Secrets Of The Marriage Bed. Ann Lethbridge
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her husband said. ‘We are.’ He stared at her, a glint of something in his eyes.
Julia wanted to kick herself for the odd sense of humour that always caused her trouble. She wanted to please her husband, not put him in a temper.
It was the thought of the journey that was making her lose her calm. She hated the idea of being shut up alone all day, much as she had been shut up alone in her last marriage.
* * *
Alistair wanted to kiss his wife’s saucy mouth. She was likely the only person in his life who dared take him to task about anything. He was learning that she was a delight and a wonder. Not something he had ever expected in his life. Or wanted.
His good spirits plummeted. A wonder deserved a far better marriage than he was able to provide. Perhaps they could be friends as she had requested. A daunting prospect around an impudent sumptuous mouth that offered so much temptation for kissing, particularly when kisses would naturally lead to other far more dangerous activities.
Thought of said activities caused a stir behind his falls, confirming the impossibility of friendship.
It was far better to maintain a civil distance. He’d been thinking about leaving her at Sackfield when he went off to visit his other estates. It was easier to put the erotic memories of their one night together out of his head when she was far away. Unfortunately, that meant leaving her open to importuning visits from family members who were nothing but a trial.
As a rule, he looked forward to the ride out to Hampshire. The feeling of homecoming was a subtle draw, but this time a strange feeling of dread filled his heart. He closed the carriage door, swung himself up on to Thor and gave the signal for the off.
Naturally they made much slower time on the road than when he travelled alone. The cavalcade didn’t arrive at the Bull and Bear until some eight hours and five changes of carriage horses later. Had he been alone, he would have pushed on to Sackfield Hall, but at the last toll gate he’d notice his wife’s pale complexion and her answer to a passing remark had been unusually terse.
A stab of guilt tightened his gut. He had not thought to ask if she travelled well or ill. A husband should know that sort of thing about his wife. He leaped down and handed the reins off to a groom.
Setting her hand in his for only the briefest moment, she stepped down and gazed about her. ‘Is this where we spend the night? Ah yes, the Bull and Bear.’ Relief coloured her tone, despite her calm expression.
He offered his arm.
Though she took it, there was a reluctance in the action. Was she angry with him? Or... ‘Are you unwell?’
‘I am perfectly fine, thank you.’ The strain around her eyes said otherwise, but he didn’t care to argue in front of the servants. It was bad enough that they would have noticed their estrangement in the marriage bed.
Inside the inn, the landlord, a chubby jolly fellow he’d known for years, Harry Bartlett, escorted them up the winding stairs to their chambers. Lewis had written ahead and their rooms were ready.
The moment she stepped inside the chamber, she released her grip on his arm. ‘Would you have Robins sent up the moment she arrives, please?’
He bowed. ‘Certainly.’ He hesitated, inexplicably loath to leave her looking so fragile. He’d suffered travel sickness as a child. He recalled how he’d dreaded every promised journey. Dreaded the embarrassment of casting up his accounts to the pity of all concerned, along with the disgust.
Was that why she had not told him? ‘Are you often ill when you travel?’
A crease formed between her brows at the sharpness of his tone. ‘Not generally.’ She sank into the nearest chair. ‘I must admit, though, I have been feeling queasy since early this morning.’
If anything her face looked paler than before. She really was not well, poor thing. The urge to take her in his arms and offer comfort had him stepping closer. She froze, eyes wide.
He brought himself up short, shocked by his irrational need to ease what ailed her when he’d always avoided being drawn in by female megrims. Even so, and despite her obvious lack of trust, he could not bring himself to remain unmoved by her obvious discomfort.
‘Is there anything I can get for you in the meantime?’ he asked, surprised at the tenderness in his voice. He forced himself to sound calmly practical. ‘Peppermint tea, perhaps?’
Surprise replaced the anxiety in her gaze. She gave him a brave smile. ‘Peppermint tea would be very welcome. Thank you.’
It wasn’t the smile or the bravery that shook him. He’d seen her courage first hand that night they’d met. The way she’d braved the leering stares and catcalls of the men waiting to bid for her. No, it was her surprise that came as an unpleasant shock. Her expectation that he would care nothing for her welfare. The idea was a bitter taste in his mouth, but he could not deny he deserved such condemnation.
Nor did he want anything else, since keeping his distance was already difficult enough.
She drew off her gloves and glanced about their shared sitting room. ‘Would you care to join me?’
Temptation held him silent for a second, as he battled with the urge to say yes. Simply to assure himself she recovered, of course. Nothing else. But she might see it as something else.
A clever woman would certainly see his need to protect her as weakness and more than once he had seen his wife’s cleverness at work. Forcing him into taking her riding in Hyde Park had been a masterful move. One that had, for a time, pierced a hole in his defences. That day he’d let emotion rule rational thought.
‘No tea for me. I must oversee the stabling of the horses.’
The smiled died from her eyes. She leaned her head back against the chair cushions and closed her eyes briefly. Wearily. ‘As you wish.’
He gritted his teeth. Nothing was as he wished. His wishes were not at issue, here. He certainly hadn’t wished her to keep silent about feeling ill. Though nor had he encouraged her confidences. Far from it.
Dash it all, if he was fit for nothing else as a husband, at least he could ensure her safety.
He bowed. ‘I will have your tea sent up right away and look forward to seeing you at dinner.’
Puzzlement filled her expression.
Because he looked forward to sitting down with her to eat? Did it sound so far-fetched? Before he said anything else that might make her rethink her opinion of the distance between them, he withdrew.
* * *
The moment her husband left the room, Julia closed her eyes, hoping to ease her dizziness.
Every pin of the elaborate coiffure seemed to have its point stuck in her scalp, along with the hatpin Robins had used to affix the bonnet. She didn’t care what the woman said, it was coming off. Her fingers searched amid the feathers and flowers on her hat.
‘Your Grace!’
Julia winced at Robins’s sharp tone. The woman had slipped into the room without making a sound. And while she was always perfectly polite and indeed sometimes unbending enough to be almost kind, Julia sometimes had the feeling the woman was not quite comfortable in the ducal household. Still, Mr Lewis had been delighted that he had been able to secure the services of such a superior creature. Julia hadn’t had the heart to refuse her, or the courage, if the truth was told.
She got up and went to sit at the dressing table. ‘I have a bad headache,’ she said quietly. ‘The hat is making it worse.’
Robins’s lips pursed. ‘You see, Your Grace. I was right. You did need to eat more. Now the journey has made you feel ill.’
The self-congratulatory tone was almost more than Julia could bear. She clamped her jaw shut before she said something she would later regret.
To her great