Page 50 of Secrets of the Marriage Bed
He looked far from convinced, but shrugged. ‘As you wish. We are invited for afternoon tea and must leave here by two.’
She turned to their guest. ‘Where in the west does your family reside, Mr Lewis?’
‘Near Plymouth, Your Grace.’
‘Near the sea. How lovely.’
A sad expression filled his gaze. ‘Beautifully wild, Your Grace.’
And so dinner continued. While careful not to appear to be prying, she had the feeling Mr Lewis wanted to talk and she learned a great deal about his family, while Alistair, occupied with his own thoughts, rarely spoke unless addressed directly.
When it came time to withdraw after dinner, she pleaded tiredness and forwent tea in the drawing room. As she left the gentlemen to their port, the prickles at the back of her neck indicated someone was watching her closely, and she did not think it was Mr Lewis.
Alistair’s coolness hurt far worse than she could have imagined. Was it possible that he would, despite his assurances to the contrary, send her away now he knew she could not bear his children?
* * *
Once he had seen Lewis to bed, Alistair, wearing only his dressing gown, hovered at the adjoining door to his wife’s bedroom. The sorrow in her eyes at dinner was eating at his conscience. Whereas he was relieved, she likely thought herself a failure. It was quite clear in her face that she thought herself less of a wife.
She was the sort of woman who wore her every thought on her face. And he did not like to see her unhappy.
He cursed beneath his breath.
Was his need for his wife to be happy so out of control he was actually prepared to believe she wouldn’t betray him at the first opportunity—if it suited her needs? Would he really risk his son’s pride for the sake of her smiles? If past experience had taught him anything, it was that women had no concept of the meaning of honour.
Julia was different. Wasn’t she unlike any other woman he had known? Wasn’t that her irresistible allure?
Or was he once more allowing a naïve longing to have someone care about him override common sense? Bitterness entered his soul as he realised he had found his answer.
Then he was a fool indeed to stand here dithering outside his wife’s door when her bed was the one place where they were in perfect accord.
He knocked lightly on the door and walked in.
She was sitting in bed with a book. She glanced up as he came in and put the book aside. ‘Alistair?’
‘Julia.’
‘I was expecting Robins with a glass of milk. To help me sleep.’
‘Feeling restless, were you?’
She tilted her head in enquiry. ‘A little.’
‘Me, too.’ He locked both doors.
‘Oh, but Robins—’
‘You prefer milk to me?’ He kept his voice light. Teasing. Shrugged out of his dressing gown and slid into the bed.
She stared at him open mouthed. He kissed her, long and hard. He felt her melt against him, heard the soft little sounds in the back of her throat and experienced the strangest feeling. A sense of coming home.
‘Snuggle down, my dear,’ he whispered against her mouth. ‘Before you catch cold.’
* * *
Being cradled in one’s husband’s arms had to be one of the nicest things in the world.
His warmth surrounded Julia like the glow from a blazing fire. The scent of his cologne mingled with soap dizzied her senses. Her body tingled with anticipation.
