Yes, with his skilled and spectacular Indian bibis. The statement didn’t ease her uncertainty. It just made her jealous and insecure. “I’m well aware of that,” she said starkly.
How she wished she had an ounce of those women’s sensual skills. She’d captivate her husband with such pleasure, he couldn’t help falling in love.
His face filled with sorrow. “I’ll try my best not to hurt you.”
“I know.” She’d trust him with her life. She already had. Just as she’d trusted him with her heart. Even if he didn’t want it.
“With a first time, there can be pain.”
The subject made him uncomfortable. Or perhaps he was merely uncomfortable talking about this with his troublesome bride. His exotic Indian lovers, she was sure, hadn’t made him feel awkward.
Stop it, Charis.
“I know what takes place.” Heat flooded her face. She wasn’t easy with this conversation either. She raised her chin, although the hand holding the taper trembled. “I grew up in the country, and my mother told me what to expect.”
He raised his eyebrows, and his lips curved in another ironic smile. “Quite the expert then.”
She shook her head as nerves set her belly to cramping. “I never kissed anyone until…until yesterday.”
His face hardened in anger. “You must think you’ve married the clumsiest oaf in Christendom.”
Her voice was muted. “You know I don’t think that. I’m prepared for what’s going to happen.”
“Well, that reassures a man.” In an abrupt gesture, he ran a hand through his hair.
“I don’t know what else to say,” she said helplessly, fighting the urge to smooth that unruly dark mass. The need to touch him was a constant fever in her blood. Fighting it left her exhausted, jumpy, nervous. “It’s hardly a normal marriage, is it?”
“No, it’s hardly that.” His voice thickened with regret. “You’ve missed out on so much. There’s nothing I can do to make it up to you.”
Stay with me. Love me.
She stifled the words. Things were difficult enough without her nagging him for what he couldn’t give. She blew out the taper and set it in its holder.
“None of this is your fault,” she said despondently, turning away and slumping into a chair. She was weary, although most of her tiredness was emotional rather than physical.
She went on in the same austere voice. “It’s not my fault either. Hubert and Felix are greedy and corrupt. Lord Desaye is desperate and deceitful. But the amount of money my father left me is obscene. It turns men into monsters.” She paused. “Every man except you.”
He grimaced. “I’m already a monster.” He continued before she could protest. “Lord Desaye, I take it, is the suitor.”
She shuddered. “He gambled away his own fortune and his first wife’s. A shadow hangs over her fate. He was the only witness to the carriage accident that killed her.”
“How did he and your stepbrothers link up?” Gideon seemed relieved to discuss something other than her imminent deflowering.
“Money, of course.” Her voice was flat. She fiddled with her wedding ring. It was old and heavy and sat loose on her finger. A symbol of the weak bond between her and Gideon? “They gambled together. I’m sure Hubert or Felix would have tried to marry me if the church didn’t frown upon unions between stepsiblings.”
“Did they tell you this?”
“On that last day. I’d worked it out already.” She released the ring, and her fingers curled into claws in her lap. “I sometimes wish I’d been born poor. My fortune has only caused misery.”
“You’ll grow into your station. At least as my wife, you’re safe from fortune hunters.”
She looked at him curiously. “Doesn’t the idea of keeping my wealth appeal? You haven’t asked how much I’m worth.”
“I know what you’re worth,” he said sharply, stepping toward her. “It has nothing to do with pounds, shillings, and pence.”
She fought back the traitorous warmth that seeped into her heart at his response. “Few people would agree.”
“The rest have fewer brains than God gave a flea.”