He glanced away. “It was only after I graduated that I had to find other ways of . . . dealing with the night. For some reason, I don’t seem to have the nightmares when I sleep during the day.”
“So it’s darkness that sets them off? Can’t you just keep a lantern burning throughout the night?”
“Believe me, I’ve tried that. But it’s actually the quiet as much as the darkness that causes me trouble. I used to try to sleep at home at night, to be normal.”
He faced her, determined to drive home what she was dealing with. “But I stopped attempting that after I punched a footman when the man tried to wake me from the throes of a bad dream. He quit the next morning, and I realized I had to do whatever I could to keep the night at bay.”
“But even with your attempts, you still have the nightmares. I mean . . .” She colored. “You had one at the house party.”
“Yes. That’s why I avoid house parties: The country is too quiet, too . . . utterly dark. Everyone retires earlier, and I’m left alone to try to keep from sleeping. As long as I’m in town and I’m busy, I’m better. But in the country . . .”
He couldn’t suppress a shudder.
“So what do you do when you have to go to your estate?” she asked.
“I only go there rarely. I hire an excellent staff, so I need only visit my properties once a month to deal with necessary affairs.”
“So, no hunting, no leisurely country visits.”
“Occasionally my bachelor friends and I go to the hunting box in Shropshire, but none of us is actually much interested in hunting. So we mostly drink and play cards and—”
“Enjoy the local light-skirts?” she said tartly.
“Something like that. But I never have such parties at Lindenwood Castle. There, it’s all business. I leave early in the morning as soon as I come back from the stews, sleep in the carriage on the way to the estate, and meet with my estate manager as soon as I arrive.”
He walked over to stoke up the fire. “We spend the late afternoon discussing matters. Then I dine with the local magistrate, and I go to the tavern for the rest of the night. Early the next morning, I climb into my carriage, I sleep all the way back to town, and once I arrive, I head off for the stews or my club or some social engagement.”
“That is an awful way to live,” she said.
The words startled him. He’d never thought much about it, but she was right. It was. “But it’s the way I live.” He stared into the hearth. “Now you know why I haven’t married before. It’s no life for a wife.”
“No, it’s not.” As the words cut into him, she added, “It’s no life for you, either.”
“Ah, but I’m used to it.”
She left the bed and Flossie jumped to the floor. “Are you? It seems to me that this patchwork way of dealing with your fear isn’t very successful. You still have nightmares sometimes, don’t you?”
He debated whether to tell her the truth. But there was no longer any point in prevaricating. If she knew everything, she would be able to make her own adjustments.
“Actually, ever since I took the trip to Portugal to find my cousin Niall last year, the nightmares have grown worse. I assume it was because I was cooped up in a cabin at sea for weeks, with no real means of entertainment and a very tight space to contend with.”
“That makes sense. Ship cabins are damp, cold, and small, with no windows. Like cellars.”
He managed a thin smile. Only she, who’d traveled so much in her life, could understand that. “Exactly. I think it dredged everything up. Now I have the dreams even when I’m in the stews, if I happen to fall asleep there. And as I’m getting older, it’s becoming harder to stay awake all night.”
“Which is precisely why you can’t go on the way you have.” She put her hand on his arm. “You’ve got to find some way to end them.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” he said sarcastically.
“Sorry.” Hot color filled her cheeks. “I know I’m being presumptuous, acting as if you can snuff them out like a candle, when clearly you cannot or you would have done so before now. But there must be a way to make nights more tolerable for you.” She glanced away. “I mean, surely it helps some for you to have bed companions.”
“Not unless they’re dancing on my head,” he quipped. “And whores do a lot of things, but not that.”
She eyed him askance.
“Right. Not funny.” He let out a breath. “In the early days, it helped.” His gut clenched. “Until the night I woke up screaming with my hands around some poor girl’s throat. Apparently she’d tried to wake me, and in my nightmare I’d thought that it was Pickering come to let me out. Thankfully, I didn’t hurt her—just frightened her. But I couldn’t go back to that brothel for a long while.”
“So you don’t sleep at the brothels.”
“Not if I can avoid it. Too afraid of what might happen.” His throat tightened. “And now you know: Your husband is a sniveling coward at heart.”
“Don’t call yourself that!”
“Why not?” he snapped. “It’s what my mother called me.”
She gaped at him. “Surely not.”
“She put up with the dreams right after it happened, but as the weeks went on and nothing halted them, she grew impatient.” The sense of betrayal swamped him, as it always had. “ ‘Don’t be a sniveling coward, boy,’ she said. ‘Lords aren’t afraid of the dark. Buck up and be a man,’ she said.”
“Sounds like guilt to me.”
That took him entirely by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Your mother felt guilty that she’d left you alone with that wretched tutor. And then, when she was helpless to stop the nightmares that resulted, that must have tortured her. So she lashed out at you. Blamed you. Otherwise she would have had to blame herself, and that is a great burden for a mother to bear.”
He just stared at Delia. “Not once in all these years has that ever occurred to me. Hell, I thought she died ashamed of me. Because I couldn’t get over the nightmares . . . because I flouted her moral strictures and lived wildly in London.”
“Is that why none of your family knows you still have them? Because you were hiding them from her?”
“From all of them.” Shame clogged his throat. “She was right, you know. I am a sniveling coward. I can’t endure the dreams, so I drink and I whore and—”
“You’re merely handling it the only way you know how. That doesn’t make you a coward. A coward wouldn’t try to keep everyone else safe from his nightmares.”
Her loyalty cut through all the cruelty of his mother’s words. He cast her a rueful smile. “You can be so fierce in your defense of me sometimes. Why is that?”
“Because I see the strong man of character beneath the rakehell. I know you can get past this. You just need help.”
He snorted. “And how do you propose to help me?”
“I think you should spend your nights sleeping with me.”
The air whooshed out of him, and his heart seized up. “No.”
“Hear me out—”
“I don’t have to.” He stalked away, visions of her lying bruised and battered beneath him clogging his throat with fear. “Because there’s not a bloody chance in hell of that ever happening.”
Twenty-Three
Panic gripped Delia as Warren headed for the adjoining door, and she raced to block his exit. “You are not leaving! We aren’t finished.”
He scowled at her. “Didn’t you hear a word I said about nearly throttling a woman to death in my sleep? And you want me to risk that with you? You’re out of your mind.”
She grabbed him by the arms. “You didn’t attempt to throttle me the time I witnessed you having a nightmare. Besides, I’m not some light-skirt you’ve taken to bed for the night. Nor am I a servant. I’m your wife.”
“Which is precisely why I don’t want to hurt you,” he growled.
“You can’t be sure that you would. Or that you’d even have a dream i
n my presence. For all you know, sleeping with someone you . . . care about might change things.”
“And if it didn’t? I don’t relish murdering my wife.”
“You would never do that to me.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “For God’s sake, you don’t know that.”
“Not for certain, no. But I’m willing to risk it.”
“I’m not. If I did something to you, I could never forgive myself.”
That touched her beyond words. She cupped his head in her hands. “Listen to me, my darling.” My love. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this possible—keep a truncheon by the bed to bash you if you hurt me, or keep the room lit with candles for as many nights as it takes.”
“Delia—” he began.
“Give me a chance. When you had that nightmare at the house party, my being there helped you. Admit it.”
“Yes, it helped so much that I ruined you,” he said acidly.
“But you didn’t hurt me. You clung to me, you held me close, you . . . fondled me—you didn’t strike me. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
A skeptical expression crossed his face. “I still had a horrific dream that night.”
“Yes, but perhaps if I were there from the beginning . . .”
He pulled free of her. “God, I don’t know.”
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life enslaved to your fear. And I daresay neither do you.”
The faintest hint of hope shone in his face. “You really think that your being there would make a difference.”
“I have no idea. But I’m willing to try.” She held out her hand. “I’m bone-tired, my darling, and I suspect you are, too. So come to bed. And we’ll see where we stand in the morning.”
He stared at her, clearly torn between hope and fear. At last he said, “All right. But you must promise me: if I harm you tonight in any way, you will never try this again.”
She shook her head. “I won’t promise that. Sometimes it takes more than one try to get something to work.”
“Delia—”
“No! This may take a while, and I’m willing to attempt it as often as necessary. What about you?”
His hollow gaze bore into her. “I don’t want to risk . . . driving you away from me.”
The words sounded wrenched from him, and her heart flipped over in her chest. It was the closest he’d ever come to admitting that he cared for her. “You won’t drive me away. I can assure you of that.” She thrust her hand out at him again. “So? Will you come to bed with your wife?”
He released a shuddering breath. “All right. But I still fear you’ll regret it.”
“You know that I’ll be honest with you if I do.”
“True. You’re the most forthright female I’ve ever met.”
When he took her hand, she exulted. Somehow she would get him past this. She didn’t know how, but this seemed like an excellent start.
This time when he took her in his arms and kissed her, she didn’t protest it. Whatever made it easier for him was fine.
He undressed her, and she undressed him. She wasn’t surprised when he tumbled her down on the bed to have his way with her. He tended to forget his troubles when he was inside a woman, and she certainly didn’t mind that, given how good it felt having him inside her.
After he made love to her with his usual skill, they lay naked and entwined on her bed. Her happiness knew no bounds. They were growing closer. He was trying.
“At last, we’ve had an ordinary bedding,” he murmured against her cheek. “I feel vindicated as a husband.”
She laughed. “I’ve enjoyed every single time you’ve made love to me, whether it was ‘ordinary’ or not.”
“I’m happy to hear it.” He nuzzled her neck. “Do let me know if I ever disappoint.”
“I hope you’ll do the same for me.”
He chuckled. “I can’t imagine your ever disappointing me.”
The sincerity in his voice touched her, and she cuddled close to him. “Likewise.” After a few moments, she said, “Tell me about Pickering.”
He stiffened. “What do you wish to know?”
“Well, for one thing, why on earth did your mother hire him?”
“He was a member of her congregation. And he’d previously been a schoolmaster.”
She scowled. “That doesn’t make it right; she should have learned something more about his character beforehand.”
“True,” he said, relaxing. “But he’s dead now, so there’s no point in dwelling on it.”
“When did he die?”
“Last spring.”
Turning over to look at him, she said, “Before or after you went to Portugal?”
“Shortly before. What does it matter?”
“Because perhaps it wasn’t the trip itself that upset you. Perhaps it was the fact that you could never avenge yourself against him for what he did to you. And the thought of that so disturbed you that it stirred the nightmares up.”
He eyed her closely. “I suppose that’s possible. But there’s no way of being sure, is there?”
“I suppose not.”
They lay there awhile, quite content. Then he moved, as if to leave the bed.
She caught his arm. “Please. Not tonight. Stay with me.”
“I am. But I need to make preparations.”
She watched as he went over to the washbasin, then brought back a large porcelain pitcher and set it on the table next to her side of the bed.
He fixed her with an earnest look. “Promise me you’ll brain me with this if I hurt you.”
“Of course.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.” But she doubted she’d have to make good on that. At least she hoped she wouldn’t. Because she wasn’t sure she could hit him.
“I suspect we’re both going to regret this,” he grumbled as he crawled into the bed and drew her into his arms. “And I just want you to know that if I prove to be right, I’ll never let you live it down.”
“No doubt.” She burrowed into his arms, so warm and cozy.
“I mean it.”
“Hmmm.”
“You’re not listening to me, are you?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” It had been a long day, coming on the heels of several other long days. Her eyes had already slid shut of their own accord, and she didn’t want to move.
He gave a soft chuckle. “Doesn’t matter. Sleep, dearling. One of us ought to.”
So she did.
She wasn’t certain when she first became aware of it, but sometime in the night, she felt him thrashing beside her. He was moaning and begging as he’d done that last time, and now that she knew why, it broke her heart.
She laid her hand against his cheek. “It’s all right, my love,” she whispered. “You’re safe now.”
With a hoarse cry, he rolled her under him and lay atop her, shaking violently. “Let me out of here! Damn it, someone please let me out . . . please . . . I’ll be good . . . I swear!”
His weight kept her from moving, and she had a moment’s panic when she couldn’t budge him. But knowing that the pitcher was right there and that he didn’t mean to hurt her helped her remain calm.
She gripped his head in her hands. “Wake up, my darling,” she said firmly. “It’s a dream. Wake up. It’s just a dream.”
As she kept chanting it and brushing kisses over his cheeks, he seemed to grow a bit calmer, though his eyes remained closed and he still shuddered some. “Delia?”
“Yes, it’s me. I’m right here with you.”
“Delia . . . let me out, dearling. Please . . .”
“You’re not in the cellar anymore,” she whispered. “You’re with me. With me, Warren.”
With his eyes still closed, he smothered her mouth in a kiss, not shaking anymore. Then, to her surprise, she felt him hardening against her.
“Delia . . .” he said hoarsely, and parted her legs with his knee. Since they were both still naked it was easy
for him to enter her, and she gladly accepted him inside her, praying that somehow it would help. He began to thrust into her, hard and quick, and she gave herself up to it with a moan.
She wasn’t sure exactly when he awoke from his mindless state, but at some point he froze above her. He stared down at her, his cock buried deep and his eyes glittering in the semidarkness. “Do you want me . . . inside you?”
“Yes,” she said, and brushed a kiss to his lips. “Yes, my love, yes.”
The word love made him moan, but she had no time to dwell on it before he was ravishing her mouth and driving into her in slower strokes that roused her thoroughly.
He lingered over her a long time, as if to make up for how he’d awakened her. He kissed her shoulder, kneaded her breast, caressed her where they were joined, until she thought she might go mad with wanting him.
“Please . . .” she begged. “Please . . . I love you . . .”
“You . . . shouldn’t . . .”
“Can’t help it . . . please . . . my love . . . please . . . I want you . . . now.”
“Whatever my lady wishes,” he rasped.
He increased his strokes until she felt her release rising . . . just . . . there and she went over into oblivion with a scream of pleasure. He gave a hoarse cry of his own as he spilled his seed inside her.
She clutched him close, her body convulsing around him and her heart in her throat. “I love you, Warren,” she whispered.
He nuzzled her cheek. “Shh, dearling, sleep now. I promise not to . . . wake you again.”
With that, he rolled off her and lay panting in the bed.
She probably shouldn’t have said those words, for she was clearly alone in how she felt. And when he left the bed and she saw him go drag on his drawers and shirt, she realized in despair that he wasn’t going to stay with her anymore tonight.
Perhaps no more nights at all.
No, she refused to accept that. Surely she could eventually convince him to take a chance on her. Because the alternative, living with a man who didn’t love her, who couldn’t even bear to sleep in the same bed as her because of his fear, seemed too awful to contemplate.
The Danger of Desire Page 24