Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)

“Jenny,” she counted softly. “Gareth. Laura. Your mother. I don’t question your allegiance to any of them, or the sincerity of the connection. It’s foolish of me. We’re not that kind of husband and wife. But Ned, you are married to me.”


Oxygen? It was as if suddenly there were too much of it, as if his every breath counted for twice as much. Ned felt himself gasping—as if he were a salmon cast upon the sand.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It never does seem to be. You vowed to cherish me,” Kate said quietly. “You vowed to love me and honor me. When I spoke my vows, I meant them. I intended to cleave unto you for the rest of my life, but you disappeared for years. To you, that ceremony was nothing but words,” Kate said bitterly. She held up her hand, index finger pointed. And then she touched his chest—as if she were tallying up his mistakes on his ribs. Her finger swished along him as if making an accusatory notch: One.

Ned had nothing to say in response.

“That’s all you’ve ever given me—words.”

“No. You can trust me.”

She clenched her hands and faced him. “Who do you suppose I am?”

Kate was the impossibly attractive woman he’d married, and if he’d craved her before today, he hungered for her now.

She raised her chin. “I was the one who waited at home while you strolled the world. I withstood the questions. I endured years of the betting books, and I held on to fidelity through all the long years of your absence.”

“I—I may not have acted as well as I could with regards to you. But that’s going to change, Kate. It’s already changing. Listen—”

“If you had really wanted to stay—if you had really wanted to keep company with your new wife, you would have found a trusted minion to take your place. I think you wanted to go. I think,” she said, “that like all young men, you wanted to sow your wild oats. And having lost your chance to do so here in England, by virtue of your unfortunate marriage, you decided to take the matter abroad.”

She raised her hand again, to tally that second accusation against his chest. Ned reached out and grabbed her fingers. “No,” he said. He could barely recognize his own voice. “No. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t why.”

“How many women? You were gone three years. In all that time, how many women did you kiss?”

“One,” he replied. “And she was you.”

She waited. The silence that followed was cold with her disbelief.

“I was young, Kate. Young and determined to prove I was more than a useless fribble. I’ve made mistakes. I wanted to show everyone that my mistakes hadn’t made me. That I was rational. Sober. Reliable.”

“And what did you want to show me?”

“You?” He glanced at her and understood innately why he’d left. She flummoxed him. Even now, peering into the gray of her eyes, he could feel a tide of want and desire rising. He’d had a million reasons to go. But primary among them, he’d fled England because when he was around her, that sober, rational, reliable part of him faded into nothingness. It left behind this dark beast, this needful thing. When she stood near him, he sure as hell didn’t want to honor her. He hadn’t wanted to keep any of the gentle vows required by the Anglican ceremony. No, standing this close to her, he yearned to possess her. He wanted to own the curve of her waist with his hands. He wanted to claim her for his own. And he was unable to suppress that longing, no matter how ferociously he tried. He’d hoped that proving to himself that he was steady and reliable would alleviate that want.

“I left to find control, not to dispense with it. I didn’t sow any oats, Kate. It would have defeated the purpose.” He could hold his wants in check. He was the master, not his lust, not his cavernous want and not his deep, dark fears.

Unfortunately, three years of intimacy with his own palm had done nothing to alleviate his physical longings. Where Kate was concerned, he’d not become more sober. He’d become less.

But she didn’t understand that. She stood next to him without the least bit of concern for her person. His hand was still wrapped around her fingers, and she looked up at him, not understanding the danger she was in.

Instead, she sighed. “I thought not,” she said. “When you left, you weren’t thinking of me at all.”

“I thought of you.” The words sounded hoarse and guttural in his ears. “I thought of you…often.”

Her lips pursed, but still she looked at him, her head tilted to one side.

“You’re wondering if you can trust me,” Ned said. “You can.” She didn’t know that he knew her secret. And he wanted to win her trust, not force his knowledge upon her. He waited.

“I trust you,” she said calmly. “I trusted you enough to marry you. I trusted you wouldn’t abscond with the portion of my fortune over which you were granted free rein. I trusted you wouldn’t hit me.” Her voice dropped on that. “I trust you enough to do my duty, should you require such a thing again. I trust you to put your own comfort first. But you told me that we had a marriage of convenience. Why should I trust you with anything more?”