> “Yes, yes,” Sophia said. “Sit down, Frances. There are things I must speak to you about.”
“Things?” Frances walked to her bed and climbed to the center to sit cross-legged.
“Your responsibility as a wife,” said Sophia.
“I assure you, Sophia,” Frances said, her voice a bit nasty, “that I shall be quite able to have the earl’s meals on the table when he wishes them.”
“No, Frances, I’m speaking of your intimate duties as a wife.”
“Oh!” Frances stared at her blankly, then cursed herself silently for eight kinds of a fool. She hadn’t realized, hadn’t thought that the earl, that stranger, would touch her and ... She swallowed.
“Yes,” said Sophia. “Do you understand what husbands and wives do together? In bed?”
Frances knew enough and she was horribly embarrassed. She kept her head lowered and merely nodded.
“Your father believes, as I do, that the earl will be sensitive to your feelings.” That wasn’t precisely the truth, but Sophia chose to severely edit her spouse’s remarks on the subject. Aye love, ‘tis a lusty man Hawk is. He’ll teach our Frances a thing or two!
Sensitive to my ... “What does that mean, Sophia?”
“It means that he won’t embarrass you, he’ll treat you with the respect due a wife. Of course, when he sees what you really look like, he will doubtless be quite pleased and more ... attentive, despite his ... well, I’m not certain exactly ...” Her voice trailed off.
Frances gulped. “I see,” she said.
Sophia felt a stab of concern for her stepdaughter despite all her husband’s assurances. She said very gently, “He will, of course, want an heir, Frances. That is your primary duty as his wife.”
“An heir,” Frances repeated.
Sophia sought for some reassuring words, and was surprised when Frances raised her face and said quite calmly, “Thank you for telling me, Sophia. I understand, I truly do. How stupid of me not to have realized ... Well, now I know.”
After Sophia had left, Frances huddled under her covers, drawing her knees to her chest. She pictured him naked, striding out of the loch. She knew well enough that that male appendage swelled to a horrible size and was shoved between her legs. It was a ghastly thought, repellent and embarrassing. So utterly sordid. But he could, would do it, because it was his right. If she struggled, he would probably beat her. That was his right too. She didn’t seem to have any. None at all.
Frances hadn’t realized until that moment that she was crying. Angry with herself, she dashed the silly tears away with the back of her hand and sat up. She remembered clearly how he had looked at her with such distaste when he had proposed to her—no, she added angrily to herself, when he informed her of his decision. As for her decision, she’d made it. She would be as dowdy, timid, and stupid as could be until he left her, which she was certain he would do, as quickly as he could honorably manage it. She wanted him to leave her, preferably without laying a hand on her. No, a hand she could manage; it was that other thing she couldn’t bear to think of.
It won’t be bad, she told herself. I shall live in my own house and do as I please. He can go to London and enjoy all the charming, lively ladies he wishes to.
Hawk lay back, sated and sleepy. Georgina Morgan, a delectable bit of womanhood, snuggled beside him, her thigh thrown over his belly. She was a widow, several years older than Hawk, and very affectionate.
“Ye’re an excellent lover,” Georgina said.
“So are you,” Hawk said, and lightly kissed the top of her head. “I must leave before dawn. I have to return to Loch Lomond and Castle Kilbracken.”
“Ye have business with the Earl of Ruthven?”
Hawk should have told her it wasn’t any of her business, but he wasn’t in any mood to play the gentleman. He said, his voice cold and clipped, “Yes, indeed. I am to marry one of his daughters on the morrow.”
Georgina sucked in her breath at this unexpected news. She’d rather hoped that the earl would stay in Glasglow for a while longer, and in her bed. “Pity,” she said.
“I agree,” said Hawk. He felt her knee slowly move over his manhood. “You’ll wear me out, then?”
“Aye, ‘tis no more than ye deserve.”
Hawk glided his hand over her belly, his long fingers gently searching for her. “And what do you deserve, I wonder?”
“Frances, damn you, girl, I won’t allow this!”
Ruthven reached for the offensive spectacles, but Frances ducked out of the way. “No, Papa, leave be. I am marrying your precious Hawk, and that is all you can ask of me.”
“You look like a damned witch.”