“Very sensible, Blixford. I agree, and will apprise you the moment my courses are done so that we may resume our efforts.”
He turned for the dressing room, was almost through the doorway when he heard her voice, low and soft.
“It pleases me much to discover that making love to me is not all about your heir.”
He looked over his shoulder at her, standing there beside the bed, her fine, lawn night rail splotched with blood, her long, dark hair mussed, a faint red line across her cheek, from where she’d slept upon a wrinkle in her pillow. Her lovely blue eyes were filled with an emotion he didn’t dare name.
He formed a number of reasonable responses, but spoke none of them. Instead, he impulsively said, “Hell and damn, Jane, I’m not only a blasted duke! I’m a human being, a man, a living soul who craves intimacy and acceptance as much as the rest of poor, pathetic humanity. Is it such a stretch to imagine I make love to you three, sometimes four times a day because I want you, at times because I need you? Do you think I took you about with me every day, everywhere, merely on the off chance I would find an opportunity to toss your skirts up and get a babe on you? Did it never occur to you that making love to my wife anywhere outside this room is not something I’d ever rationally contemplate? I did it because I could not help myself.”
His voice became louder, her eyes became wider, but he seemed unable to stop. He turned away from the dressing room to face her and shouted, “For God’s sake, if my only motivation was conception, would I take you atop a horse?”
“I don’t understand your anger. I merely thought to express my appreciation.”
“Well, stop it. I don’t make love to you out of duty, or because I expect you to appreciate it, or for any other reason than because I cannot keep my hands off of you.”
“And this makes you angry?”
“Yes!” He sucked in a deep breath. “No!” The howling in his head resumed and he clenched his hands into fists of frustration. He stared at her and decided he was well on his way to losing his mind. He was doomed. Just like his poor, mad papa. “I’m at a loss why a man like me would risk everything for a woman like you. I do not lose control, ever. It’s a sign of weakness and I hate it. Around you, however, it’s as though my mind is not my own, that I will have you, must have you, and my will be damned.”
“I’ve unintentionally wounded you, for which I’m deeply sorry. I hold you in high regard and great affection, and God help me, I am as impetuous as you are. We have the great fortune of being married to one we find attractive and irresistible. That we come together in unconventional ways and places surely can’t be wrong, or ill-advised, can it?”
“That is not the issue, and well you know it. Have you become a coward, Jane? Will you sidestep my meaning and hide behind a deliberate misconception?”
She paced to the end of the bed, then halted quickly and grasped the fabric of her gown, bunching it into a ball within her hands, as if she’d only just remembered the blood. Her eyes were flashing.
He let out a heavy breath. She was angry, thank God. He could deal with her anger, even her rage. He couldn’t deal with that other look.
“You hate losing control, and I’m evidently the cause of this perceived weakness, so am I to surmise that you hate me? Shall I dress in sackcloth and crop my hair like a boy, perhaps have a tooth pulled, or eat enough to grow fat? Maybe I should turn myself into a shrew?” With the gown still balled into her hands, she moved toward him. “Would it make you feel better if I never said yes, if I lay upon the bed like a board and cried?” She dropped the gown and poked a finger into his chest. “You are the coward. You’re so afraid you might actually grow to like the part of me that grows above my neck, you’ve resorted to claiming to hate the part of me that extends below my neck.”
He stared down at her, knew she was dead on the money, but he would poke out his eye before he’d admit it. “Did you just call me a coward, ma’am?”
“I believe I did.”
“If you were a man, I’d call you out.”
Her eyes fairly glittered. She was incredibly beautiful. Her bosom moved enticingly with her increased breathing, a direct result of her anger. “If you did, you’d be grievously injured. I’m a crack shot. My mannish tendencies, you know.”
“Dammit, Jane! I told you to forget I said that. You don’t fight fair.”
She stepped closer still and glared up at him. “I don’t forget wounds which caused me great pain, and I assure you, I won’t forget this morning. You’ve as much as said you hate me.” Her eyes welled with furious tears. “Unlike you, I’m unable even to think of something to say that might hurt you, and if I did, I could not, would not say it. I beg you to call me out. Give me an excuse to shoot you, for physical pain appears to be all that I’m able to inflict.”