She murmured something he couldn't understand.
Taking that as her acceptance, he swung open the door.
Moonlight poured into the room from the large window on the opposite side of her bed, giving him just enough light to see her standing silhouette.
"May I join you?"
"Yes."
Oh, what power she held over him. With only one simple word, she could send his blood firing through him. He took a step closer to her, commanding himself to go slow. His body, however, had a mind of its own and wouldn't heed his command, too excited at her promise of things to come. Unlike last night, she hadn't stammered when she'd spoken.
He shut his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Just as every other night he'd been to her room, she wore the nightgown that he could only assume was made from the sails of one of Columbus' ships. Perhaps it was best he had a vivid imagination and could envision what she might look like under all those yards of fabric.
He moved closer still until he was but inches from her face. It was basked in the moon's glow, and he took her in. My, but she was beautiful. Only eighteen, two years his junior, and far more beautiful than any other lady he'd ever seen.
He lifted his hand and, using the ends of his fingers, caressed her cheeks. He frowned. What the devil? Why was her jaw locked? She swallowed, the movement rigid under his fingertips.
He continued his caress. She must be nervous, wary of his touch now that she knew the truth. He lowered his head a fraction, which was a silly thing to do since she couldn't see him well enough to read the feelings of shame that must be stamped on his face.
Edward bent in to kiss her more slowly this time. Last night he'd been too quick with his attentions and had startled her. With as much control as he had left, he pressed his lips to hers. But hers weren't as soft and pliant as he remembered them. Similar to last night, they were stiff. He pulled back and cupped her face. Her cheeks felt tight, unyielding.
"Forgive me," she whispered, the slightest waver in her words.
He fought to keep from scowling at her. He positively hated it when she asked him to forgive her as if she'd done a great wrong. "I won't hurt you," he murmured, trailing his hand from her locked jaw, down her neck, and to her shoulder.
Perhaps it was his own words, or her shaky nod of acceptance, or even the way her body had the slightest jerk at his touch, but something that had just transpired made his blood freeze as the gravity of the situation set into his mind. She wasn't purposely trying to be cold or push him away, nor was she denying him what had become his right upon their marriage. She was still willing to share her bed and body with him, but only because it was expected of her; not because she wanted to, or with the same eagerness she had when she believed theirs to be a love match.
He dropped his hands to his sides, every ounce of ardor he'd had but a minute ago draining from his body at a rapid pace. Fury pumped through him. Fury at her for pretending everything was fine, when it clearly wasn't; fury at her for not standing up for herself and allowing herself to be treated as if she were nothing more than just an outlet for his primal urges; fury at her father and aunt for teaching her to be this docile creature who let anyone and everyone trample all over her; and, most of all, fury at himself for not treating her any better.
Time evaporated as the deafening silence engulfed them.
It wasn't until the moon dropped behind the leafy treetops outside Regina's window, cloaking them in utter darkness, that Edward dared touch her again. But this time instead of initiating love making, he used his hand on the small of her back to steer her toward the bed.
Then, just as he'd done last night, he shed his dressing robe, climbed in bed beside her, and held her until they both drifted off to sleep.
~Chapter Eleven~
As much as she hated to admit it, Edward was right. Watson Townhouse was barren. Even her father's townhouse had more embellishment than this one. Not that dozens of portraits of Toby at various ages was something enjoyable to feast one's eyes upon, but at least it was something. Not only did Watson Townhouse have no ornamentation, it didn't even have adequate furniture. Why? Neither Edward nor his father had been Father's clients and his encouragement of her redecorating his house didn't seem false. So he couldn't be impoverished. Why then was his house so empty? Perhaps she'd ask him sometime, but not now. Not when he seemed so bent on pleasing her in order to soothe her pride.
She honestly didn't know which was worse, his lying by omission to protect her feelings or his overcompensation for his deed by trying to keep her pleased.
She shrugged out of her heavy nightgown then pulled a pair of stockings from the bureau and looked around her new bedchamber again. She didn't know about the rest of the house, but this room was certainly in need of some new decorations. Not that she knew what she'd do differently, mind you. She hadn't decorated a single thing before. Ever. Her father had instructed her mother how to decorate her family home, and she hadn't been allowed to change anything in her room at Sloan's.
A light scratching on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
"No nightgown this morning?" Georgie asked, coming into her room.
Regina blushed fiercely. "It's not..." Why bother to explain? The admission that she'd once again been unable to perform her marital duties would be far more damning than the assumption that her husband had seen her nude.
Georgie smiled. "Never mind what I think, my lady." She walked to the wardrobe, which had been filled with half of Regina's gowns while she'd be in the country. She pulled out a dark green morning gown. "This is beautiful. Would you like to wear it?"
"Of course." Not that it mattered what she wore anymore. Nobody would be around to see it. She chastised herself for her moment of self-pity then allowed Georgie to help her into her dress.
"Beautiful, indeed," she said. "Lord Watson left for Eton before sunup and isn't expected back until tonight, but Master John should be about."
Regina nodded. Just as well. At least with him gone, he wouldn't feel compelled to spend time with her.
Georgie brushed and repinned her hair then excused herself so Regina could go take breakfast.
She ate with deliberate slowness. Having no real friends to speak of who lived close and never having been allowed to pursue interests not considered necessary to her role as a female and approved by her father, she had no idea what to do with her day.
Fortunately, her state of tedium came to a close when a missive was delivered for her shortly after luncheon.
Unfortunately, the missive was from her father. Even worse, he'd be arriving at her house at exactly half past four this afternoon to discuss a matter of great import with her.
"Lady Watson," her father greeted, as Calvert led him into the drawing room.
"Father."
He nodded then took a seat in the chair opposite where she sat on the settee. "I trust you enjoyed your stay in the country with your doting husband."
"I did," she said through clenched teeth. How could he possibly think to keep up his charade? "About that-"
"Now that you've returned from your wedding trip, I trust you'll be hosting that breakfast you spoke of soon."
Regina's pulse tripled. He'd lied to her, and all he wanted to talk about was that breakfast she'd promised to host back when she'd been too excited about whom she'd be marrying, and why, to care what she'd said. "Why did you lie to me?" she burst out.
His lips thinned. "I beg your pardon, Regina, but even as a baroness, you have no call to speak to your father that way."
"Forgive me," she said automatically. She hated saying those words. They tasted so bitter on her tongue, but she feared he might strike her the way he often struck Toby when he felt Toby was being defiant.
"I grant you forgiveness." Father steepled his hands in front of his face. "Now let's discuss this breakfast you're hosting, shall we?"
She'd rather not. "Isn't there anything else we could discuss?"
He frowned. "Regina, you are not reneging, are you? I should hate for my only daughter to make a liar of herself."
Regina tightened her hands into tight fists, determined not to let him see how much his words had stung. She doubted she was skilled at keeping the truth of her feelings from him as his eyes seemed to have developed a knowing gleam. "Of course not," she said softly. "I'm still planning to hold a breakfast."