evening. With a frown, Oscar glanced up and stiffened. Lord Trent and the opera singer trying to position herself into Oscar’s bed strolled gaily towards them. Clarice’s eyes were avidly skipping over his wife before her lips flattened and her eyes narrowed.
Blast Trent to hell. How dare he approach the supper box and his wife with that woman on his arm!
Oscar lowered his napkin and stood.
“Lord Wycliffe,” Clarice greeted, releasing Trent’s arm and dipping into a deep curtsy. Surely one designed to tug his gaze to her revealing décolletage, but he was not in the least tempted.
“Lady Wycliffe,” Trent said, bowing. “I had not expected to see you here. It is a pleasure.”
“Lord Trent,” his countess murmured, dipping her head gracefully. Then she pinned her stare on the woman who had yet to take her devouring gaze from Oscar.
“Oh dear, how unexpected!” Clarice tittered. “Never say you are married?”
Her very tone implied some intimacy between her and Oscar which made her doubt he had a wife. Anger burned through Oscar, and he sent a furious glare to Trent, who had the grace to appear apologetic.
“Miss Wilson—” he began politely.
“Dearest Oscar, will you not introduce me to your darling wife?” Clarice interjected, directing a spiteful stare at his countess, who sipped her champagne with apparently unruffled serenity.
“No, I will not, Miss Wilson,” he said with unapologetic incivility. “Nor are we on familiar terms for you to refer to me by my given name. Do not let it happen again.”
Clarice flushed a violent red, and Trent grimaced. They did not linger but hurried to another box to greet their cronies. When Oscar looked back at his wife, she was drinking another glass of champagne and peering at him over the rim of the glass. Her expression was decidedly bland.
“Forgive the unpleasant intrusion,” he said.
She lowered the empty glass to the table. “It was no fault of your own,” Prue said graciously. “I would like to retire for the night.”
Oscar regretted that the light in her eyes had dimmed, and now her expression was inscrutable. He held out his arm, and she stood, taking it. An enticing waft of honeysuckles teased his senses. Had his wife always smelled this wonderful? They strolled in silence for several minutes, and for the first time since Eton, he struggled to find words.
