“You can learn.” His voice tautened with the straightening of his broad shoulders. “Let me rephrase that. You will learn.”
The frisson uncoiled into full-blown anxiety. Surely he could not require her to behave as a woman of the night and participate in bizarre, carnal acts for his pleasure? Whatever those women did for their customers, it was nothing a well-bred lady would ever do.
“You ask the impossible.”
He steepled his fingers, studying her. “Yes, I thought the same thing. That is, until this evening, upstairs.”
“I do not wish to speak about that,” she said quickly.
“Oh, we’re going to speak about all manner of things going forward, such as the fact that you don’t really have the right—or power—to deny me this request.”
He called it a request, but it was a demand, one no civilized husband would set forth. There was no room to be a mouse here. She had to stand up to him or sacrifice her long-held virtue. She lifted her chin. “And if I refuse to submit to such outrageous and immoral expectations?”
“Then you shall be spanked nightly until you realize that submission is a far less painful choice.”
She stared at her plate. The filigree design blurred as she tried to control her emotions. She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation, that he would demand such things of her, his own wife. “You’re a monster.”
“I’m a man. I’m your husband, which gives me certain rights. Whether they are monstrous, well, that is a matter of opinion.”
“When my father finds out—”
He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “You’ll never tell your father the result of his ill-thought-out meddling. You would expire of shame and embarrassment before you uttered the first word.”
“I’ll tell my brother then. He’s not so lofty as Papa. He’ll listen to me and he’ll not allow you to shame his sister in this way.”
Hunter shrugged. “Of course you can tell Severin, but then he’d be honor bound to call me out. We’d have to meet at dawn with our pistols, and I could very well end up killing him. His wife is pregnant, isn’t she? It would not be well done of you, I’m afraid to say.”
Aurelia closed her eyes against the image of Brendan lying shot and bleeding in the morning’s dim light. “Or my brother might kill you,” she said, to chase away the thought. “He might prevail, setting me free from this horrible marriage.”
But as she said it, she pictured Lord Townsend lying dead on her behalf and wished she could take the words back. She hated him, but she couldn’t wish him dead. In truth, she didn’t even hate him. She disliked him. No, she didn’t even dislike him, not fully.
She didn’t know how to feel about him.
She didn’t know how to feel at all.
Oh, why was everything in such a muddle? Her feelings, her marriage, her entire life? Townsend would have let her be if her father hadn’t interfered, she was sure of it. Everyone called her father Laudable Lansing because he was so upright, and so was she.
But perhaps it was not the best way to be in a marriage. She had no warmth, no sensual qualities. She knew it, but she didn’t know how to develop those qualities for a man she barely knew. She was so sheltered, so hopeless in the ways of the world that she didn’t even understand what acts he might want her to do.
What a hopeless situation. No wonder they were both angry, and sad.
“I don’t want there to be a duel,” she said, covering her face with her hands. “And I don’t want you to suffer for marrying me. I know you’re disappointed in me, that I’ve never learned to be exciting and licentious in the way you would like. Take me back to my father if you wish. Marry someone else.”
“You know I can’t do that. And I don’t want anyone else. Aurelia, come here.”
She stared at him, at his outstretched arms. His tone and stance had softened, but his eyes looked so sharp, so direct. There was nothing to do but obey his command. She stood and moved to him, accepting his embrace when he gathered her close against his side. She was coming to know the feel of his body, as well as the layers of his scent: shaving soap, leather, and sandalwood. She stared at his lips, mere inches from hers. They were wide and full, and—she was coming to learn—quite expressive of his moods.
“I’m not taking you back to your father,” he said with resolute emphasis. “Ever. So you might as well put that idea out of your mind. We must find a way to rub along together.”
“But I don’t wish you to spank me every night.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Aurelia. “And I don’t want to learn to do...unnatural things.”
“Why ‘unnatural’? Because you’ve been taught they’re wrong? I find them quite natural, not to mention necessary to my contentment.” His dark eyes held hers as his hand traveled up and down her back. “There are many wives who feel the same, although they’d never admit it. There are countless women who find pleasure in having ‘unnatural’ things done to them. You were one of them, not even an hour ago.” His hand stopped upon the curve of her still-sore bottom. “Will you disappoint me by denying it?”
She clung to him, hiding her face against his hair. “You made that happen. You caused me to feel those things. It was your fault.”
She thought she might anger him to say so, but instead he chuckled low against her ear. “If it makes you feel better to believe that, I will hold my peace. But we both know the truth.” He squeezed her bottom in such a rough, possessive way that she began to feel the same confusing excitement she’d felt up in the room before. He grinned at her as if he knew it. “I’ll keep your secrets, if you will keep mine.”
“Oh, please,” she said, wringing her hands. She was so afraid of everyone knowing, of people seeing the improprieties he forced upon her like some new blush on her skin. He scrutinized her, one dark brow arching up.
“Is that what you fear? That people will discover the peculiarities of our marital bed, and judge you for it? The secrecy of such play is the most delicious part. Imagine meeting my eyes across the length of some dinner party or some ballroom, and seeing writ there the memory of our salacious adventures, our intimate, sweat-slickened hours.”
Aurelia cringed. She didn’t like to sweat. She didn’t believe she’d so much as uttered the word “sweat” her entire life. “We are so different,” she said mournfully.
“Yes. And I am selfishly demanding that you make me happy. But it can go both ways, can’t it? What can I do for you? What is lacking in your life, in this marriage, that would make you happy?”
Lord Warren, she thought, but she didn’t dare say it. “I don’t know,” she said aloud. “I suppose I would like to live a peaceful, safe existence. I would like a family. Children.” She considered her husband, trying to picture him as a doting father. She could not quite accomplish the task.
“I’ll give you children, as many as you want,” he assured her. “That goes without saying. You’ll have a home and safety the rest of your life. But there must be something more, something frivolous you would enjoy.”
She thought hard, but for the life of her could think of nothing. “I have never been very interested in frivolities.”
“You haven’t been interested, or they’ve been denied you?” His face took on that dark look again. “In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never heard the sound of your laughter. I’ve never seen a true smile.” As he said
this, he brought his hand down beside his plate in such a way that his fork launched into the air, landing with a dull thunk against his forehead.
A bark of laughter escaped her like a pistol shot. She clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle it as the utensil slid down the front of his embroidered dinner coat to settle in his lap.
He regarded her in mock reproach as he waved away a footman and mopped his forehead. “If that was supposed to be laughter, Aurelia, you’re making a very poor show of it. It sounds more like this.”
He threw back his head and laughed with such good-natured vigor she couldn’t help laughing too, though her giggles sounded soft and weak compared to his. He nodded. “That’s a little better.”
How strange, the way his face transformed when he smiled, so he looked handsome rather than dire or threatening. In fact, just at this moment, he regarded her the way a loving husband might dote on his wife. It created powerful, alarming feelings inside her.
“What would you like from me, little grasshopper, in exchange for your forced cooperation?” he asked, pulling her right into his lap.
She blinked at the easy, casual way he held her, and primly rearranged her skirts where they’d ridden up. “I don’t know what to ask for. I suppose I am very spoiled by anyone’s standards. I’ve always had everything I needed.”
“If you think of anything, let me know. You may find this difficult to believe, but I mean you no harm. I would like for both of us to be happy in this marriage, particularly if it’s to include just us two. Perhaps if we try, we can find some way to assuage the tensions in our relationship.”
She knew he was extending an olive branch. If only she was brave enough to accept it. “I fear you will be disappointed,” she said, holding herself stiffly. “I can only be as I am.”
He stroked light fingertips across her cheek. “I wonder if there’s more to Aurelia, the Marchioness of Townsend, than you yet realize. My darling, don’t be afraid of me. I want you to be happy. If you want safety, I swear I’ll keep you safe.”