The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(56)
He said nothing for a very long while. Instead, his hand continued to pet her hair and he dropped soft kisses against her face. At last, he raised up again and said, “You’ve more courage than any man I know, Jane. You’re a woman of great pride, which I find relatable. I applaud what you did. He deserved much worse, in fact, and in my estimation, you were far kinder than most would be.”
“Thank you, Blixford, but surely you understand, I have no shame for what I did to him? Had I all of it to do over, I would still shoot to unman him. I gained satisfaction for myself and my family. Unfortunately, no amount of satisfaction can take away the memory of how horribly painful it was. No amount of courage will allow me not to fear you.”
She expected him to get up, get dressed and take her back to London, to demand an annulment.
He didn’t do anything of the sort.
He gathered her up and rolled to his back, nestling her against his side, arms enveloping her. “You’re sensible and bright. Only consider how many men and women have engaged in sexual congress throughout the ages. Do you suppose, if it were always horribly painful for the female, they would continue to allow it? Think of those with multiple children. What woman would continue to submit to something dreadful? Think back to our interlude in Lucy’s library. You enjoyed it, did you not?”
“Rather a lot. The memory has sustained me for a very long time, and is, in fact, one of the reasons I returned to my pursuit of you. I thought surely you must know something others do not.”
“I know a woman needs time to become ready, for her body to accept a man’s.” He reached for her hand and moved it to the apex of her thighs. “Touch yourself, Jane. You’re slick and swollen.”
She blushed. “Indeed.”
“I suspect MacDougal didn’t allow you any time to become ready. Other than a kiss, which was undoubtedly not overly passionate, he afforded you nothing in the way of building your desire. This would make it painful for any woman, but for one untried, still virginal, I don’t wonder it was terribly painful for you.”
“Forgive me for prying and feel free to deny an answer, but how did you manage with your previous brides?”
He didn’t answer right away. Eventually, he said evenly, “There are creams available. I daresay half or more of polite society utilize them for purposes of procreation.”
“And the other half?”
“Are fortunate enough to be married to women who have no need of creams.” He tightened his hold. “Before you ask, the answer is no, I don’t have any and don’t anticipate a need to purchase any. We’ll work through this, Jane, and you’ll find pleasure with me, I swear it.”
She sighed and nestled her head in the nook of his neck, her arm circling his middle. They lay quietly for some time, the distant sound of voices from the yard drifting around the building and through the open window. Birds twittered happily in the trees beyond the inn. “You’re a remarkable man, Blixford. What have you gotten into with me?”
“I believe it is a bed, ma’am.”
Chuckling, she traced circles across his chest, playing in the soft, springy hair. “Have you lost the moment?”
“Not entirely.”
“Why don’t we eat a bite and try again in a little while?”
“Hmm, the idea has merit. I’m fair starved after feeding most of my breakfast to the cat.” He raised his head and looked into her face. “Perhaps some wine would serve to relax you a bit more. Already, you seem less anxious.”
“You’re wise. I didn’t believe speaking of it would serve any purpose, but I do feel somewhat better.”
“Always best to face demons straight on, Jane. Deal with them and put them in their proper place.” He drew away and reached for his breeches, standing to pull them on, giving her a fair view of his backside.
Such a lovely, masculine man.
Her stomach growled and he jerked his head around, eyes wide. “Ye gods, woman, would you devour me before I can get you to table?”
Jane laughed and caught her shift when he tossed it toward her. “You didn’t notice, Blixford, but the cat abandoned your chair for mine.”
“Do you mean to say you disposed of your trout in the same manner?”
“I did. Like you, I detest smoked trout. I was also beset with anxiety, so didn’t eat much else.” Her gaze moved to the table. “I vow, Mrs. Osgood’s victuals do look tempting.”
***
Lucy’s son was beautiful, with great dark, soulful eyes, just like his mother’s. Sherbourne fell in love with him on sight. Damned if the child didn’t remind him of Henry at the same age. He’d been such a serious little one, the boy who hung back, who carefully weighed every situation, who sometimes didn’t join his brothers in whatever mischief they’d got up, claiming it was a bad idea, or that the consequences of getting caught –and they generally always got caught –were too dire. On his own, Henry got into much more serious scrapes than his brothers ever did, simply due to his quiet, pensive determination to conquer the world.