Even more stupidly, she regretted that he let her go. Henwitted as the notion was, she couldn’t help thinking that nothing could hurt her when Hugh held her hand. She’d felt like that, even as a little girl. She licked dry lips. “You can…you can stay if you like.”
His snort was dismissive. “Definitely not a good idea, Jane.”
“The…the bed in there won’t be as comfortable as this one.”
Why on earth was she pushing this? She wanted a chance to find her feet in this marriage before he touched her again, and Hugh appeared willing to give that to her. She should just shut up and let him go.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said drily.
“Oh,” she said, feeling useless and awkward. And guilty. “I’m so sorry, Hugh.”
“Please stop apologizing. It’s not the end of the world.”
Right now it seemed like it. Had her stupid jitters destroyed any hope of making a success of her marriage? The silence extended, turned heavy with so much she’d like to say, but couldn’t.
I wish you weren’t in love with another woman.
I wish we could start with a clean slate.
I wish I wasn’t your second-best bride.
Hugh bent his head in an oddly courtly gesture. “Good night, Jane. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Hugh,” she whispered, watching him leave the room. The slump of his shoulders reeked of defeat. He, too, must wonder where they went from here.
She felt a mad urge to call him back. But what would be the point? He wanted a passion that promised oblivion, and she wanted something much more prosaic. Somewhere they’d have to find a meeting place. There were those children he planned on having, after all.
Even once he’d gone, Jane sat staring after him. Although Hugh had done his best all day to hide it, she had no doubt that he regretted that she wasn’t his beloved Morwenna. She harked back to his honesty about his lost love when he’d proposed. Part of her wished that he’d deigned to lie. Even just a little.
Devil take her. She needed to stop moping. She’d vowed that she wouldn’t torture herself over Morwenna. She’d also vowed—publicly and before God—that she’d be a good wife to Hugh. On both counts, she’d fallen short.
“You can do better, Jane,” she said aloud, but the bracing command didn’t help to raise her spirits. Instead she felt inadequate and unfair.
And as she stared into the darkness, mostly she just felt…lonely.
*
Chapter Ten
*
Garson shifted yet again to try and find a comfortable position on the cramped bed in the dressing room. The cot was meant for a servant who traveled with the people sleeping in the main chamber. A valet or a maid. Not a huge brute like him. And definitely not a bridegroom who had every right to be enjoying his bride.
He bit back another curse and rolled over so that his feet stuck off the end. Tugging the blanket high about his shoulders didn’t help much against the cold night.
He could have stayed next door, but he didn’t trust himself to lie beside Jane without taking her. Shuddering, he recalled her spread out across the bed like a doll. The only color had been that magnificent fall of
deep red hair, almost black in the firelight.
He’d be no gentleman to insist on his way, when she was so obviously afraid. But the sight of her arrayed for his use had made his cock stand hard and eager.
Damn it, he didn’t want his wife’s first experience of a man to be a matter of duty and discomfort. Especially as when he kissed her, he’d glimpsed something altogether sweeter.
Garson had approached his wedding night with no great anticipation, but when Jane had been so beguiling, a storm of desire had swept him up. All the more powerful for being unexpected.
Then, like a fool, he’d taken her responses for granted and frightened her. Now he lay alone and wakeful and bloody frustrated, a whole room away.
Had he scared her to a point where he’d never again awaken her passions? There were women who couldn’t or wouldn’t respond to a man. Was Jane like that? Surely not. She’d always been reserved. A shy little girl had grown up to become a self-contained woman. But he’d never believed her self-effacement signaled a lack of warmth, just a natural reticence and a lack of confidence, encouraged by that witch Susan who monopolized any available attention.