“Right,” she said past the tightness in her throat. “You wanted a quiet, responsible, and calming wife. Instead, you got me.”
He grimaced. “That isn’t what I meant. I was only saying . . . trying to say, that I hope you and I . . .” Rubbing the back of his neck, he muttered, “God rot it. Pay me no mind. I’m a bit out of sorts.”
She took pity on him. This was as hard for him as for her—perhaps even harder. He was doing a very noble thing and, in the process, giving up his own plans for the future.
“So,” she said, determined to change the subject, “a visit to the tenants tomorrow. That sounds fun. What shall I wear?”
He met her gaze, seemingly startled by her amiable tone, then smoothed his expression. “Well, it’s probably best if we go on horseback, so a riding habit would be appropriate. And if you happen to have . . .”
To her vast relief, there was no more talk of anything serious after that.
But later, once her giggling maid had left her dressed for bed and she sat propped up against the pillow attempting to read the latest La Belle Assemblée, she wondered if he would try to seduce her tonight. If he did, would she let him?
Part of her wanted to. The other part hated that she couldn’t predict how she would react, once he came over on top of her and tried to enter her. She didn’t think she could bear to witness again the shock on his face if she got panicky and said or did something untoward.
So when the door adjoining his room opened and she instinctively clutched her magazine to her breasts, she could have kicked herself to see frustration flash in his eyes.
Though it was swiftly gone, it left her chilled.
“I wanted to make sure you were comfortable before I retired,” he said with infinite politeness, as if they were mere friends who happened to share a bedroom suite, rather than a newly wedded couple who ought to be consummating their marriage.
“Quite comfortable.” She deliberately let the periodical drop onto her lap, not wanting him to think she was frightened of him. She wasn’t . . . not entirely. “I shan’t be up much longer. I’m quite tired.”
“I would imagine so.”
He continued to stand there a moment, as if unsure what to do. And Lord, he looked so much more approachable in a dressing gown than in his usual oh-so-correct attire. It dawned on her that she hadn’t yet seen even a portion of him undressed.
No glimpse of what seemed to be a rather broad chest. No glance at what were probably quite fine arms. And just the thought of what he might look like without his clothes on sparked her curiosity.
Until she remembered what else she hadn’t seen yet. The part she dreaded to look upon, much less feel pushing and tearing its way inside her.
“Clarissa, earlier, when I said—”
“It’s fine. I knew what you meant.”
He halted, his jaw going rigid. “Of course you did.”
“Good night, Edwin,” she said firmly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes.” He swept his gaze over her with a thoroughness that did nothing to soothe her. “Sleep well.”
Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.
She ignored her swift pang of disappointment. If she encouraged his desire—and her own—tonight, only to end up cutting him off again . . .
No, better to wait until she knew she was ready. She blew out the candle.
Still, it took her a long time to go to sleep, and when she did, she slid seamlessly into a dream.
A forest rose before her, dark and gloomy. She didn’t want to go inside, but she had to. It was crucial that she enter, though she couldn’t figure out why. The deeper she wandered into the forest the colder she got, until she reached a black lake that glistened in the light of the moon overhead.
She dipped her toe into the water. It was surprisingly warm, so much warmer than the forest. It would be lovely to go in and get warm. Slowly, she walked into the lake, sinking into the warmth.
Then something grabbed her leg beneath the surface and began pulling her toward the center, which had become a whirlpool, swirling faster and harder by the moment. She struggled to swim back to shore but she couldn’t fight the current, which was pulling her down, down into the whirling void, down into the black, into the depths where she would surely drown . . .
She awoke on a scream. It took her a moment to catch her bearings, and by the time she did, the door swung open and Edwin appeared in the doorway, disheveled and wild-eyed and holding a lit candle.
“Bloody hell, Clarissa, are you all right?” He lifted the candle to scan the room as if searching for intruders.
“It was just a nightmare,” she said hastily, starting to feel like a fool. “I . . . I get nervous in new places,” she lied. “That’s all.”