A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,69
knew the exact moment he understood what she meant.
He set down his glass with a clatter. “Good Lord. Don’t tell me you thought—” he stopped, interrupting himself with a rough bark of laughter.
“What is so funny?”
“Oh, it’s not funny—well, maybe only in the tragic sense.”
Honey got to her feet and he rose with her, taking a step toward her in that fast, silent way he had of moving sometimes. He took her shoulders in his big hands; the look on his face made every part of her body clench. Every part.
She dropped her gaze to the carpet.
Warm fingers slid beneath her chin and forced her to look up.
Honey recognized that heavy-lidded amused expression from the day in the maze. “It never occurred to me that you would take my words that way. I assumed you would know there are ways of engaging in sexual congress without a child resulting; otherwise, mankind would be cheek-by-jowl by now.”
She shuddered at the word sexual which she’d never heard spoken out loud before, even her father’s friends had not dared use such a word in her presence.
His hard eyes softened. “You look very pretty when you blush like that.”
She ignored the bolt of pleasure and desire she felt at his compliment and shook her head. She could not endure this again—not the tender touches, the emotions, and then his cold, empty stare afterward. Or him disappearing for three weeks.
No, she could not.
“This is not what I agreed to, my lord. You made me believe this was to be a marriage in name only.”
Any softness in his gaze evaporated like steam from his heated glare. “I did not.”
“You did.”
His scowl deepened. “No. I did not. I said I didn’t want children, and I was very specific about that. I never said that I didn’t want to bed my own wife.”
She jerked away from him. “Don’t speak to me so vulgarly.”
His mouth twisted into a travesty of a smile—a sneer she had not seen since that first day at Whitcomb: ugly, hard, and mean. “That’s not vulgar, darling. Vulgar would be if I said I wanted to fuck you.”
Honey took another step back, shaking her head. “I don’t know what that word means, but I can guess.” Her face burned at having to admit her ignorance in such areas. “I do know I will not be sharing your bed.”
His jaw tightened and a dangerous light glittered in his darkened eyes. “You are my wife.” The words were as soft as a snake’s hiss.
Honey crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I married you believing we would have a marriage in name only. That is what you promised me.” And it had almost killed her believing he didn’t want her. And now? Now he thought he could just change his mind, use her like a puppet because there was nobody else at hand? She swallowed the weakness she felt welling inside her at the thought of him touching her like he did that night. She steeled herself against her own treacherous body—that’s all it was, her own lust.
“We had a bargain, my lord. Are you now going back on your word because I am in your power? Does your word mean nothing?”
He was on her in a heartbeat. His hands around her upper arms, holding her in two hot vises. “You know nothing of my word and what it means, my lady. It would be wise not to impugn it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I should not have said that.”
His eyes flickered from hers to her mouth to the high neck of her gown and back. “I don’t know about that. Perhaps plain speaking might have saved us from this misunderstanding. But now that we’ve spoken plainly—”
“There is no misunderstanding. You said no children. When I asked you about l-lovers you said we were both free to take them.”
He snorted. “Did you think I meant to take one on our wedding night? Was that your intention.”
“No, of course—”
He released her as if she were a hot coal and stepped back. “Don’t repeat yourself. I know what you thought.” He flicked a contemptuous gaze over her huddled, cringing form. “And don’t worry about me forcing my attentions on you—I’ve never needed to do that, not even now that I’m not so pretty as I once was. This is the last time I will step foot in your bedchamber.” He dropped a mocking bow. “Good night, my lady.”
And then she was alone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Simon should have gone through the damned connecting