A Momentary Marriage(64)

“It won’t happen again.” James pressed on, as if she had expressed disbelief. “You have my word. You are not . . .” He paused, as if casting about for something to say.

“I am not a woman whom you would consider in that way,” Laura finished for him, her voice crisp. “I understand. The boundaries of our marriage were perfectly clear.”

“No.” He frowned. “I mean yes, I am clear about the boundaries. But—” He stopped, his face a study in frustration. He turned and strode over to the fireplace to stare moodily into its low flames.

Laura turned in the opposite direction and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked like a slattern, her hair loose and hanging all about. Reaching up, she braided her hair with trembling fingers. She wished she could bring her life into order as easily.

What a wretched day this had been—and how foolish and selfish it was of her to think that way when James was so much better. Flushing with shame, Laura glanced at James, still turned away from her, gazing fixedly at the mantel.

“I, um, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to some things.” Without waiting for a response, Laura turned and fled from the room.



James sagged, one hand gripping the mantel. Demosthenes, who had entered the room as Laura left, trotted over to him, giving his free hand a helpful nudge. James glanced down and ran his hand over the dog’s head. “I made an utter mess of that, didn’t I?”

He hadn’t set out to kiss her. Doubtless Laura would not believe it, but he had intended nothing except to apologize. He had been filled with an unaccustomed tenderness, a bittersweet regret at causing her to cry, combined with a pleased and amazed awareness that talk of his dying should upset her.

It had been sheer, unthinking instinct to kiss her, a soft reassurance and apology and expression of gratitude, all the things he could not bring himself to say. But then, touching her, tasting her, had been so sweet he wanted more. The flash of tenderness had turned to hunger, and he had responded as he had this morning in his sleep. Instinct was a dangerous thing.

It had taken Laura pushing against his arm, her palm on his chest trying to ward him off, to awaken him to reality, to realize that he had been on the verge of breaking his promises to her. Clearly his illness had affected his mind. How else to explain the absence of his usual control?

It was only natural to want her—what man wouldn’t? Laura was a beauty. That fall of golden hair around her shoulders, loose and soft and fine, beckoned one’s fingers to sink into it. The curve of her lips . . . the curves of her body . . . the satiny skin, all cream and rose. A man would have to be a saint not to want her, and James was anything but a saint.

But he should have been able to conquer it. He should have thought, considered, weighed the rewards and the consequences. He was not an impulsive man; he wasn’t ruled by his senses. He was always able to leash his hunger.

Today, though, kissing her had seemed so good, so right, that it bypassed his mind altogether. Perhaps, he thought, it was because the kiss had come from something other than mere physical desire. He wasn’t accustomed to heat and hunger spreading through him from his chest rather than his groin. He wasn’t used to such a wash of emotion.

And he didn’t like it. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.

This strange turmoil inside him would change, surely, as he regained his health. His sickness had left him thin-skinned, his barriers lowered, too slow of thought to maintain his equilibrium. Soon he would be back to himself. But what was he to do right now?

His first thought—that damnable instinct again—was to find a way around those promises he’d made to Laura. He could try to woo Laura into his bed, convince her to change their agreement. Surely he was not incapable of charm if he set his mind to it.

But it made him uneasy to think of inveigling Laura into something she didn’t want. The last thing he wanted was to deceive Laura or set her against him. After all she had done for him, it would be reprehensible to try to escape his part of the bargain.

From the start Laura had made it clear she didn’t desire him—indeed, was repelled by him. Truth be known, it had stung to be told nothing would induce her to bed him, but it had been easy enough to agree to her conditions. It was a bitter irony that Laura’s excellent care had brought him back to life, making him ache to ignore those boundaries. By saving him she had condemned herself to a lifetime with him.

No. He would not indulge himself at her expense. He would stick to their bargain and he would make that clear to her. James sank into the chair beside the bed, suddenly swamped with weariness. Dem settled his head on James’s leg and watched him soulfully. James stroked the silky head, smoothing out the wrinkles in the way the dog particularly liked. What he must do was obvious. It was both foolish and unlike him to be reluctant.