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He steeled himself to retreat to the room next door. Or perhaps she’d relent and let him sleep beside her. Holding her in his arms without possessing her would be torture, but still it seemed preferable to the lonely hell of a night without her.
Reluctantly Erskine withdrew his hand and straightened. He told himself that this was for the best. No man of honor could expect his wife to welcome him tonight, whatever rights this morning’s ceremony had conferred.
Which wasn’t much consolation when he faced a cold bed.
“Sleep well, Philippa.”
In the light of candles and fire, her eyes turned even darker. He shifted away slowly, like a man going to his execution. He knew he did the right thing, but the knowledge offered no satisfaction.
His wife remained very still, watching him, although her hands curled slowly into the sheets at her waist. He’d been trying very hard not to notice the way the nightgown molded over her breasts. Now his gaze dropped helplessly to where her nipples pressed, beaded like raspberries, against the white material. That image would torment him through a restless night, damn it.
He expected Philippa to look relieved or, best of all, grateful. He’d like her to be grateful. A grateful wife was likely to invite him to consummate their union sooner rather than later. Hopefully before he went completely mad wanting her.
He’d risen to his feet before she spoke. “I trusted you yesterday.”
Because of that, he’d lay down his life for her. “Yes, you did. Thank you.”
Without lowering her gaze, she bit her lip. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he’d much rather stay than leave, even if she only wanted to talk.
“You’ve always been kind to me.”
It was his turn to frown. “You make me sound like an aged uncle.”
A rueful smile twisted her lips. “You’re nicer to me than Uncle Theodore ever was.”
He didn’t smile back, and his voice emerged with a bite that he regretted but couldn’t contain. “Philippa, let me be frank—I don’t feel remotely avuncular when I look at you.” He sucked in a breath and spoke the words likely to terrify her into running back to her unpleasant mother. “The first time I saw you hovering in the shadows like a little ghost, I wanted you. I wanted you when we were trapped in the dressing room. That’s why I kissed you. Every hour since then, I’ve wanted you more. Tonight I’m offering you a postponement, but I don’t….I can’t let you think that I’ll accept a chaste marriage.”
He waited for an appalled reaction, but she didn’t flinch away. Neither, confound it, did she leap into his arms declaring overwhelming desire.
“I…see,” she said slowly after a tense interval.
He stepped closer to the bed, even if it was a step he’d need to retrace when he left her. “Have I shocked you?”
“A little.” She paused. “You have a husband’s rights.”
“I’m not a bully.”
“No, you’re not.”
He should go. This awkward conversation just extended the torture.
Her eyes flickered away, and her hands stopped twisting at the sheets. Instead, she began to pluck nervously at them. Not much of an improvement.
Why the deuce was the chit nervous? Hadn’t he just given her a reprieve? Surely that saintly act alone must cancel out a few of his sins in the heavenly register.
“It’s late,” he said regretfully, starting to feel like a fool standing in the middle of the room, gazing at Philippa like a dog slavering at a butcher shop window. He turned to leave.
“Don’t go.”
Erskine stopped, wondering if he’d heard her aright. Slowly he faced her. He couldn’t read her expression. “What did you say?”
Her deep breath made her breasts swell voluptuously against her nightgown. He closed his eyes. God give him strength. She wasn’t doing this to get him excited. Although he was undoubtedly getting excited.
She licked her lips. How he wished she wouldn’t.
Philippa swallowed and spoke in a rusty whisper. “I said…don’t go.”
He braced his shoulders and told himself he could be strong. They had years to get this right. A wedding night was just another date on the calendar. “You don’t want to sleep alone in a strange place? I can understand that.”
