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‘Because he does not think me capable of anything truly shocking,’ she said.
‘Because he trusts me,’ he said, wondering right then if he was worthy of his friend’s trust. For as he brought her back, through the swing back, he ended up pressing the warmth of her body against his.
And he could feel the softness of her hair against his chin. And he knew that he was going to have to visit a brothel when they returned to London.
As a newly married man, he would be visiting a brothel.
He nearly curled his lip. Disgusted with himself.
But then, that was the state of things. He was not necessarily proud of the man he had become. But he was not waging a war against his nature either.
And in this instance it was a kindness to his wife.
For many reasons.
‘I’m sorry,’ Beatrice said. ‘Of course that is true. I did not think of it that way.’ She let out a slow breath, and he could feel it shift her frame. Then she leaned her head back, and it came to rest upon his chest. She jumped, but did not move. And he simply held her there, his hands gripping the ropes on the swing so tightly he thought he might cut his skin open. ‘Am I unbearably selfish?’
His chest felt tight. The rest of him felt...hard.
‘You are selfish, perhaps,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘But we all are. And the world favours the selfishness of men. You did what you thought you had to.’
‘I would feel better if you were angry with me,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘I apologise for not being able to accommodate.’
He released his hold on her and she made a small sound of surprise as she went careening forward. But his heart was thundering too hard, and he should not hold her against his body that way.
‘Why can’t you be angry with me?’
‘Because my freedom is not in question. I will continue to do exactly as I please. As I have always done.’
She laughed softly. ‘You’ve already told me that isn’t true. You have a child. Your heart does not beat simply for you.’
He had nothing to say to that, so he pushed her again on the swing.
* * *
Beatrice felt breathless. She did not know why. Not breathless in the way that had marked her childhood. Breathless in a way that frightened her.
This breathlessness was not unpleasant. Being close to him was not unpleasant. He had a solid presence that made her feel... Quieted. She had always liked being around him, but this was different. Leaning her head on his chest had felt natural, though she knew it was not proper. She was past proper. She had failed at being proper; she had gone and ruined herself, hadn’t she?
He pulled the swing near him again, and she could feel the heat from his body. She felt warm herself.
Her heart thundered almost painfully. He moved his hands, his fingertips brushing against her shoulders, and she shivered. She could sense his strength, and she wanted to lean into it. To test it. In a way that she was never allowed to test her own.
Tears stung her eyes. Because she felt like she was on the verge of something that she would never fully be able to immerse herself in.
Never fully be able to understand.
She turned her head again to look at him, and most of all to chase that strange prickling feeling she had felt before. When she had turned to face him on the swing and their faces had been so close. She was closer to Briggs than she had ever been to a man before. Well, with the exception of that moment in the library when he had put his hand on her hindquarters.
‘I would give anything to taste that sort of freedom,’ she whispered. ‘To know what it’s like.’
‘People do things... To find that,’ he said, his voice low, shivering over her skin in a way that left her feeling shaken. ‘To find that sense of pushing again
st the edges. They take themselves to extremes. But it is not always advisable.’
‘Who gets to decide?’ she whispered.
