growled in frustration, for it was clear that he had no memory at all of what had been the most important week of her life. ‘He made it plain that he did not enjoy my company. My deflowering was done with martial efficiency, at a tempo that might have been more appropriate for a march than a frolic. And then he had returned to his rooms, without another word.’
Adrian gave a snort, before managing to master himself again. ‘You know little of the army, if you think that men in the, uh, heat of battle …’ And then, as though he remembered that he was speaking to a lady, he stopped. ‘Well, then. Never mind. But you are right in thinking that such restraint could not have been pleasant for him. And did you tell him, the next day, of your dissatisfaction with his performance?’ ‘How could I? I was innocent of the subject. For all I knew, it was the same for all. I had been watching him for years, and dreaming of how it might be.
And the waking truth was not at all as I expected. But when one can barely bring oneself to discuss the weather with the man to whom one is wed, how is one to explain that one had hoped, in the marriage bed, for something more?’
‘I see.’ He laid a hand on hers, in comfort.
‘And the next night was the same. And then the next.’ She was almost shaking with rage at the memory of it, and the returning shame. ‘And then, it seemed he gave our marriage up as a bad job. When evening arrived, a servant informed me that he would be dining with friends, and that I was not to expect his company. And shortly thereafter, he removed to London and has not returned.’
His hand reached up to brush her cheek again, and she shied away, trying to hide the tears of shame that had come unbidden at the recitation.
‘And all this time you thought it was somehow your fault?’
‘What else could I think? And when you came to me, with that … thing? Is there something wrong with me, that a man I want does not wish to touch me as he should?’
Adrian laughed. ‘It does no credit to my gender, but I assure you that there is little that a man cannot stomach when his appetite is good. I can find nothing about you so far that would lead me to believe you capable of inducing such a reaction. I might say, after last night’s intimate inspection of you, that you are sweetly formed and temptation itself. You had reduced me to such a state when you turned me out that even with two good eyes I doubt I could have found the door.’
‘Really?’
‘If the man you married was sane and whole, he would have responded differently.’
‘If he was whole,’ she repeated.
Adrian nodded. ‘Therefore, we must assume that the fault lies on his side. For myself, I would suspect impotence.’
She coughed on a bit of bread, and hurried to pour herself another glass of wine. ‘Really?’
He nodded again. ‘An inability to perform effectively, no matter how tempted. And he left before you might notice that he had given all he could. It is either that, or a penchant for other men.’
‘Oh, I seriously doubt that,’ she said, relieved that he could not see her smile.
‘It is not unheard of, you know. When you find him in London, it is quite possible that you will discover his relationship with one of his friends is … unusually close.’
‘I see.’
‘But in either case, it has nothing to do with you, or your attractiveness to members of the opposite gender.’
‘You think that is it?’
‘I have no doubt. You married a fool, too ashamed to admit a flaw in his own person. And it has caused you grief.’
‘When it is put to me thus, I think that is a very accurate assessment of the situation. Thank you for your opinion.’ For, although she did not think him a fool, per se, the rest of the sentence was true enough.
But the Adrian that sat beside her now did not seem likely to repeat the mistakes he had made in the past. He took the glass from her hands and set it aside. Then he trailed his fingers along the skin of her arms, tracing the line of her shoulder and neck. It made her feel sleek, graceful, desired. ‘Think of it no more.’ He kissed her shoulder.
‘Sometimes I find it hard to think of anything else,’ she admitted. ‘When I am alone at night.’
‘And unsatisfied,’ he whispered. ‘It is a condition that is easily remedied. Allow me.’
‘Allow you what?’ She pulled away from him, somewhat surprised by the husky tone of his voice.
‘Allow me to prove to you, as I did last night, that there is nothing wrong with you. And that the disappointment you experienced at the hands of your idiot husband need not be repeated.’
‘Oh.’ The word came out of her, part sigh and part moan, for his lips were on her throat, nuzzling at the place where her heart’s blood beat. ‘But last night, you said you could not lie with me without using that thing you brought. And I do not think I would like that at all.’ For while she wished to have his baby, suddenly, she wished even more to feel her husband inside of her, unsheathed, and as besotted with her as he seemed tonight.
He paused his kisses and looked into her face, his eyes sightless, but still searching to reach her, to make her understand. ‘If that one thing is so important to you, then I do not think it is possible for me to give you what you desire. There is only one woman on earth that could command such an intimacy from me. If I deny it of her and tell myself that it is done for her own good, but I give myself freely to another, I will sacrifice the last scrap of honour I have left.’ Without thinking, he touched the pocket of his coat, in a place just over his heart.
‘What were you reaching for, just now?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. It is foolishness, really. And certainly not the time …’
Emily ignored his protests, slipped her hand into his pocket and withdrew a battered miniature, no bigger than a locket. She’d remembered sitting for it when she was sixteen. She’d been quite miserable at the time, having just recovered from influenza.
‘It is my wife, Emily,’ he said softly.
Without thinking, she responded, ‘It is not a very good likeness’, forgetting that there was no way she could know. Then added, ‘Those paintings never are.’
He smiled and took it back from her, opening the cover and running a thumb over the ivory that it was painted on. ‘Perhaps not. But it hardly matters, for it has been some time since I’ve seen it clearly. Still, I like to look on it.’ He held it in front of him as though pretending he could see it, then passed it to her.
The question of a likeness was no longer a matter. In the place he had touched it, he had rubbed the paint away from the ivory, smearing her eyes and leaving only a white smudge in the place where her lips might be.
‘She was a sweet girl,’ he said, smiling and reaching out to take it back. ‘And from what I am told, she has grown into a fine woman.’
‘You do not know?’
‘It has been several years since I’ve seen her, and she has adjusted to my absence. She handles the business of the estate as well, if
