Rival Desires (Properly Spanked Legacy 1)

“Ophelia.” Her name was a warning. “Those points aren’t blunted. The length of that sword is sharp as hellfire and could easily cut you to bits.”

“Or cut you to bits.”

Was that humor? The corner of her mouth turned up a bit. She held the sword steady. She must have been stronger than she looked.

“Ophelia Lucinda Drake, lower that sword this instant. And be careful!”

Whatever his emotions had been before, they were all coalesced now into one hard ball of worry in the pit of his heart. Not his stomach. His heart. As he stared at his reckless wife, willing her not to slash some part of herself open by accident, he realized a peculiar thing.

He had feelings for her. Strong feelings.

Deep, intense feelings very akin to love.

It made no sense, taking into account their marriage thus far, but he was certain it was true. After all his worrying on the topic, he already cared for his wife more than he’d imagined.

When he started toward her to tell her so, and rescue her from her folly, she pointed the sword straight at his heart.

“Wait. Stop there, please,” she said. “I have to tell you something.”

“I have to tell you something too.” He tried to keep his voice level. “Put down that damned sword. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I do. Your father told me which ones I might handle, and how to do it safely.”

“My father is a meddler, and you can’t handle any of them safely. None of them have blunted tips.”

“Please, let me speak.” She lowered the sword. He watched in dread, waiting for her to slice off a few of her toes. “I have to tell you something very important, and I don’t want to lose my courage.”

“Speak, then.”

He stared at her, his arms crossed over his chest. She wore a gold embroidered gown, impeccably fitted at the top, with delicately layered skirts cascading to her slippers. She looked like a mythic figure with the sword at her side.

“Wescott…” She took a deep breath. “Let me begin by saying that I understand why you left me. I’ve been a contemptuous person in this marriage. I didn’t try to care for you at all. The thing is, I think I was afraid. I don’t know why.” She couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “I just realize now that I was… I was afraid of you. Afraid of everything, really. It was silly of me.”

He studied her, surprised by her words. “I’m sorry you felt afraid.”

“Your father said perhaps it was leftover fear from the fire that became all tied up in you and me, and our marriage.”

He eyed the sword, still worried it might fall on her. “The two of you seem to have struck up quite a friendship over the past week.”

“Oh, Wescott, your family is so kind, and you’ve tried to be kind too, although I couldn’t see that because I was so afraid of you becoming my husband. I know you’re angry that I found your armory, but being in here with all your swords and shields makes me feel braver. It’s made me feel better.”

“I’m not angry. I just want you to put down the sword.”

She looked at the weapon like she’d forgotten it was there. “Honestly…oh, I’m making a muck of this.” She touched the back of her free hand to her cheek. “The thing I want to say is, I’m going to try to do better, and not be afraid. I want to learn more about you and be a more pleasant wife.”

“I want that too. I mean, I want to learn more about you too, so we can have a happier marriage.” And I already love you. I’m fairly sure I do. He crossed the rest of the way to her, because he wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss her. He grasped her sword hand and circled her waist with his other hand, drawing her close. She lifted her face to his, and instead of rebuffing him or twisting to be released, she stood still, trembling a little.

“May I kiss you?” he asked. “I’ve wanted to for days now.”

“Yes.” She nodded and bit her lip. “I think… Yes, I’m ready.”

Slowly, gingerly, their lips met in the first real, willing kiss she’d given him since they’d shared a bed at the inn. As his mouth possessed hers, his fingers found the sword’s hilt and disengaged it from her slackening grasp. He held it at his side, careful not to move it or injure her, even as he clung to her with his other hand and kissed her with weeks’ worth of pent up desire.

She was not quite fearless—her hands pressed upon his chest when he deepened the kiss, but she didn’t push him away. He dropped the sword to the side to free his hand, so he could embrace her properly. Afraid of him? If only she’d said, he might have done everything differently.