Please, God, this must be a misunderstanding. It must be. She was no harlot. She would not give herself to his best friend. She had been an innocent. A willing, loving woman, but an innocent nonetheless. But not innocent, that beast inside him sneered. A virgin, but not untouched.
He stepped out to the frozen ground, quiet and careful. He could see her in the moonlight, turned away and staring toward the stables. And then Collin could see her in that meadow where she'd first lain beneath him, urging him on as he'd pushed up her skirts, spitting mad when he would not take her. And he could see her on their wedding night, kneeling before him like a damned fantasy, taking his cock into her mouth with a purr of satisfaction. And even on the trail where they'd walked in the forest, her face so demure and timid. You 're far bigger than—Oh, she'd shut her pretty mouth then. Far bigger than who and how many, he should have asked.
"Collin!"
His name sounded jerked from her throat in surprise, but she walked toward him easily enough, a flash of white signaling her smile.
"What did you think of James's gelding?"
He could not crack open his jaw to answer.
"Fergus has gone home, so I hope you weren't looking for him."
"I was not," he growled, "but I found him all the same."
Her foot slid a little in the grass when she stopped. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, wife, that I was looking for you, and I found Fergus also."
"Oh, yes." Her hand rose to brush his sleeve, but it hovered in midair as if she could feel the rage radiating from his skin. "I wished to speak to him about. . . something."
"'Something.'"
"Um, is there something wrong, Collin?"
"I would say so, yes."
"What then?" The uncertainty had left her voice. Her words had gone clipped and short.
How dare she be irritated with him? "Do you think it is right that you steal out here with my manager and whisper in the dark?"
"I was not whispering."
His laughter sounded like metal against stone. She did not deny the sneaking out here, just the whispering. Very well, she hadn't really whispered. She'd pled.
"What is this about?"
"Well, let me ask you this. What was it that got you sent home from London?"
"I don't understand."
"What did my brother see when he opened that door on you and St. Claire?"
Her shadow drew itself up and stepped away from him. "Are you accusing me of. . . Do you think that Fergus. . . ?"
"I am only asking a simple question. I am curious as to your past. I spoke with two men in London who claimed to have kissed you, at least. I thought perhaps it was a hobby of yours. What else?"
"I. . . I did not kiss Fergus! I wouldn't even think it."
"No?"
"No! How can you ask such a thing?"
"Come now, Alexandra. You did much more than kiss St. Claire and he is no better than a dog."
"Collin, I am your wife." The sound of fear in her voice struck him like the snap of a whip. He stepped back from her, as if he stumbled from a dream. She had never spoken to him in fear. Never. He realized that his hands had gone numb with clenching.
"How could you think I'd be unfaithful to you? I've never . . . I've never given you a reason to hate me."