Emma's eyes widened when his oddity was revealed. It seemed even bigger than it had been the last time she had seen it. She was suddenly extremely grateful for the foresight that had led her to dose herself.
Realizing that he had suddenly gone still, she raised her eyes to his face. The hunger was still there, but now his face showed an expression resembling pain. Frowning, Emma licked her lips. "Husband?"
Amaury groaned and closed his eyes at the sight of her little tongue darting swiftly across her lips. Hell, didn't she realize he was trying to contain himself? Did she not know the restraint needed to keep from pouncing on her? For that had been his full intention as he had torn at his clothes. Then, of course, he had managed to overcome his baser instincts long enough to remember that she was still new to this business of marital bliss. And that he had sworn to himself that the next time he forced himself on her, he would take the time to make it as pleasurable for her as he could. Or at least as painless as possible, for it was a fact ladies did not enjoy the act.
"Husband?"
Sighing, Amaury opened his eyes and forced a smile, then eased himself onto the bed beside her.
Emma gave him a slightly tense smile in return, and rolled onto her back. It was what he had ordered her to do the night of their wedding. She fully expected that he would move over top of her again and commence the joining. Instead, he merely raised his eyebrows slightly, then allowed his gaze to run down over her body. When his eyes reached the apex of her legs, Emma suddenly remembered his other instruction of that night and opened her legs.
Amaury's gaze shot immediately back to her face at the action, trying to escape the thoughts it brought immediately to his mind. Her face seemed the safest place for him to look while he regained his self-control . . . until he saw her tongue dart out again.
Groaning, he dropped his face into the pillow.
"Husband?"
"I can do this," he muttered through gritted teeth into the pillow.
"Do what, husband?"
" 'Tis not your place to ask questions, wife. Just lie there quiet."
"Aye, husband," Emma answered worriedly, her insecurities running riot. He hated her. Couldn't stand to look at her. Couldn't bear the thought of joining with her. Even now he was trying to convince himself he could manage the deed. Hell, she wished she were beautiful. Just for this night. It was shaming to be found so ugly that your husband couldn't bear the idea of getting you with child.
Amaury pressed his face deeper into the pillow and held his breath, counting to ten repeatedly as he imagined the most unpleasant things he could think of in an to attempt to control his desires.
The pock-faced old hag who made the ale.
Bathing.
His wife's tree tea. Nay. That was no good. It made him remember his wife, who at the moment was lying naked beside him.
The painful headaches he'd suffered after his head injury. Nay. That was no good either. It simply brought to mind images of her bent over him, feeling his forehead for fever.
Talking to his wife. Damn! Could she not stay out of his mind?
Emma stared helplessly at her husband's back, suffering an agony of uncertainty. Then her temper began to rouse as she watched him burrow his face deeper and deeper into the pillow. Was he trying to smother himself? Was mating with her truly a fate worse than death? Good God, this was damned insulting!
"Husband!" she snapped summarily. "I have not asked you to kill yourself, simply to close your eyes, pretend I am more attractive to you, and do that . . . thing . . . you did the other time. We need an heir, and it seems you failed last time to produce one."
Amaury stilled at that, then turned his head to peer at his wife blankly. "What said you?"
Emma sighed impatiently. "The joining, my lord."
"Nay. What mean you when you say that I failed to produce an heir the last time?"
Realizing his manly pride had been wounded, she sighed and tried to soothe him. " 'Tis sure I am, that 't wasn't your fault, my lord. Mayhap 'twas the pressure of the consummating that was at fault for our lack of success at getting me with child. Mayhap it weakened your fertility, but--"
" 'Twas my kindness that prevented getting you with child!" Amaury snapped. When Emma merely blinked at him, he explained, "I did not spill my seed."
Her confused expression did not clear much at that, and Amaury sighed impatiently. "A man must spill his seed, planting the babe in the woman's belly. But there was no time on our wedding night. We were interrupted and after the pain I caused you, I thought not to force myself on you further that night."
"Seed?" Emma murmured, glancing down at her stomach.
"Aye."
She raised suspicious eyes to him again. "Where is this seed you are supposed to plant?" she asked skeptically.
Amaury opened his mouth, closed it again, then flushed quite red, almost purple, in fact. For a moment Emma feared he might have a fit. Then he leapt off the bed and strode to the door, tugging it wide open. Framed naked in the doorway, he bellowed for his squire.
Emma quickly covered herself with the bedclothes before the boy raced up from the Great Hall at the summons.
"Fetch me some ale!" Amaury snapped when his squire slid to a halt at a safe distance from him. Nodding, Alden turned eagerly to flee, then froze and whirled when Amaury called out to him again. "Make it wine! Lots of it!"
Closing the door on the boy's fleeing back, he turned to survey his wife. She was an alabaster statue amidst the ebony linen of the bed. Whirling back to the door, he opened it once more. 'Twas safer to stand in the door watching for Alden's return than to face his wife and risk more questions. Damned if he was going to explain the facts of life to her. Damned if he would.
Emma stared at her husband's back in an agony of despair. Things had seemed so hopeful just moments ago when he had disrobed so quickly, but she was beginning to think his speed had had more to do with a determination to get the deed done quickly than with any eagerness on his part. Now it seemed he needed spirits to help him find the courage to perform the duty.
Her thoughts were distracted by Amaury's grunt as Alden returned. It seemed the boy had accomplished his task at lightning speed. He must have run both ways.
"What of my tankard?"
"Y-yer tankard, my lord?" Alden stuttered under his Lord's frown.