In Bed with the Duke

He made a low growling kind of noise, as though warning her not to proceed any further. She ignored it.

‘And anyway, now you have as good as admitted that you weren’t happy. What went wrong?’

He sighed. ‘I never speak of my wife,’ he grunted. ‘She and I... We...’

Somewhere close by an owl hooted.

Gregory folded his arms across his chest.

She rolled onto her side and curled up a bit. Just until her knee touched his leg.

Which was warm. And solid.

‘There was never any we,’ he said, with evident irritation. ‘The match was arranged by our families. I thought she was happy with it. She seemed happy with it. And I was...content to go along with the arrangement. She was pretty. Very pretty, if you must know. Which I thought was better than being saddled with a woman I would struggle to bed.’

Somehow it seemed rather brazen to be snuggling up to him, hoping he might snuggle up to her, while he was talking about having marital relations. She stealthily straightened her leg so that her knee was no longer nudging his thigh.

But she hadn’t been stealthy enough.

‘If you didn’t want the sordid details,’ he snapped, ‘you shouldn’t have pressed me for the confession.’

She hadn’t pressed. Not really. But perhaps it was the strangeness of the day, the enforced intimacy they’d shared and were still sharing, that made him feel compelled to tell her all about it. Or the fact that they were lying in the dark, in a barn, feeling extremely awkward, and it was better to talk of something completely unrelated to themselves.

Besides, if he truly hadn’t spoken of his miserable marriage ever, to anyone, he probably needed to unburden himself. He’d obviously never felt close enough, or safe enough, with anyone to do so.

She reached out until she found his hand in the dark, and clasped her fingers round it.

‘I didn’t mean to pry,’ she said. ‘But if you want to talk about it...’

He gripped her hand hard.

‘She didn’t like me touching her in bed,’ he grated. ‘She would never have curled into me the way you have just done, or held my hand, or smoothed my brow when I frowned. Or hugged me because she was pleased to see me.’

The poor man. She ran the fingers of her other hand over his. Squeezed it. The poor, lonely man. No wonder his face had settled into a permanently severe expression. No wonder he glowered at people in such a way that they kept their distance. He must find it easier to keep people away than let them get close enough to hurt him. As his wife had done.

‘I was only seventeen when I married her. Not very experienced. And she, of course, was a virgin. It wasn’t... The consummation wasn’t entirely a pleasant experience for her. When she was reluctant to allow me to return to her bed I tried to be understanding. I thought I ought to give her time to become accustomed.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘And then she confessed she was with child.’

It sounded as though he was grinding his teeth.

‘My father congratulated me for ensuring the succession so swiftly. It was about the only time he ever seemed pleased with me. But the irony was that it wasn’t mine. The baby she was carrying. It couldn’t possibly have been mine. And I was furious. All those months, while I’d been trying to be considerate, she’d been...’

‘Oh.’ It sounded such a feeble thing to say. But, really, what could she say to a confession like that?

‘When she died I struggled to feel anything apart from relief. You think that was wicked, don’t you? That I was relieved I wasn’t going to have to bring up some other man’s get as my own? Or to face mockery by admitting she’d cuckolded me within six months of marriage?’

‘She... Oh, no. The baby died as well?’

‘The pregnancy killed her. That’s what the doctor said. Something to do with her heart. I wasn’t exactly in a frame of mind to take it in. My father had not long since died as well, you see. I’d just...stepped into his shoes.’

She heard him swallow.

‘Later, I did feel sorry about the baby. And that was when the guilt started to creep in. I kept remembering standing by her graveside, feeling as though a huge burden had rolled off my shoulders. How all the problems I’d thought I had were being buried with her. How could I regard a child as a burden? As a problem? That wasn’t right. It wouldn’t have been the child’s fault. You, of all people, must know it isn’t right to inflict upon a child the feelings you have for its parents.’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘It isn’t. But you wouldn’t have done. I know you wouldn’t.’