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More’s the pity for all involved.
‘I do not know what I’m supposed to feel,’ she said. ‘For I am a married woman now, but not a married woman. And I am angry, because I think there are many mysteries in the world that will be withheld from me because of this. Because you are intent on treating me as a ward and not a wife.’
She was edging into dangerous territory, and he knew that she had no real knowledge of that. No real concept.
It had always been thus with her. She was forceful in her speech and he often wondered if it was due to how she had been treated in her illness. As if she was trying to prove she was not fragile.
‘There are some mysteries that you might find are best left that way.’
‘So you say,’ she prodded, her cheeks turning a deep shade of rose. From embarrassment or anger he could not say. Though he was nearly certain it was both. ‘Because you are a man and nothing is barred from you. I cannot tell you how infuriating it has been to attempt to divine how to orchestrate my own ruin when I am not entirely certain what it is that ruins a woman. It is being found alone with a man certainly. And being in your embrace. But I do not know what further there is to such an embrace. Or children. I am aware that one must be married to have children. But I’m not aware of what occurs to make it so. Clearly it is something beyond vows, or my brother would not have been so quick to allow me to marry you, no matter how tenuous a state my reputation was in.’
‘I will provide you with reading material,’ he said. He had no intention of doing such a thing. If she wished to comb through his library...
Of course, his library contained reading material of a more graphic nature, rather than informational.
‘You are infuriating. The whole of mankind is infuriating.’
He chuckled. ‘Oh, I do not disagree with you.’
She leaned back in the seat across from him, and he found he could not take his eyes off her. Her skin was light cream, her curves so much more ample than he had realised. There was something sweet and sulky about her mouth. He had never noticed that before. And the way that she looked at him. It was a particular sort of look. Demure, when he knew she was not. Not really.
She straightened, and her eyes sharpened. He did not like it. ‘We have all this time. Why not give me an education yourself, rather than referring me to your library?’
And those words hit him with the strength of a gunpowder keg going off.
He knew she did not mean to be provocative, for she did not even understand provocation. Did not know why a woman had to take care not to rouse a man’s appetites. Did not understand why men and women could not be alone together without a chaperon.
Truly.
She was appallingly uninformed. And somehow, was managing to inflame him almost more because of it.
‘You’ve spent most of your life in the country,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
He would regret this. But she was his now. That made a strange sensation crystallise inside him.
A lock turning in a key.
She was his. Under his care. And he would care for her. She would have the finest of gowns. He would ensure that she wanted for nothing. She would be happier with him. Happier than she had been back at Bybee House.
And as she belonged to him, it was his decision just how in depth her education was or was not. She wanted freedom. She was a married woman now, whether or not they ever consummated that union.
He locked his jaw together at the thought.
Beatrice.
She was beautiful. But there was much more to sex than beauty.
Many women were beautiful.
He preferred his beauties bought and paid for. A transaction that required no exchange of self, just bodies.
Yes, Beatrice was beautiful, but that did not mean he could not control himself with her.
He had always liked Beatrice. Had always felt a measure of pity for her, to be sure. She had been a cloistered girl, and when he’d first met her she had never ventured out of the family drawing room.
‘What have you seen of animals?’
