"And in any case, I shouldn't even be thinking of you in these terms, not when I'm a guest in your house. After all you've done for me. It's like the worst form of betrayal. What the hell kind of a man am I to repay you thus?"
"Alexander--"
He held out one hand and shook his head. "No, let me finish. You're a respectable woman, a vicar's sister, for Heaven's sake. I can't debauch you. It would be the worst sin imaginable. I have no future to offer you, surely you must see that. Even if I knew I were free, had money, a home of my own, I could never saddle you with a blind cripple for a husband. To deny you children if I can never again, er--"
"But surely--"
"No, Sarah. There's no point in trying to discuss this any further. You know I'm right. I wouldn't even be talking about this now were it not for the fact that you trusted me, and I violated that trust with what I did to you last night. I think I should leave tomorrow."
She stayed him with her hand upon his wrist. "You're upset and confused. But leaving is only going to make things worse for you, cast alone amongst strangers."
"But how can I stay after all that's been said and done? I can't take any of this back. And damn it, Sarah, I want you so badly I wouldn't even wish to."
She squeezed his hand. "Then don't take any of it back. And we can go on as before, truly. Perhaps come to something even stronger, better. I do trust you. I'm flattered, not horrified. And I have never thought of you as a burden or cripple. I think this problem of yours is like your memory. It can't be forced. And it can't all be gone, dead, lost to you, the um, pleasure."
She swallowed hard, thinking of all she had overheard various women say over the years about men. She ventured bravely, "You said you wanted me, so clearly you feel something physically. And there must be other enjoyable aspects to the act of love besides the actual thing itself. Things which can't be so terribly wrong.
"Touching my hand, for example, or my arm, my breast, doing what you did yesterday morning, which I think we both enjoyed. Or my touching you. Surely that must be pleasant," she asked, reaching up to stroke his face. "Surely you must have enjoyed what we did together yesterday morning. And no one was hurt by it."
He seemed to be calmed by her hand upon his cheek, but when she moved to kiss him, he tried to step away.
"No, we mustn't. Not now, at any rate. I can't--"
She hugged him to her. "You'll be all right. It'll be fine."
"But what if I can't ever-"
"Don't say that. And I'm sure, even with my limited experience, that there are other ways to thrill me besides what you are speaking of. All you have to do is touch me, and I nearly faint."
"Really?" he whispered.
"Really. I was on fire yesterday morning, last night. It was sheer bliss, truly."
He still looked doubtful, so she took his hand and placed it on her breast. He tried to pull back, but she held it in place and stepped closer to him.
"That, for example, is wonderful."
He kissed her hard, and cupped her against him, then broke away. "I feel strange. I'm going to bed. By myself," he added, when she took his hand and tried to go with him.
She was left alone in the sitting room feeling like a fool, and not a little wicked at how she had become the aggressor, the person in control. Not just the passive recipient of passion, but the instigator. It was a heady feeling.
But she let him go readily enough. She knew these things could not be rushed, and he was still in a lot of pain with his back. The work on the shearing had taken its toll upon him whether he wanted to admit it or not. There was nothing she could do about the way he felt except be patient, and let him know that she found him desirable no matter what.
For there was no sense in hiding it any longer, trying to lie to herself. And while every single reservation was still a valid one, she feared his despair, and her own nature. If she let him go without exploring more of the joys only he could give, she would regret it for the rest of her life.
It had taken a lot for Alexander to admit what he had to her of all people. That trust was rare and precious. She couldn't force him to confide in her, or indeed do anything else with her. But she could make him feel loved and desirable.
For he most certainly was. Her heart skipped a beat every time he came into the room, or smiled, or took her hand. She understood it all now, a love so powerful it was worth risking everything for. So much so that she could let herself go into his bed, and count the rest of the world as nothing.
She might have regrets the morning after, or several months after if she were not careful, but not every woman got caught out. And she would never marry if not Alexander.