Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)(37)

“I left to find control, not to dispense with it. I didn’t sow any oats, Kate. It would have defeated the purpose.” He could hold his wants in check. He was the master, not his lust, not his cavernous want and not his deep, dark fears.

Unfortunately, three years of intimacy with his own palm had done nothing to alleviate his physical longings. Where Kate was concerned, he’d not become more sober. He’d become less.

But she didn’t understand that. She stood next to him without the least bit of concern for her person. His hand was still wrapped around her fingers, and she looked up at him, not understanding the danger she was in.

Instead, she sighed. “I thought not,” she said. “When you left, you weren’t thinking of me at all.”

“I thought of you.” The words sounded hoarse and guttural in his ears. “I thought of you…often.”

Her lips pursed, but still she looked at him, her head tilted to one side.

“You’re wondering if you can trust me,” Ned said. “You can.” She didn’t know that he knew her secret. And he wanted to win her trust, not force his knowledge upon her. He waited.

“I trust you,” she said calmly. “I trusted you enough to marry you. I trusted you wouldn’t abscond with the portion of my fortune over which you were granted free rein. I trusted you wouldn’t hit me.” Her voice dropped on that. “I trust you enough to do my duty, should you require such a thing again. I trust you to put your own comfort first. But you told me that we had a marriage of convenience. Why should I trust you with anything more?”

“Because…” Ned began, and then ran smack into the hard truth of it.

He had no reasons. She was right. He’d left, thinking selfishly of himself and what he could prove. When he’d thought of her, it had only been to imagine what she might do for him. To him.

Even now, he was putting her in his bed.

Oh, why bother to travel so far? His dark selfishness was undressing her here. He was imagining peeling the gown from her shoulders. He would kiss his way down each rib. He was on the edge of forfeiting every shred of control he’d ever fought for. He was still holding her hand, crumpled up like a handkerchief. Her fingers trembled in his.

And yes, he was—and he had been—a selfish cad. He leaned forward. The motion pulled her skirts against his trousers. For one glorious second, he held her—her body, her sweet curves, sliding against him. He could smell the faint scent of her rose soap. One last inch, and he could possess her as he’d always wanted.

For one glorious, lightless second, he thought of giving in to his selfishness. But no. He was still in control of himself. Once she trusted him…

Slowly, he released her hand. She flexed her fingers in the air. She had no idea how close she had come to being ravaged in broad daylight.

“You’re right,” Ned heard himself say. “You’re completely right. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me, either.”

Her eyes rounded.

He sketched her a half bow, and turned to go. But before he could complete that turn—before he could give her his back, one last strand of selfishness caught in his chest. And he checked that movement and stepped toward her.

“You’re right,” he said. “I haven’t given you much reason to trust me. But Kate…” Ned let his index finger draw near to her. She did not draw back, not even when he placed it on the edge of her lips. “Kate,” he repeated, “I will. I promise.”

Ned handed her his bag of peppermints and walked away, swiftly, before he changed his mind.

He had never given any thought to what it meant to be a husband. The duties, he’d supposed, were spelled out by the marriage ceremony: endow her with worldly goods and, when necessary, father children. He had only to look at Harcroft to find a husband who had done substantially worse.

But when the best thing your wife could say of you was that you didn’t beat her, you weren’t doing very well.

As for Kate herself, Ned knew he’d left England too soon after their marriage. He’d been as fooled by her delicate demeanor and her fine clothing as Harcroft.

He wondered how often he’d looked at her, not seeing anything except the exquisiteness of her features. There was more to her than he’d imagined.

A second realization struck him as he turned down the path that led to the barn.

She’d wanted him once. What would it be like, to don a mask all your life? To hide what you could accomplish behind layers of silk and lace? To do all that, knowing that no one—not your husband nor your family—knew the truth of who you were?

Kate was complicated. She was strong. And she was very much alone. He might do something for her besides meet the bare necessity of their physical needs. He could mean something to someone besides being a mere provider of things. He wasn’t much of a knight, and he’d just left Kate with the closest thing he had to a war stallion.

Still, he might be the rock she could stand on. He could be the arm she leaned upon. She wanted proof? He could start, for once, by letting her know what she could mean to him.

Ned swallowed again and clenched his fist. For a long time he stared at his fingers, wrapped in a ball. He thought of strength, of power. He let himself feel all the fear of failure that had once entangled him. He imagined it, a dark solid ball in his hand, all those fearful thoughts holding him back. And then, slowly, he pulled back his arm. He threw his fears as far from him as he could. He imagined them soaring above the barn, high over the house in front of him, before plummeting to the ground and bursting apart like dry, baked clay.