Page 49 of The Trouble with True Love

“I was. Madly. But when he proposed, I realized I couldn’t marry him. It was the way he put it. He said he had a warm regard for me.” She paused over her tea, making a face. “A warm regard. I ask you,” she added, sounding suddenly indignant, “is that the sort of feeling that’s going to set a girl’s pulses racing?”

“Probably not, but how do you know he wasn’t just being respectful and considerate of your maidenly sensibilities?”

“Oh, I’m sure he was. Too considerate. He told me that because I was so sweet and so pure, I would be the perfect wife for a vicar. We would have, he said, a truly celestial marriage.”

Rex frowned, utterly at a loss. “What sort of marriage is that?”

She stirred, setting her cup and saucer aside again with a clatter. “That’s what I wanted to know! I was forced to ask him straight out if he was saying he didn’t want children. What?” she added, her cheeks going pink as he gave an astonished laugh. “I know the stork doesn’t bring them! Heavens, I’m not that innocent.”

She was every bit that innocent, even if she was aware of basic human biology. But there was no point in launching a discussion on the topic of lovemaking, for he’d just be tormenting himself. “The things you know and don’t know sometimes confound me, Clara,” he murmured instead. “But what was his answer?”

“He said children would not be a consideration for us. Our union, he said, would be above such base carnality.”

Rex’s gaze slid down, and he wondered how any man, even a repressed vicar, could think that living with her and not bedding her would be anything but a living hell.

“The man’s clearly touched,” he muttered. “And wound tighter than his own church clock. But there are some women who would see a marriage like that as quite appealing.”

“Well, I didn’t. I’m not a celestial being, and I don’t want a celestial marriage. I want children, and I told him so.”

“And what did he say to that?”

The color in her cheeks deepened. “He said that if I was insistent upon it, he would agree, but the... the act w... would be distasteful to him.” She paused, swallowing hard. “That’s what he said.Distasteful. What man thinks that?”

Rex stirred in his seat. “Not this one,” he muttered, acutely aware of the fact at this moment.

“We’re not Shakers, for heaven’s sake,” she went on in bewilderment, not seeming to have heard his muttered words. “Why would he want such a marriage?”

Rex could see only two possible reasons—sexual repression or homosexuality, or possibly both. “Until he became better acquainted with you, he never paid much attention to any of the young women in the parish, you said?”

“No attention at all. He seemed to prefer the company of the young men.”

That, in Rex’s mind, rather settled the matter. “It’s only a guess, but I’d say he suggested this arrangement because he was about to be arrested.”

She frowned, looking surprised. “He did leave the parish afterward, but I thought it was because I refused him. Why would a vicar be in fear of arrest?”

Rex was in no frame of mind to explain some men’s desire for other men or that such desires were illegal or that becoming a vicar and getting married were possible ways for such a man to divert suspicion from his preferences and avoid prison. “Never mind,” he said before she could delve into what he meant. “Did you ask him what his reasons might be?”

“No. I was too busy asking myself why he thought I would accept such a marriage.” Her round face twisted suddenly, went a bit awry. “Did he think me so desperate to be married that I would be willing to forgo physical love? Or did he think me so undesirable that I could not realistically expect to ever receive it?”

Her questions, and the rawness in her voice as she asked them, threatened to send Rex straight off the rails and over the cliff. He curled his hands into fists, took a deep breath, and reminded himself sternly to stay on his side of the settee.

“Well, he was wrong,” she choked. “I may be plain, and I may not have men tripping over themselves to propose to me, but even so, I would prefer never to marry than to settle for a marriage like that. I would rather have no husband at all than one who thinks me so undesirable that a true union with me would be distasteful.”

Like a dam breaking, his control crumbled, desire overcame him like a flood, and he found himself beside her before he’d even realized he was moving.

“You’re not undesirable,” he said, his voice savage even to his own ears. “For God’s sake, if you pay no attention to anything else I ever say, Clara, pay attention to that. You, my sweet, are eminently desirable, and any man who can’t see that making love to you would be like heaven on earth is an idiot, or a fool, or doesn’t desire women at all. I am none of those things, which is why during the entire time we’ve been sitting here sipping tea like civilized people, I’ve been having thoughts about you that would burn your wretched vicar’s notions of your purity to a crisp.”

She stared at him in astonishment, her face pink as a peony. “You have?”

“I have, so put that in your pipe and smoke it. And while we’re on the subject,” he added, appreciating too late that telling her about his erotic thoughts was only fanning the flames inside him, “you’re not the least bit plain, so rid yourself of that notion, too, if you please.”

She frowned, a hint of wary skepticism coming into her face. “You don’t need to soothe my feminine pride, you know,” she said. “I’m no great beauty, and I accepted the fact long ago.”

“Beauty, my luscious lamb, is in the eye of the beholder.” He leaned closer, irresistibly drawn. “When I look at you, would you like to know what I see?”

“I—” She folded her arms, as if propping up a shield between them—very wise of her given his confession of a moment ago. Her frown deepened. “I’m not sh... sure.”

“I shall tell you anyway, because you are clearly in need of additional opinions on the subject. The first time I ever saw you in that ballroom, I likened you in my mind to a morsel of shortbread on a tray of French pastries.”

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