Her Secondhand Groom(80)

As those months crept by, Patrick hoped and prayed every day he’d have a son.

But then she had yet another girl.

Devastated, neither of them spoke of heirs or marital relations for more than two years.

And then the topic finally came up.

He’d been in his study chatting with his younger cousins, Sir Wallace Benedict and George Frederick. Apparently Sir Wallace had fallen into the same trap as Patrick had and had given his heart away at eighteen. Unfortunately for Wallace, marriage to his heart’s desire wasn’t an option yet. Her parents wanted her to have at least one Season, and Wallace’s mother pushed him to go to Oxford to get the same education his father had had. Reluctantly, Wallace agreed to go, and now the poor lad was having a hard time of it. What started as just some good-natured fun about Wallace’s current predicament, turned a bit more serious when George made some bawdy comment about Wallace’s current sexual gratification, or the lack thereof.

Patrick shrugged. “Just use your hand.”

“Is that what you do, Patrick?”

The hair stood on end on the back of Patrick’s neck and he stiffened at hearing his wife’s sing-song voice behind him.

“Well, do you?” she prodded. She strolled across the room to join him on the settee.

“Of course he does,” George answered for him, oblivious to the thick tension that had settled in the room. “All men do, married or not.”

Abigail’s hazel eyes pierced Patrick, and he was vaguely aware of Wallace’s words as he and George excused themselves from the room, and consequently the estate.

“Do you?” Abigail repeated, blinking her big hazel eyes at him.

He nodded once. “Not often, but I have, yes.”

A big, round tear slipped from Abigail’s left eye. “Why?”

He shifted in his seat. Why did it matter? “Because... Well...” He cleared his throat, and raked a hand through his hair. “Just because you don’t enjoy the activity, doesn’t mean I don’t.” There, he’d said it.

“H-how often?” Her voice hitched and more tears spilled from her eyes.

“I don’t know, often enough.”

She blanched, and his stomach clenched. “Have you...have you...been unfaithful?” she stammered through her sobs.

“No.”

She didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t care. It was the truth. He’d never once so much as thought about another woman that way. If she didn’t believe him, that was her problem, not his. “Why?”

“Why what?” he bit off. There was no reason for them to even be having this conversation.

She didn’t answer, just cried and wrung her hands together.

He twisted his lips. “Why didn’t I stray?” he ventured, his tone softening considerably. “Because I love you, Abigail. I always have, and always will.” He sighed, and leaned closer to her. “Besides, I made you a promise. Actually, I made you two. I promised you the day we married that I’d love and honor you until death. I meant that, Abigail. I also promised you when you told me you were expecting Helena that no matter what, we were done with that aspect of our marriage. I also meant that. I don’t care that―”

“Don’t say you don’t care, Patrick. You do, or you wouldn’t do such a repulsive act to replace another repulsive act,” she said, swiping at the tears on her cheeks.

Fury pumped through him. What was a man to do? Join the monastery, take a vow of celibacy, and deny himself any sort of pleasure because his wife didn’t like relations and considered them repulsive? She should be glad he’d chosen the way he had and not shamed or embarrassed her by forcing himself on her or finding a mistress.

“Why, Patrick?” she sobbed again, blinking her wide childlike eyes at him.

His control broke. “Because, Abigail, I’m a man! And as such, I still have needs. As I said, just because you have an aversion to the activity doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy it.” He huffed, out of breath; and his hand came up to rub his throat that was now raw from yelling.

“Is that what you want?”

“What?”

“A careless tumble every now and then?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” he shot back.

“For you, perhaps,” she snapped, stunning him. In more than four years of marriage she’d never once been sharp with him. “You’re not the one who has a hard rod ramming in and out of their unmentionable areas, making them bleed.”

Shame and a hint of embarrassment flushed over him at the memory of their first joining when he’d naively just pushed right in without touching her first to make sure her body was ready. “I’ve said I was sorry about that, Abigail, and I am. I didn’t know you weren’t ready. I didn’t understand everything yet. Like you, I was unpracticed in such activities. But in all fairness to me, you would have bled that night anyway.”