Callum would not come to her tonight, not after that ghastly scene in the drawing room. Sophia sat bolt upright in bed, her hands knotted in the sheet. How much had Hawksley heard? She had not been aware of the door opening behind her—had it been ajar? The entire staff could have overheard.
She felt sick. Callum was obviously furious—how could he be anything else? Her foolish teasing had turned into a display that he could characterise as vulgar or jealous or immodest, or all three. And she could not blame him. Why had she reacted so badly to the thought that he might take a mistress? It was what men did. And she could hardly delude herself that hers was a love match.
He had been so polite throughout dinner afterwards that it had cut like a knife. Of course he was well bred and so much in control that he could preserve a perfect front before the servants. From somewhere she had conjured up equally polite responses with the result that they must have sounded like complete strangers who did not take to each other very much, gamely making conversation during some interminable dinner party.
Hawksley had looked as though he was stuffed. So had Michael and Andrew. But then good servants always did when they were trying to be inconspicuous during meals.
He won’t come tonight. He won’t come until he forgives me—and how am I ever going to make him do that when I dare not mention the subject to apologise?
The door opened and the candles flickered wildly. ‘Callum?’ It came out as a squeak.
‘Who else were you expecting, pray?’ There was an edge to the question that she supposed she deserved. Her husband was still in evening breeches and tailcoat. As she watched, wide-eyed with apprehension, he began to undress, each garment placed on the chair with a deliberation that only tightened her trepidation, notch by notch.
‘No one, of course. I was not expecting you. I thought after we had quarrelled that you would not want to come to me.’
‘That was not a quarrel,’ Callum said as he sat down and rolled off his stockings. ‘That was a clarification of expectations.’
He stood up and draped his shirt over the back of the chair. Sophia’s eyes followed his hands to the waistband of his breeches. The thin silk hid nothing, which was something that young ladies were expected to ignore. One averted one’s eyes from this insight into male anatomy, although as one outrageous dowager had said within Sophia’s hearing at a party, it was interesting to see what the young men were thinking about.
Callum was not, apparently, thinking about making love to her. Then why had he come? Perhaps she was going to get another lecture about her behaviour, although she could not think of anything else she had done wrong. Not yet. A sin of omission, then. Sophia swallowed a sigh.
He stood there, hands at his waist for a moment, then turned and began to systematically snuff out the candles, as he had done the night before, only this time he did not stop when he reached the bedside table, but extended a hand to the wicks of those too.
‘Would you prefer it if the room was dark?’
Perhaps he wanted it? Uncertain, she nodded and the final flames vanished, leaving only the smell of hot wax.
Wide-eyed in the gloom, Sophia heard the whisper of falling material and then the covers were moved as Callum slid into bed beside her. He turned and pressed her back against the pillows and she became aware that he did, after all, want to make love. Had she been forgiven, or had he blown out the candles because he preferred not to look at her while he was still angry over her tactlessness?
His hands were not unkind as they moved on her body, nor was his kiss careless, but then she had never feared that he was a man who would hurt her physically. Sophia tried to recapture the sensual feelings she had experienced the previous night and found, although exactly the same things appeared t
o be happening, there was none of the pleasure as his hands cupped and caressed her breast, teased her nipples, stroked down her hip.
Was it the darkness? But the strong body over hers was the same to touch, to smell, as it had been before: she felt no fear of him. His hands were as skilful, as bold, as they had been before. But something was missing, some magic that had been there on their wedding night, despite the discomfort and all her fears.
Sophia made herself relax, tried to recall what she had done with her own hands, how she had held Callum, encouraged him, caressed him, but her body seemed as numb as her mind. He was pushing her thighs apart now and she opened to him, obedient and passive.
She felt him lift his head as he braced himself over her. ‘Sophia.’
‘Callum,’ she whispered. ‘Callum.’ And he thrust and filled her and began to move and still she felt nothing at all except the strength of the man possessing her and a kind of desperate loneliness.
Had it taken so long before? He seemed to be waiting for something else to happen. She clung to him, moved with him as best she could and bit back the sigh of relief when Callum shuddered and went limp in her arms.
His heart thudded against her breast. After a moment he turned his head on her shoulder and she felt his breath on her cheek. ‘You … That was not good for you.’
‘Yes, yes, it was,’ she lied, forcing a smile because she knew he would hear it in her voice and believe her satisfied. ‘It was just … I am a little tired and perhaps upset because of our … The discussion before dinner.’
‘I will help you.’ Callum shifted and she felt his hand between her thighs, parting the slick swollen folds.
‘No, no, really, it is all right.’ She did not understand what he meant to do, but she did not think she could cope with the embarrassment of finding out. She tightened her muscles to hold her legs together and after a moment he withdrew his hand.
‘I will let you sleep, then.’ He got out of bed, pulled the covers back over her and she heard him moving about in the darkness, gathering up his clothes.
‘Goodnight, Callum,’ she said as the door opened and she saw him silhouetted against the landing candle-glow.
‘Goodnight.’ The door closed and left her in the darkness, confused and uncomfortable and bitterly disappointed.
She had hoped to spend the next day quietly drawing, which never failed to calm and cheer her, but instead, at two in the afternoon, she found herself sitting stiffly in a hired carriage, her new calling cards in her reticule and Chivers in her best outfit perched opposite.