“All right, I suppose,” she said reluctantly.
They were shown to the room, which was nice but small, and the bed laughably tiny.
She was speechless. He cast a glance at the bed and turned away. But he stood in front of the washstand and she saw a lopsided smile on his reflection in the mirror. Her face heated.
“It’s only for one night,” he said.
They ate a quick supper. She retired directly afterward; he did not join her until the clock had struck midnight.
The light from his hand candle preceded him. He set the hand candle on the mantel and pulled off his collar and his necktie. From beneath her lashes, she watched him. She’d seen him stripped to the waist, bathing in a stream, but she’d never seen him disrobe.
He drew out his watch and laid it on the mantel. His jacket and waistcoat he draped over the back of a chair. Then he pushed off his braces and took off his shirt. She bit on the inside of her cheek. The one time she’d seen him, he’d been skin and bones. Now he was fit and sinewy, as handsome unclothed as one of those garden statues in Versailles.
She’d laid out his nightshirt for him before she went to bed. He picked it up, put it on, then pinched out the candle flame. In the dark, she heard him remove his trousers.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight. She held herself very still and did not even breathe.
“You might as well breathe. You have to breathe at some point,” he said, a smile to his voice.
What?
“I know you are awake.”
“How do you know?”
“If I’d never had anyone in my bed before, I know I’d still be awake.”
She pulled her lips. Out of bed they were equals: She was just as well-spoken and poised as he. But in this particular arena he was vastly more experienced than she, an arena in which theoretical knowledge counted for nothing.
“When did you sleep with a woman for the first time?” she asked, her voice clipped.
“At my gentlemen’s party, supposedly.”
“Supposedly?”
“I was three sheets to the wind. Can’t remember a thing.”
“When was the first time you remember? Mrs. Bethel?”
“No, it was her sister, Mrs. Carmichael.”
She didn’t say anything.
“I can hear your disapproval.”
“I can hear your smugness.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m smug about it. Mrs. Carmichael passed me on to Mrs. Bethel because she knows Mrs. Bethel likes her men young and inexperienced—so you can also say that Mrs. Carmichael found me an inferior lover.”
“I assume you are not an inferior lover anymore since you’ve had a bit of practice since.”
“I am passably competent,” he said modestly. Then he chuckled. “I never thought I would lie in bed in the dark and discuss my competence or lack thereof in this matter with my wife.”
The bed creaked. Had he turned toward her? “I don’t wish to presume, but you sound curious.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I don’t mean that you are curious about me or that you are itching to try something yourself, but you sound intrigued about the matter as a whole.”
She bit her lip. “Do I?”
“Nothing wrong with it. You are of an age to be curious. Do you still have news of your fellow?”
So he still remembered. “Yes.”
“Ever think of him?”
She grimaced. “From time to time.”
“Have you two ever—”
“Of course not.”
“I don’t question your virtue. But have you two ever kissed?”
“Once.”
“How was it?”
You were there. What did you think? “I’m not sure I can describe it. I was in such despair. As was he.”
“Is he married now?”
“Yes.”
“Are you ever jealous of his wife?”
And how did she answer that? “It’s late. Let’s sleep.”
The bed creaked again as he shifted and put another few inches between them. “Just make sure you don’t kick me out of bed. I don’t like sleeping on floors.”
“I’ve never kicked anyone out of bed my entire life.”
“True, but you’ve never had anyone in it either. So…watch yourself.”
He fell asleep long before she did, his back turned toward her, his breathing deep and even.
She lay in a nameless agitation until she too finally dropped off.
Only to awaken with a start as he flung his arm around her midsection. One hand over her open mouth, she tried, with her other hand, to move him. But his fingers, when she touched them, were completely slack.
He’d turned in his sleep. Nothing else.
Her hand lingered on his, coming into contact with the signet ring she’d given him, warm with the heat of his body. Someday, she thought, someday…
Suddenly he yanked her toward him. She gasped—but made barely a sound, her shock stuck in her throat. Now they touched from shoulders to thighs. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. Dear God, his lips grazed her skin. And his stubbles, the sensation of it against her skin—