Yet with every stroke, he smoothed the disagreeable memories and replaced never again with perhaps.
With trepidation, she watched him wring the cloth. Shed been afraid that his passion might have left her a bloody mess. She was reassured to see only a trace of pink in the water.
Finally the torture that had transformed into dangerous allure ended. He dropped the cloth into the now cool water, dried her one last time, and lifted his hands away.
The silence preyed on her nerves, but she couldnt force words through a throat jammed with tears. Not from pain this time, but because whatever pain he caused her, she loved him. Shed always love him. His care only proved that never having him love her in return would eat at her until her dying day.
The slow washing, like a ritual, had calmed him. Just as it had calmed her. His jaw no longer looked chiseled from stone and the lines around his mouth and eyes had relaxed.
He bent toward her. She thought he bowed to say good night. The atmosphere between them had become strangely courtly.
But his head lowered and lowered.
Before she could think to move, he placed his lips on her pale stomach, just above the navel. She felt the warm, damp brush of his kiss. Her skin tightened, although the kiss felt more an act of homage than a sensual invitation.
Questions flooded to her lips but died unspoken when he lifted the bowl and turned toward the door. Pride and confusion kept her from asking him to stay. She felt piercingly alone watching Cam walk away. But not so alone that she was ready to endure his use of her body.
Cam went through the door, leaving it ajar. A gesture of reassurance, the way one left a candle burning for a child in the dark. He must guess that she found this cathedral of a bedroom intimidating.
Awkwardly, still sore despite Cams ministrations, she struggled to stand. She needed a nightdress.
When she emerged from the dressing room wearing another of the late duchesss seductive peignoirs, Cam leaned against one of the carved oak posts at the base of the bed. He still wore his robe and his expression was calm.
Perhaps he came to say good night. Then she noticed the decanter of red wine on the dressing table near the empty glasses. Given how hed arrived with brandy, the wine struck an ominous note.
She stopped so abruptly that the blue silk nightdress slipped from one shoulder. What do you want, Cam?
He prowled across to pour the wine. He passed her a glass. I think weve done things completely the wrong way around.
She frowned in confusion. You mean you should have got me intoxicated before you joined me in that bed rather than after?
Despite the tense atmosphere, his lips twitched. No.
Warily she studied him. Then what do you mean?
He gestured toward two chairs beside the hearth. I mean, my wife, that we need to talk.
Chapter Twenty
Cam watched Pens wariness deepen, but at least she appeared willing to listen. As she sank into the chair, she looked fierce and sensual, like a ravished goddess. Her black hair flowed around her. The blue nightdress was cut like a Greek tunic and emphasized the otherworldly quality of his wifes beauty.
In the firelight, he noticed a red mark on her collarbone, just below where her pulse pounded like a trip-hammer. Hed branded her as his. Desire rippled through him, but he stifled any impulse to push his luck. Hed done that earlier and catastrophe had resulted. Guiltily he remembered the blood marking her thighs. Her cry as hed pushed inside her still rang in his ears.
She watched him as if expecting him to pounce. I told you I dont want to talk about your assumptions. She gave the last word a bite that made him flinch.
Im sorry, Pen. But we must.
She raised her chin and glared at him. I suppose you mean to apologize again.
He slid a chair from the other side of the hearth closer, but not close enough to crowd her. After he sat, he tasted his wine. The claret filled his mouth, rich and heady and complex. Nothing to compare to Pens kisses.
Beneath his composure swirled a turbulent stew of emotions. Anger at himself. Compunction at his clumsiness. Uncertainty that he could make up for what hed done. Surprisehow had this sensual, beautiful woman remained untouched? Would it do any good?
Probably not.
Inwardly he winced. Youve been away from England a long time.
Whats that got to do with it? Her temper lifted his spirits. He never again wanted to see her hurt and crying. Especially over something hed done to her.
You must know theres been gossip.
She looked unconcerned. Dear God, he wished he could be as nonchalant about spiteful talk as the Thornes. Occasionally someone would write and say that theyd heard about something Id done. But why should the ton care about me? I never had a season.
Thats part of the appeal. Youre a mystery. A well-bred girl who chooses to scandalize the Continent rather than make her debut and find a husband. Peters profligacy and Harrys tomcatting kept the Thorne name on everyones lips. Your antics added spice to the mixture.
She sipped her wine. There were no antics.
His eyes sharpened on her. What about the Grand Turks harem?
She looked startled. What about it?
For years, outlandish tales of Pens adventures had piqued both his chagrin and curiosity. The rumors had become pure torture once hed met her again. Dont try to be funny.
Her lips firmed with impatience. Im not being funny. A woman is safer in a harem than she is in a nunnery. Apart from the eunuchs and the Sultan, the harem is a female preserve.
What about your affair with Count Rosario? An affair which had never taken place, Cam realized.
Hostility sparked her gaze. The Count is seventy if hes a day.
You and he traveled together for weeks.
I joined a party of scholars to see the excavations on Rosarios estate outside Palermo. The weather was bad and the count was kind enough to take me into his carriage. His arthritis has stopped him riding.
How thoughts of the count had tormented Cam. Now Rosario loomed in his imagination as a geriatric bookworm. What of the Prince of Castrodolfo? Hes a young man. And you two spent a night alone in the Apennines.
Amusement lit Pens annoyance. At thirteen, the prince is certainly young. Most people consider him hopelessly bookish. His mother fears difficulties in securing an heir, unless she can awaken his interest in the fair sex.
What about Goya? Word is that he painted you wearing what only the most intimate associate would wear. Which meant wearing nothing at all. The idea of another man feasting his eyesand other thingson Pens glorious nakedness made him livid. He knew he was a primitive, but despite everything, he looked at this woman and his heart beat mine, mine, mine.
Her cheeks went pink. Hes a great artist.
Cam started to feel like a schoolmaster quizzing a troublesome pupil. So that rumor is true?
He swore that hell never show the painting to another living soul. I believe him.
And Sir Andrew Melton?
Pen laughed dismissively. Now theres a fellow whose mother has definitely given up hopes of awakening his interest in the fair sex. Umbrage sharpened her voice. My refusal on the yacht must have stung, given you believed that every man in Europe has shared my bed. And a few in Asia too.
He struggled not to squirm under her taunts. Not so many. Definitely one or two.
You kept careful note of my supposed paramours.
Another jibe that hit home. Our childhood connection spurred my interest.
He was mortified to admit how agonizingly jealous hed been of Pens lovers. Especially when she showed no interest in Camden Rothermere.
Her lips tightened. If Im so notorious, nobody would think you a cad if you didnt marry me. I only gave you what Id given a hundred men.
There have been plenty of wanton duchesses.
Her lips tightened. If Im so notorious, nobody would think you a cad if you didnt marry me. I only gave you what Id given a hundred men.
There have been plenty of wanton duchesses.
When she caught the bitterness in his voice, her expression softened. Cam, not every woman is like your mother.
Youre not.
The thaw ended abruptly. You thought I was.
No, never, he said emphatically. My mothers every act was a betrayal. Of her husband. Of her rank. Of her family.
I had no idea that people thought me such a trollop. You sacrificed yourself to this marriage to save my good name. Now I discover that I have no good name to save.
As her indignation faded, Pen looked tired and wretched. He should let her go back to bedwithout himbut he knew how quickly shed rebuild her defenses. He needed to get to the truth now.
Dont forget that I was preserving my good name too. A man who seduces a girl hes known from childhood then abandons her to insult is beyond the pale.
Her smile held no amusement. Even if the childhood friend goes to the dogs?
Youre still a Thorne.
And now Im a Rothermere. Clearly a fact that gave her no pleasure.
Why should it? Shed exchanged independence for life with a man who had treated her like a doxy. Remorse twisted his guts anew. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Hell, Pen, youre twenty-eight years old. For nine years, youve run wild with a louche crowd under your aunts inadequate supervision. Not to mention that any man would want you. What in Hades was I meant to think?
Bleak humor flickered in her black eyes. Dont sound so peevish, Cam. Most men would be delighted to discover that their bride was a virgin.
Was he blushing? Perhaps so, but not in the circumstances that I did.
Poor boy, she said sarcastically.
You have every right to anger. Theres no excuse for my behavior. I should crawl on my knees to you and beg forgiveness. Cam gestured with his free hand. But were together for life and we need to reach some understanding.
Her expression was cynical. So you can touch me again.
Devil take his blundering, she spoke of his possession like dire punishment. Do you mean to bar me from your bed?
I made promises to you. She twirled the glass in her hand until the wine flared ruby.
It was the same dead tone shed used when she said that shed done her duty. Disappointment pierced him. But what could he expect after his rough wooing? If duty alone compels you, our marriage bed will be a cold place. I think we can do better than that.