A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(59)

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes. Much, much better. “

She combed his golden-brown hair with her fingers, massaging his temples and scalp with light pressure and enjoying the little groan of pleasure that ensued. After a few minutes, his breathing steadied. He seemed on the verge of falling asleep.

Bel didn’t want him to fall asleep.

“Perhaps …” she whispered.

“Perhaps what?” he mumbled back.

She lost her courage. Instead of the amorous suggestion she’d intended, a flood of nonsense came forth. “Perhaps we should ring for a maid to remove the tray. There’s still so much food there; it would be a shame to let it spoil. Perhaps there’s a servant who could take it home to his family.”

He chuckled. “You are always so good, always thinking of others.”

“No. I’m not, really.”

“Yes, you are. It’s so refreshing. Do you know how few ladies of your rank would think of sending leftover chicken home with the servants?”

Bel shook her head. If only he could divine the true nature of her thoughts right now, he would understand just how selfish they were—and how common, among ladies of every rank who chanced to look on this beautiful man. She ran her fingers through his hair again, and he nestled deeper into her lap. Her heartbeat raced, and a sweet, hollow ache built in her womb. Really, she was becoming quite desperate for him.

He murmured, “Isabel, you are too good to be true. Tell me honestly, are your motives always so pure? Don’t you ever want to do something that you know is just wrong?”

She laughed dryly. “Oh, Toby. Only every time I look at you.”

“What?” His eyes flew open and locked with hers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean …” Bel’s face heated. She’d meant it as a joke. He was supposed to laugh. But instead, his expression had gone completely serious. That would teach her to attempt humor.

“Surely you must know what I mean.”

He rose from her lap and sat up, facing her. “Are you saying you desire me?”

“Are you going to force me to say it?”

“You desire me,” he repeated. “And you think this is wrong.”

Bel didn’t know what to say. This was terrible. She’d meant to compliment her husband, in the same way he always showered her with praise. And somehow she’d managed to offend him. He took her hand. “We’re married, Isabel. I’m your husband. There’s nothing at all wrong with desiring me.”

“Yes, well.” She chewed her lip. She’d come this far; there could be no prevarication now. “To be truthful, it started long before we were married.”

“How long before?”

“I suppose … from the first time I saw you.”

“And I wanted you from the first, as well. All the more reason for us to have wed.” He inched closer to her on the bed. “And still, we did wait. We did everything properly, and believe me I know—because doing it the proper way damn near killed me. But still, you think it’s wrong. Why is that? Does it…” He lowered his voice. “Does the act feel unpleasant?”

“Oh, no!” Bel bounced on the mattress with the force of her disavowal. “It feels very pleasant indeed. Too pleasant, I fear. Anything that feels so good must be a little bit wrong.”

He stared at her, obviously dismayed. “So this is why you’re always so eager to leave our bed,” he said. “Afterward. You feel guilty, having experienced pleasure, and you feel compelled to atone for it with some good deed.”

She shrugged. He was correct, in part. There was more to it than that, but Bel didn’t know how to explain. How to tell him, that in those moments of physical release, she lost all other cares, all other motives, all thoughts of good or charity or even her husband? She lost her self. How could she tell him, that every time she slipped into that blissful nothingness, she was a little bit afraid that she would never find her way back?

“Isabel,” he said. “I won’t have you feeling that way about making love to me.”

Fear gripped her heart. Did he mean they wouldn’t make love anymore? She didn’t want that. As conflicted as desire made her feel, she could not bring herself to reject it. Toby’s eyes grew dark. With anger, she feared—or perhaps, simply with determination. With his free hand, he slowly removed the cravat hanging loose round his neck. “You trust me. Don’t you, Isabel?”

“Yes, of course,” she assured him, squeezing his fingers. “It isn’t that at all.”

“And you know …” he said, sliding his hand up to circle her wrist. “After today, you must know—I would give my life before I let you come to harm.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her mouth going dry. “Yes, I know.” She pictured him rushing straight for those panicked horses, risking death to save her. The memory quickened her pulse, until it throbbed against the pressure of his fingertips. And the way he stared at her now—so intently, so possessively … She’d never been so aroused in her life.

Her heartbeat only pounded more furiously as he wrapped the cravat about her wrist, winding it tight. What did he mean to do?

“I do trust you,” she assured him quickly. “With my life, with my body.”