Unforgivable(10)

Gil was on his fourth glass of brandy.

“Are you ever going up?” James asked, cradling his own glass in his hand and staring into the amber depths. “It’s after midnight.”

Rose had retired several hours ago, not long after the seemingly interminable wedding breakfast had finally ended.

“Is it? I’d better go, then,” Gil replied, trying to sound nonchalant. He stood and drained his glass, casting a glance at James, who was lolling in a fireside armchair. James looked amused, damn him. His light chuckle followed Gil out of the library.

Gil slowly climbed the stairs, a single candle in his hand. He thought of Tilly in all her pink-and-gold beauty. It should be her he was going to tonight. Not the plain, oddly collected girl he had married today.

He’d been aghast when he’d learned that Rose had been put in his mother’s old bedchamber. No one had slept there since his mother had died two years ago. He hated that Rose would be there. Hated that he was being forced to spend his wedding night in that room.

It was unavoidable, though. The gesture—his father’s—was a mark of respect to the bride. Gil could hardly gainsay it. However unwillingly, he was married now. Stuck with Rose Davenport forever. Till death us do part.

When he arrived at the door of Rose’s bedchamber, he paused to steel himself. It really shouldn’t be this hard, he thought. She was just a girl, and he had done this before. Although not with a virgin. Mortifyingly, his father had taken him aside last night and told him to “break the girl in gently”, reminding Gil that she’d been ill. As though it wasn’t patently obvious from looking at her. Gil just wanted it over with. And in truth, it was probably best to be as quick as possible. He took a deep breath and entered the bedchamber without knocking.

The room was dark. Apart from the candle he had brought with him, the only light in the room came from the shivering glow of the fire as it slowly died in the grate. Rose lay in bed, the blankets pushed down to her waist. She was asleep, innocently unaware of his arrival.

He stood at the foot of the bed and looked at her: a young girl clad in an overly fussy nightgown that drowned her slender form. Her hair was very short, a boyish cap of soft, dark curls. His father had told him during last night’s dreadful interview that it had been cut off during her illness—again, as though it wasn’t obvious. It looked as though it was only just beginning to grow in again.

Her profile was fine, he noticed, although her face was pale and very thin. But the dim light from the fire was kinder to her than the harsh light of day. Those red marks seemed less obvious in this light. He wondered if she would always be disfigured. His father had said he was sure the marks would fade, but what did he know?

She let out a little shuddering sigh, and his eyes were drawn to her mouth. It was a soft, childish mouth, slightly sad looking. He remembered that just before the vicar had begun the ceremony, her mouth had trembled, and he had thought she was about to cry. An illusion, actually. When he had looked into her eyes, he had seen she was perfectly composed, placid even.

It was difficult to see the shape of her body beneath the blankets, but he could just make out the line of slender, coltish legs and, beneath the voluminous nightgown, the hint of a bosom. Thank God. Not entirely childlike, then. Still, it wasn’t going to be easy. She was so very different from Tilly, so unappealing. And the fact she was a virgin worried him.

“Rose,” he said softly. “Wake up.”

She stirred from her sleep, slowly blinking her eyes open and focusing upon him. When she realised where she was, she flushed and sat bolt upright.

“I’m sorry. I fell asleep!”

Gil didn’t answer. He merely blew out his candle and set it aside. Then he silently got to work removing his clothes. His boots, his waistcoat, breeches, shirt, drawers and stockings—all were discarded with calm efficiency. When he was naked, he advanced toward Rose. His eyes had grown used to the almost-darkness now, and he could just make out her apprehensive expression by the fire’s glow. Despite everything, he felt for her. She was very young.

“I’ll try to be as gentle as I can,” he said stiffly, “but this might hurt a bit, I’m afraid. I’m told it can be painful for ladies, the first time.”

He pulled the blankets down. Rose scooted over to the other side of the bed as he got in beside her. She looked rather as though she would like to jump out of her side and run out the door. Instead, she carefully lay down beside him, her arms rigid by her sides, regarding his large, naked body with a kind of horrified fascination. Get it over with, he thought bleakly.