The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(78)

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said through a throat tight with sorrow. “I hate that it happens to any woman, but to have it happen to you, to think of your being hurt so badly that you still have nightmares about it . . .” He clutched her close. “I can hardly bear the thought.”

That’s when she began to sob. She buried her face in his shoulder and cried, while he could only hold her, soothe her with nonsensical words of comfort, offer her his handkerchief.

It took her a while to cry it all out. She’d practically soaked his handkerchief through by the time she ventured to speak again. Dabbing at her eyes, she lifted her chin with a hint of the stalwart Clarissa he knew.

“I don’t know why I’m . . . being such a watering pot,” she said. “I’ve worked very hard to stop being afraid. I’d even managed to halt the nightmares. I’ve only had that one in some years—”

“The night we married,” he said hoarsely. “The night I crowded you in the carriage.”

She winced. “Yes, but . . . you were there after the nightmare to make it better.” She flashed him a tremulous smile. “And I haven’t had one since.”

“Still, I wish I’d guessed at your pain years ago. I wouldn’t have been so . . . so . . .”

“Snooty? Arrogant?” she said tartly.

“Disapproving. Without knowing what you were suffering.”

“I’m glad you didn’t know.” She tipped up her chin. “It means I succeeded in hiding it from the world.”

“You certainly did.” But now that he knew, he could see her determined cheer and her impudence for what they really were—an attempt to put the past behind her and prove to herself she was no longer afraid, the way a boy whistles in the dark.

She’d been whistling in the dark for years. Until he’d come along and forced her to face the monster lurking there.

Her gaze dropped to his waistcoat. “No doubt you regret marrying me, now that you know everything.”

“Not for one minute. Why would I?”

“Because men want chaste wives.”

He chose his words carefully. “Some do, I suppose. Not all. As I said, I don’t care one way or the other. Especially when my wife had no choice in the matter.”

“Then you’re the exception to the rule,” she said acidly.

“Sweetheart, I am the exception to the rule in many things. I don’t see why this should be any different.” He tipped up her chin. “Except for your difficulties in the bedchamber, we’ve had a lovely time so far, have we not?”

Her ghost of a smile cheered him. “We have.” Then her face darkened again, like the sun going behind a cloud. “But I don’t know if I can ever . . . I mean, I had hoped that after all these years, the thought of marital relations wouldn’t panic me so.” She blushed. “I do want to be with you . . . I like all the beginning parts, the kissing and the touching. It’s just later on—”

“It’s all right,” he said, seeing the anxiety come into her face again. “We will take it slow, get through it together.” He refused to believe that his bold and sassy wife couldn’t conquer this with a little help.

He caressed her cheek. “Tell me what to do to make it better.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “I don’t know. Everything is fine until you get on top of me, and I remember the orangery and the Vile Seducer and I . . . go a little mad.”

Thinking of how well she’d reacted when he’d been behind her, and below her, he said, “What if I don’t get on top of you?”

She blinked. “What do you mean? How else can you . . . can we . . .”

A rueful smile escaped him. “I forget that you can still be as na?ve and innocent as any virgin.”

“That’s not true,” she said mutinously. “I know things.”

Her taking umbrage amused him. He would never figure Clarissa out, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “You know some things, yes. Clearly not others. Like the fact that a man doesn’t have to be on top of a woman to bed her.”

The hint of hope in her gaze struck him to the heart. “He doesn’t?”

“No, minx, he doesn’t. The woman can be on top, can make love to the man, just as easily as he can make love to her.”

Her brow knitted as if she were trying to work it out. “I can’t see . . . I don’t understand—”

“Shall I show you?”

He regretted the words when she tensed up and glanced away. “I—I don’t know . . .”

“Clarissa,” he said, catching her head in his hands and drawing her gaze back to his. “We won’t ever do anything you don’t want to. We can stop in the middle as often as you want, as many times as you want—”

She raised an eyebrow at that.

“I’m not saying it won’t frustrate me, because it will. But I imagine it’s just as frustrating for a woman not to have a whole and fulfilling life with her husband because she’s afraid of the past.”

“Yes.” She squared her shoulders. “I think you’re right. And I do want children, after all.”

She would do this to have children. Somehow that made him sad. He wanted her to do it for herself. For him.