She lifted her head, eyes sparking green with anger. “You’re very good at wheedling confidences out of people. I’ve never discussed this with anyone.”
He’d wager that was true, given the way she forced out every word. “I’m guessing Wilfred did his duty, but neither of you fell under pleasure’s spell.”
“Wilfred wasn’t much interested,” she said, then continued in a whisper. “Neither was I.”
Hell. What a bloody tragic waste. Pascal swore that when he got Amy into bed—and surely that was only a matter of time—he’d make up for all the arid years. “Poor sod.”
She frowned. “I told you not to feel sorry for me.”
“I’m talking about Wilfred. He had a gorgeous young bride with fire in her blood, and he didn’t know enough to take advantage of his extraordinary luck.”
“I’m sure he’d never been interested.” Her voice was so low that Pascal had to lean closer to hear. “He told me he was an innocent, too, when we married.”
And no doubt once the long-delayed occasion arrived to prove his manhood, he made a complete shambles of the act. “No wonder you’re so skittish.”
Amy cast him a displeased glance. “I’m not skittish.”
His silence spoke volumes, and eventually she sighed. “Well, perhaps a little.”
“Things with Wilfred didn’t improve?”
She looked less hunted. “We did marvelous work on his herd.”
He folded his arms. “You’re avoiding the question.”
“Can you blame me?” A flush marked her cheeks. Through her awkward recital, her color had come and gone. Pascal admired her bravery in telling him even as much as she did. He could see it was an ordeal.
“No. But I need to know who you are.”
A line appeared between her marked brown eyebrows. “That’s a powerful thing for a man to say to a woman. I hope you mean it.”
“I do.” It was a vow, whether she acknowledged it or not. Around them the day drew to a close. Rooks cawed monotonously from the trees behind him, and the starlings flew in to set up their twilight racket.
She sighed and stiffened her back, gathering courage to finish the story. “His attentions weren’t…onerous. And when his health began to fail, we had other things to worry about.”
Sadder and sadder. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was.” Her relief at shifting the discussion away from the bedroom was palpable. “I was very fond of Wilfred. He taught me a lot.”
“And of course you still had your cattle.”
“Don’t mock me,” she snapped, ripping her hand from under his.
“I’m not.” Pascal desperately wanted to kiss her. No, he desperately wanted to whisk her away to Richmond’s best inn, haul her into a room, and show her the joy two people could create out of lust and liking.
But he’d promised to behave, damn it. Although after hearing about her marriage, he took a kinder view of this enforced courtship. She deserved a wooing. Hell, she deserved a lover patient enough to persuade her into surrender. Then patient enough to show her just what she’d missed.
She rose, and he flinched when he saw her brush away a surreptitious tear.
“I’m sorry. I’ve stirred unhappy memories.” He stood, too, but she extended a hand to deter his approach.
“I’m fine.” Emotion thickened her voice.
“I don’t regret asking you about Wilfred,” he said softly. “But I regret upsetting you.”
She fumbled in the pocket of her figure-hugging green pelisse and produced a white lace handkerchief. “I couldn’t let you think my marriage was a disaster.”
As far as he could tell, it hadn’t been much else, but Pascal had the wisdom to keep that opinion to himself. “Wilfred was clearly a good man.”