Page 70 of The Study of Seduction
Her head swung around. “Like what?” There seemed to be genuine surprise in her voice.
“Like overstep his bounds.”
“Oh. No, of course not. I mean, he stole a kiss once or twice, but no, nothing like that.”
“That surprises me. He hasn’t seemed to be good about staying within any boundaries heretofore, and he tried to push a kiss on you that day in the library.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she slid back into the corner, into the shadows. “That was the first time he was rough with me. Before then, he was persistent in his attentions, but a gentleman. I think my unprecedented absence from London must have provoked him.”
Hmm. “So he never forced himself on you.”
“No. Certainly not.”
He digested that in silence a moment. She sounded perfectly truthful. And he was usually good at detecting lies, especially after years of dealing with his untrustworthy younger brother.
“Then why do you shy away from me?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, but now that he had, he refused to take it back.
“I—I don’t.” She settled her shoulders. “For pity’s sake, you were just under my skirts.”
“And now I’m not.”
He could hear her breathing come harder in the dark of the carriage. She seemed to shrink into herself. “You agreed to my terms. To get to know each other better, to be amiable before we become too intimate.”
“Yes, but we have already become more intimate than most.” He moved closer. “Why do you seem to enjoy my attentions one minute, and then panic at them the next?”
“You’re imagining that,” she said, but her voice rang hollow.
“I’m not imagining the clause you made me add to the settlement. I’m not imagining the hairbrush you brandished at me at the theater.” He bent toward her, deliberately crowding her with his body, just to see how she’d react. “I know that you feel desire for me sometimes, Clarissa, and I can’t understand—”
“Get off of me!” She shoved at him. “Get off, get off,getoff!”
The violence of her words startled him so much that he threw himself across into the other seat. When he could speak again, he said, “I’m certainly not imagining that.”
For a moment silence filled the carriage, punctuated by her shuddering gasps for air. Then, it was as if she’d brought a veil down over her face. Her breathing evened out, and she straightened in her seat, smoothing her skirts as he’d seen her do a hundred times.
“I told you,” she said, her voice calmer, though still threaded with tension. “I’m not . . . the affectionate sort. It’s nothing to do with you. I simply don’t like people being too close to me. I find it overwhelming.”
But not when you kiss me.
He didn’t speak the words. He’d learned long ago with his sister that if you boxed a woman in with logical arguments and she didn’t want to hear it, she struck out. Or retreated into silence, which would gain him nothing. So he just waited for her to speak again, hoping she would feel free to go on. Because there was more to the story. He was sure of it.
Unfortunately, when she spoke again, it was to withdraw from him even further. “I will grow used to it in time.”
Growused to it?He didn’t want a wife who had to brace herself to be bedded. It reminded him painfully of his mother, how she had reacted to his father for a long time after that horrible day in the drawing room. How she’d jumped when her children came up behind her, cringed at Father’s touch.
How the gulf between his mother and his father had grown deeper and wider by the day. Damn it, that was not what he’d wanted for his marriage—all that roiling, suppressed anger and unmet needs.
But if Clarissa wouldn’t talk to him about her fears, then he didn’t know what to do.
“Do the servants know that we got married?” she asked.
The abrupt change of subject made him want to grab her and shake her, to demand to know why she could only let him touch her so far and no more, why she got panicky when he crowded her in. Why she only liked his touch when he was kissing her, and for anything more, he must be behind her or under her skirts . . .
He choked down bile. What ifthatwas what it was? As long as she didn’t really have to look at him, she could close her eyes and pretend he was someone else when he grew more intimate. What if she simply dislikedhim?
God, he was being ridiculous. She responded to his kisses with passion; she grew aroused when he touched her. He wasn’t so terrible a judge of women that he couldn’t tellthat.
And this was precisely why he’d wanted to marry some dull chit in the first place! This was why he’d wanted a mere companion for a wife. Because this seething mass of emotion was too much. He didn’t like it.
