Ned had nothing to say in response.
“That’s all you’ve ever given me—words.”
“No. You can trust me.”
She clenched her hands and faced him. “Who do you suppose I am?”
Kate was the impossibly attractive woman he’d married, and if he’d craved her before today, he hungered for her now.
She raised her chin. “I was the one who waited at home while you strolled the world. I withstood the questions. I endured years of the betting books, and I held on to fidelity through all the long years of your absence.”
“I—I may not have acted as well as I could with regards to you. But that’s going to change, Kate. It’s already changing. Listen—”
“If you had really wanted to stay—if you had really wanted to keep company with your new wife, you would have found a trusted minion to take your place. I think you wanted to go. I think,” she said, “that like all young men, you wanted to sow your wild oats. And having lost your chance to do so here in England, by virtue of your unfortunate marriage, you decided to take the matter abroad.”
She raised her hand again, to tally that second accusation against his chest. Ned reached out and grabbed her fingers. “No,” he said. He could barely recognize his own voice. “No. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t why.”
“How many women? You were gone three years. In all that time, how many women did you kiss?”
“One,” he replied. “And she was you.”
She waited. The silence that followed was cold with her disbelief.
“I was young, Kate. Young and determined to prove I was more than a useless fribble. I’ve made mistakes. I wanted to show everyone that my mistakes hadn’t made me. That I was rational. Sober. Reliable.”
“And what did you want to show me?”
“You?” He glanced at her and understood innately why he’d left. She flummoxed him. Even now, peering into the gray of her eyes, he could feel a tide of want and desire rising. He’d had a million reasons to go. But primary among them, he’d fled England because when he was around her, that sober, rational, reliable part of him faded into nothingness. It left behind this dark beast, this needful thing. When she stood near him, he sure as hell didn’t want to honor her. He hadn’t wanted to keep any of the gentle vows required by the Anglican ceremony. No, standing this close to her, he yearned to possess her. He wanted to own the curve of her waist with his hands. He wanted to claim her for his own. And he was unable to suppress that longing, no matter how ferociously he tried. He’d hoped that proving to himself that he was steady and reliable would alleviate that want.
“I left to find control, not to dispense with it. I didn’t sow any oats, Kate. It would have defeated the purpose.” He could hold his wants in check. He was the master, not his lust, not his cavernous want and not his deep, dark fears.
Unfortunately, three years of intimacy with his own palm had done nothing to alleviate his physical longings. Where Kate was concerned, he’d not become more sober. He’d become less.
But she didn’t understand that. She stood next to him without the least bit of concern for her person. His hand was still wrapped around her fingers, and she looked up at him, not understanding the danger she was in.
Instead, she sighed. “I thought not,” she said. “When you left, you weren’t thinking of me at all.”
“I thought of you.” The words sounded hoarse and guttural in his ears. “I thought of you…often.”
Her lips pursed, but still she looked at him, her head tilted to one side.
“You’re wondering if you can trust me,” Ned said. “You can.” She didn’t know that he knew her secret. And he wanted to win her trust, not force his knowledge upon her. He waited.
“I trust you,” she said calmly. “I trusted you enough to marry you. I trusted you wouldn’t abscond with the portion of my fortune over which you were granted free rein. I trusted you wouldn’t hit me.” Her voice dropped on that. “I trust you enough to do my duty, should you require such a thing again. I trust you to put your own comfort first. But you told me that we had a marriage of convenience. Why should I trust you with anything more?”
“Because…” Ned began, and then ran smack into the hard truth of it.
He had no reasons. She was right. He’d left, thinking selfishly of himself and what he could prove. When he’d thought of her, it had only been to imagine what she might do for him. To him.
Even now, he was putting her in his bed.
Oh, why bother to travel so far? His dark selfishness was undressing her here. He was imagining peeling the gown from her shoulders. He would kiss his way down each rib. He was on the edge of forfeiting every shred of control he’d ever fought for. He was still holding her hand, crumpled up like a handkerchief. Her fingers trembled in his.
And yes, he was—and he had been—a selfish cad. He leaned forward. The motion pulled her skirts against his trousers. For one glorious second, he held her—her body, her sweet curves, sliding against him. He could smell the faint scent of her rose soap. One last inch, and he could possess her as he’d always wanted.
For one glorious, lightless second, he thought of giving in to his selfishness. But no. He was still in control of himself. Once she trusted him…
Slowly, he released her hand. She flexed her fingers in the air. She had no idea how close she had come to being ravaged in broad daylight.
“You’re right,” Ned heard himself say. “You’re completely right. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me, either.”
Her eyes rounded.
He sketched her a half bow, and turned to go. But before he could complete that turn—before he could give her his back, one last strand of selfishness caught in his chest. And he checked that movement and stepped toward her.
“You’re right,” he said. “I haven’t given you much reason to trust me. But Kate…” Ned let his index finger draw near to her. She did not draw back, not even when he placed it on the edge of her lips. “Kate,” he repeated, “I will. I promise.”
Ned handed her his bag of peppermints and walked away, swiftly, before he changed his mind.
He had never given any thought to what it meant to be a husband. The duties, he’d supposed, were spelled out by the marriage ceremony: endow her with worldly goods and, when necessary, father children. He had only to look at Harcroft to find a husband who had done substantially worse.
But when the best thing your wife could say of you was that you didn’t beat her, you weren’t doing very well.
As for Kate herself, Ned knew he’d left England too soon after their marriage. He’d been as fooled by her delicate demeanor and her fine clothing as Harcroft.
He wondered how often he’d looked at her, not seeing anything except the exquisiteness of her features. There was more to her than he’d imagined.
A second realization struck him as he turned down the path that led to the barn.
She’d wanted him once. What would it be like, to don a mask all your life? To hide what you could accomplish behind layers of silk and lace? To do all that, knowing that no one—not your husband nor your family—knew the truth of who you were?
Kate was complicated. She was strong. And she was very much alone. He might do something for her besides meet the bare necessity of their physical needs. He could mean something to someone besides being a mere provider of things. He wasn’t much of a knight, and he’d just left Kate with the closest thing he had to a war stallion.
Still, he might be the rock she could stand on. He could be the arm she leaned upon. She wanted proof? He could start, for once, by letting her know what she could mean to him.
Ned swallowed again and clenched his fist. For a long time he stared at his fingers, wrapped in a ball. He thought of strength, of power. He let himself feel all the fear of failure that had once entangled him. He imagined it, a dark solid ball in his hand, all those fearful thoughts holding him back. And then, slowly, he pulled back his arm. He threw his fears as far from
him as he could. He imagined them soaring above the barn, high over the house in front of him, before plummeting to the ground and bursting apart like dry, baked clay.
Black magic, for sure; but he’d been crippled by doubts before. He didn’t have time for them any longer.
It was time to start becoming the husband he could be.
CHAPTER TEN
“I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING.”
That harsh voice echoed in the marble entry as Kate entered the manor. She had stared at Champion for a few minutes after her husband had left her, and then, confused and heartsick, had returned home. Now, she paused on the threshold, her eyes still adjusting to the dark of the interior, before she located Harcroft. He stood in the comparative shadow of the hallway, watching her. His expression was shrouded in darkness. Then he walked forward and the light caught his features. A half-mocking smile curved his lips.
Kate’s silk stockings were still damp about her ankles where the grass had brushed her feet. He looked her over; instinctively, she pulled up the black stole that she’d looped around her arms, covering herself.
He had changed into soft slippers and loose trousers. Smoke curled from the pipe he held in one hand—he must have just come in off the verandah—and he put his other hand up and leaned, negligently, against the wall. It would be foolish to draw back in fear, as she wished; it was doubly foolish to wish her husband present, to step between them.