Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways #5)(56)

Christopher looked into her flushed face. “That’s a difficult question.”

“No it’s not. It’s a very simple yes-or-no question!”

“I can’t marry you,” he said quietly, “until I can be certain that it will be good for you.”

“Why is there any doubt of that?”

“You know why.”

“I do not!”

His mouth twisted. “Fits of rage, nightmares, strange visions, excessive drinking . . . does any of that sound like a man who’s fit for marriage?”

“You were going to marry Prudence,” Beatrix said indignantly.

“I wasn’t. I wouldn’t do this to any woman. Least of all to the woman I love more than my own life.”

Beatrix rolled away and sat up, pulling her loosened garments around her. “How long do you intend for us to wait? Obviously you’re not perfect, but—”

“ ‘Not perfect’ is having a bald spot or pockmarks. My problems are a bit more significant than that.”

Beatrix answered in an anxious tumble of words. “I come from a family of flawed people who marry other flawed people. Every one of us has taken a chance on love.”

“I love you too much to risk your safety.”

“Love me even more, then,” she begged. “Enough to marry me no matter what the obstacles are.”

Christopher scowled. “Don’t you think it would be easier for me to take what I want, regardless of the consequences? I want you with me every moment of the day. I want to hold you every night. I want to make love to you so badly I can’t even breathe. But I won’t allow any harm to come to you, especially from my hands.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me. Your instincts wouldn’t let you.”

“My instincts are those of a madman.”

Beatrix wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “You’re willing to accept my problems,” she said dolefully, “but you won’t allow me to accept yours.” She buried her face in her arms. “You don’t trust me.”

“You know that’s not the issue. I don’t trust myself.”

In her volatile state, it was difficult not to cry. The situation was so vastly unfair. Maddening.

“Beatrix.” Christopher knelt beside her, drawing her against him. She stiffened. “Let me hold you,” he said near her ear.

“If we don’t marry, when will I see you?” she asked miserably. “On chaperoned visits? Carriage drives? Stolen moments?”

Christopher smoothed her hair and stared into her swimming eyes. “It’s more than we’ve had until now.”

“It’s not enough.” Beatrix wrapped her arms around him. “I’m not afraid of you.” Gripping the back of his shirt, she gave it a little shake for emphasis. “I want you, and you say you want me, and the only thing standing in our way is you. Don’t tell me that you survived all those battles, and suffered through so much, merely to come home for this—”

He laid his fingers against her mouth. “Quiet. Let me think.”

“What is there to—”

“Beatrix,” he warned.

She fell silent, her gaze locked on his severe features.

Christopher frowned, weighing possibilities, inwardly debating the issue without seeming to come to any satisfactory conclusion.

In the silence, Beatrix rested her head on his shoulder. His body was warm and comforting, the deep-flexing muscles easily accommodating her weight. She wriggled to press closer to him, until she felt the satisfying hardness of his chest against her br**sts. And she adjusted her position as she felt the firm pressure of him lower down. Her body ached to gather him in. Furtively she brushed her lips against the salt-scented skin of his neck.

He clamped his hand on her hip. Amusement threaded through his voice. “Stop squirming. There is no possible way a man can think when you’re doing that.”

“Haven’t you finished thinking yet?”

“No.” But she felt him smile as he kissed her forehead. “If you and I marry,” he said eventually, “I would be put in the position of trying to protect my wife against myself. And your well-being and happiness are everything to me.”

If . . . Beatrix’s heart leaped into her throat. She began to speak, but Christopher nudged his knuckles beneath her chin, gently closing her mouth. “And regardless of what fascinating ideas your family may have about the marital relationship,” he continued, “I have a traditional view. The husband is master of the household.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Beatrix said, a bit too quickly. “That’s what my family believes, too.”

His eyes narrowed skeptically.

Perhaps that had been taking it a bit far. Hoping to distract him, Beatrix nuzzled her cheek into his hand. “Could I keep my animals?”

“Of course.” His voice softened. “I would never deny something so important to you. Although I can’t help but ask . . . is the hedgehog negotiable?”

“Medusa? Oh, no, she couldn’t survive on her own. She was abandoned by her mother as kit, and I’ve taken care of her ever since. I suppose I could try to find a new home for her, but for some reason people don’t take readily to the idea of pet hedgehogs.”

“How odd of them,” Christopher said. “Very well, Medusa stays.”