Page 9 of The Inconvenient Compromise
Fiona nodded. “Precisely. My one consolation would be that he is a very circumspect sort of man. The sort who would never engage in behavior that would leave me humiliated before my peers.”
He walked toward her, stopping only when the fabric of his trousers brushed her hip. Then he picked up the thick plait of her hair, testing its weight in his hand. “Indeed, he would not. He would make the most boring and staid of husbands for you…He would never incite your passions. He would never make you laugh. He would never make you scream with either pleasure or fury. I will make you one promise about our marriage, Fiona.”
She cut her eyes in his direction, her suspicion, and caution written plainly on her face. “And what is that, my lord?”
“Lucian,” he corrected, his tone gentle. “Ours will not be a formal marriage, but that is not my promise. My vow to you, Fiona, is that whatever occurs during our marriage, you will never be bored. Isn’t that a good place to start?”
No. Because it was a hopeful note, and hope was something she had learned could only lead to disappointment.
SEVEN
Monday—morning…
Lucian awoke before dawn. His bride slept beside him, curled away from him even in her sleep. She was clinging to the edge of her side of the bed like a goat on a hillside. He would have laughed, but he had no wish to wake her. At least when she was sleeping, he had the pleasure of looking at her and not seeing the mistrust in her eyes.
Despite their location, despite his own desires, and despite the very firm time limits on his inheritance, he had not demanded that their marriage be consummated. Demanding that sort of thing, to his mind, was the absolute worst way to begin a marriage. Every woman, wife or mistress, deserved to be seduced—wooed and captivated before such things should occur. What would charm Fiona? He hadn’t the faintest notion, and therein lay the problem.
They were strangers to one another, and she was more than just naturally wary. Lucian knew her father, but not well. Everything he’d ever seen and heard from the man left a sour taste in his mouth. Loud, brash, ill-tempered, quick to anger, and quicker to take offense—he made more enemies than friends wherever he went. It was little wonder that Fiona had taken it upon herself to ensure her sister’s chance for a good match. Their father certainly would not.
Sitting up in bed, he jerked at the confining shirt that had twisted about him as he slept. It had been in deference to Fiona’s modesty that he’d slept in the blasted thing at all. For his own comfort, he’d have slept naked in the large bed, snug beneath the heavy velvet coverlet.
His irritation likely had less to do with the clothing he’d been forced to wear than the fact that he had awakened eager for an activity he knew Fiona would balk at. A glance at her, and he could see that the coverlet had slipped down slightly as he’d sat up. Her nightrail had slid from her shoulder, revealing the soft curve and her lovely porcelain skin. The urge to touch his lips to that bare flesh was overwhelming.
Lucian realized that he’d never actually had to seduce a woman before. They had always pursued him, and usually in a more significant number than he could hope to ever entertain. In truth, half the women who claimed to have spent time in his bed were lying. At the very least, they were exaggerating. Somehow, having been bedded by him had become something of a status symbol. It was something that the more scandalous ladies of the Ton boasted of to their friends.
That reputation, one that was only partially earned, was now a very substantial obstacle in forging ahead with his new bride. Would she ever trust him? More pointedly, could he trust himself? She was right to have concerns about the type of husband he would be. After all, his only experience with wives had been this belonging to other men.
Pushing the covers back, he rose from the bed and walked to the window. Flinging the curtains wide, the cold draft that seeped in around the leaded windows should have been enough to effectively cool his ardor.
“What on earth are you doing? You will catch your death!”
The scolding, for it could be considered nothing else, had sounded from the bed behind him. He did not turn to face her. The cold air was not as effective in dealing with his morning arousal as he would have liked. “The cold air is an excellent way to wake up. Rather bracing.”
“No, thank you. I’d much rather stay warm and snug in bed,” she replied primly.
That imagery, of being warm and snug in bed with her, completely eliminated any effects of the cold air to that point. He wanted nothing more than to turn around, climb back into that bed with her and persuade her to a bit of debauchery. She could use it. Debauchery. That was her biggest problem. Fiona did not know how to have fun. Everything she did was focused on some end goal—usually to benefit someone else. When had she ever done something just for herself?
“Never. That is a luxury I do not have.”
He whipped his head around to look at her once more. It hadn’t been his intention to ask the question aloud, but now that he had, her answer hung in the air between them. “That is a luxury you have not had.Had, Fiona. Going forward, it will not be a luxury but the standard. It is high time you did things for your own sake.”
“Do you always do what you want without regard for others?”
“No. There is a balance, Fiona, if you will find it… where you can do for others without sacrificing yourself entirely. If you could find that, you’d be incredibly happy.”“I am not certain such a thing is possible,” she admitted. “But I suppose we should discuss another matter, namely the timeline within which I am to present you with an heir.”
“We have six months to provide written confirmation from a physician… At that point, we will have nine months to produce the child in question and claim the fortune,” he admitted. “So, it is certainly a matter that needs to be addressed. Sooner rather than later, preferably.”
“Then perhaps we should get on with it,” she stated. “You’ve certainly afforded me a more extensive reprieve than most gentleman would have.”
He blinked in shock, then let out a bark of laughter. “Get on with it? You really do have a particular skill, Fiona, for bruising a man’s vanity.”
“I can offer you acquiescence, my lord, but enthusiasm is not something I can muster. My limited understanding of the process inspires the belief that it is a more pleasant activity for men than for women.”
“You have been listening to the wrong women… or perhaps the right women who have the misfortune to be married to the wrong men,” he retorted. Meeting her gaze boldly, Lucian allowed his gaze to travel over her with anticipation. “I can assure you, Fiona, that should you decide this is what you want to do, I will make certain that you find your own pleasure in the act.”
* * *
Fiona feltthe weight of his gaze like a touch. She was not nearly as immune to his charm as she ought to have been. Heaven knew he was far too handsome for his own good and certainly too handsome for hers.
