“I’ll do better.” She bowed her head and studied the pink embroidered slippers peeping from under her voluminous white nightdress.
He didn’t immediately respond. He advanced until she saw the toes of his black shoes at the edge of her vision. “Pen, you don’t have to turn yourself inside out,” he said softly.
The patch of floor became watery at the edges. She blinked to clear her sight and mumbled, “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I do.” He spoke almost musingly. “Not long ago, you’d have sent me to the devil if I’d said that mutton-headed thing about pleasing me.”
“We weren’t married then,” she said sadly.
The regret in his sigh crushed her soul. “Pen, look at me.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Do you know what I’ve always admired about you?” The sudden change to tenderness slid over her, softer than her lovely velvet cloak.
She tensed. How she wished he’d go away. Or throw her on the bed and thrust into her. Or yell. “I can’t imagine.”
He laughed, still with that affectionate note that reminded her that he was the only man she’d ever held in her heart. Now that he was there, he was like a worm in an apple, gradually destroying her from within. “Well, there’s your complete lack of vanity.”
Eventually curiosity forced her to speak. “Is that what you admire?”
“I admire that. But it’s not what I admire most.”
She sucked in a breath. He was so close that she smelled his sandalwood soap. “Won’t you say?”
“Not unless you look at me.”
Her throat was so tight that it hurt to swallow. “I can’t bear the disappointment I see in your face,” she said on a mere thread of sound.
“Oh, Pen…”
She jumped when one hand caught her chin. “I’m making a mess of this marriage thing.”
“No, I am. We rushed into this.”
She tried to retreat, but the dressing table trapped her. “We didn’t have any choice.” She paused. “You didn’t have any choice.”
This time his sigh held a hint of frustration. “God give me strength, woman. Don’t tell me you’re eating yourself up with guilt.”
Now that he didn’t sound so likely to fold her in his arms, she let him tilt h
er face up. Then wished to God she hadn’t, that she’d taken to her heels the minute he’d stormed in.
Cam stared at her as if she was his single concern in the world, as though her happiness mattered more than his next breath.
It was a lie, she staunchly insisted. But how could she heed common sense when the man she adored regarded her with such care? She licked her lips again and noticed with sparking heat how his eyes focused on the betraying movement.
“I didn’t realize how much it cost you to save me from ruin until you told me about the gossip. By then it was too late. We were married.”
A flash of bitterness lit his green eyes. “All your escapades were innocent. Nobody knows that better than I.”
She leveled her shoulders and confronted him with the truth. “After a life devoted to restoring the family name, you’ve attached yourself to a woman with a questionable past and rebellious habits.”
Comprehension lit his expression. “So you’re trying to become the ideal duchess.” She flinched at the sarcastic edge he placed on “ideal duchess.” “By calling me ‘Your Grace’ and trying to fade into the wallpaper.”
“I don’t want to do any more damage.” She swallowed. “I can’t do anything about being a Thorne or about the stories or about not being the woman you wanted to marry, but I can try to be a credit to you.”
His lips flattened in vexation. “You are a credit to me.”