Willing Love

by Mary Jean Adams

  Prudence assessed herself in the mirror. Her facial features were passable, eyebrows and lashes a shade darker than her hair, a straight nose with only the slightest bulb at the end, and lips that had a natural tint to them, even if they were a bit thin. However, the rest of her rather ruined the picture. The flowing nightdress did nothing to accentuate what few curves she had, and the pale fabric and lace-lined scoop neck only served to highlight the freckles she had accrued from years of galloping through the meadows on Bolt’s back without a parasol or neckerchief.

  Prudence tugged her long, unbound hair over one shoulder and spread it so it shielded at least a portion of her pale, spotted décolletage. That was better. It hid her worst feature and brought out her best.

  With a groan, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

  What did it matter, anyway? Thanks to her stupid agreement, she would be the only one who would ever appreciate the way her auburn hair tumbled in waves that gleamed in the candlelight.

  Prudence lifted the candle from atop her dresser. She padded on bare feet to her bed and pulled back the covers. After snuffing out the wick, she slid between the cool sheets, pulled them up to her chin, and stared at the ceiling. She watched the shadows cast by the trees outside her window as they swayed in the light breeze.

  Some wedding night this would be. Certainly not the night she would have imagined… if she had ever dared to imagine a wedding night at all…which she hadn’t. Like a restless child, she flopped onto her side and tucked her hands beneath her pillow.

  She let her eyes adjust to the darkness in the room that had once been her grandmother’s. Prudence had been content with a smaller one at the end of the hall, a narrow room she found cozy and comfortable, even if it had no hearth and had to be warmed by a brazier filled with hot coals. This morning, Mrs. Hatcher moved her things into this room, insisting she was the lady of the house now adding, “What would the servants say if she remained in a bedroom more than half a house away from her husband?”

  As much as Mrs. Hatcher had tried to keep Evan from her, she now seemed intent to bring them together. She had given Evan the large bedroom adjoining hers. Through the walls, Prudence could hear him walking about, readying himself for bed.

  Was he thinking about their agreement? After all, it was his wedding night, too.

  Moonlight caught the gilt on the scrolls of her grandmother’s wardrobe. In the darkness, they loomed like a pair of baleful eyes. Prudence gave a low moan and pulled the blankets over her head as though she could shut out the accusation they held. It didn’t work.

  It was only natural that he should be thinking the same thoughts as she. According to the conversations she had overheard among her schoolmates, consummation was an expected part of marriage even among those unions that were little more than business arrangements. Consummation was like the signature on the contract; a child the sand that dried the ink. They made it sound as though a man would have to be completely repulsed by his wife not to wish to bed her at least once. Was she so disagreeable that he wouldn’t ask her to reconsider?

  Surely, he couldn’t find her that repulsive. He had kissed her…three times. But perhaps a kiss didn’t require as much fortitude as more intimate contact with an unappealing wife.

  In the room next door, a slow, steady tap, tap, tap progressed from one corner to the other. Was Evan pacing? Perhaps he worried that she would expect him to fulfill his duties as a newly married husband.

  She reached for the pillow next to her, intending to hug it to her chest, when her hand slid across a crisp piece of paper.

  Prudence sat up and fumbled for the flint. She relit the candle and held the small slip of parchment up to it.

  Dear Prudence,

  I know we haven’t begun on the best of terms, but I wish you to know that I hold the deepest affection for you. I will do my best to be a husband you can count on and be proud of. In time, I hope we can be friends, if nothing more.

  While I would not wish to disturb your privacy, I will be in the next room should you wish to talk.

  Faithfully yours,

  Evan

  Prudence lifted trembling fingers to her lips. He hadn’t expressed any desire for her, but he did at least wish to be friends. He had invited her to visit him, in his room, to talk. It was a beginning.

  ****

  “Come in,” Evan said when a timid knock sounded on his door.

  He leaned against the mantel and sipped his cognac, trying to look as though he hadn’t been waiting for her, hadn’t been hoping she would come to him, hadn’t been imaging what he would do if she did.

  The door opened, and his breath caught in his throat. The flickering glow of the fire caught the red highlights in her hair, making it shimmer. Her nightdress was chaste, but the fire’s glow outlined the shape of her body beneath the creamy silk, her pert breasts, her nipped waist, and her gently flaring hips. Beneath the ruffled edge, her bare feet poked out, a childlike incongruity to the temptress that the rest of his wife presented.

  His wife.

  The very idea stoked the flames of passion that had been smoldering since he first saw her. Now, he had every right to scoop her up in his arms, carry her to the wide bed that dominated the room, and make love to her tonight and every night hereafter.

  He had every right to do so, but he wouldn’t.

  He had invited her to join him in his room, to talk, nothing more. He had expressed a wish that they could be friends. He never said anything about being lovers. It was inevitable, of course. Prudence’s passionate nature decreed it, but she would have to discover that for herself. Not that he didn’t intend to help her along.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said, afraid to say more.

  Her eyes flicked to his open shirt, and he realized he should have had more concern for her maidenly sensibilities. He reached for the waistcoat that lay flung across the back of a chair.

  “No, no, please. This is your home. You should be comfortable.” She stepped just inside the door and looked around at the room as though seeing the dark wooden paneling, the leather chairs, and the mahogany furniture for the first time. She chuckled. “Ashcroft has been without a man’s touch for so long that this must be the only room that lacks a floral motif.”

  The comment was so banal, Evan felt himself at a loss for words. Finally, he said, “I knew it was different somehow.”

  “It was my grandfather’s room. Mine is next door. The door I came through connects them.” She sounded as if she were giving a tour.

  “Did that room belong to your grandmother?” Ach! He sounded like he was taking one.

  “It did. But she never used it.” Her voice trailed off and color rose to her cheeks. “Anyway, I hope you find your room adequate to your needs.”

  Needs? He had found it totally inadequate, at least until she showed up.

  “Yes, it’s perfectly adequate. Thank you.”

  “Yes. Thank you, too. For the invitation that is.” Despite being a vision of loveliness in her simple linen nightgown, her long hair flowing in a cascade over one shoulder, her demeanor turned business-like. “I came to apologize for my anger today. I have a weakness, you see.”

  “Is that so?” He wondered if she counted among her weaknesses the way her chest flushed when she was embarrassed.

  She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I like to be in control, and naturally, that means I’m not fond of surprises. When I learned that I was marrying Evan Foster, ship’s captain, and not Mr. Evan, stable master, well, you can imagine my surprise.”

  “I should have told you,” Evan said, meaning every word.

  “Yes, you should have,” she agreed, evidently not ready to shoulder all the blame for the rocky start to their marriage. “Why didn’t you?”

  Evan shrugged. “I suppose I liked that you were content to marry a stable master. I know you had your reasons, but I admired the fact that they were your reasons and not somebody else’s.”

  “Contrary to what you migh
t think, I wasn’t marrying you because you were the stable master.”

  “You weren’t?”

  The flush that crept across her chest and up her cheeks gave him hope that her real reasons were more promising.

  An oppressive silence hung in the air. He took a sip of his cognac to prevent himself from filling it.

  When he just about couldn’t take it anymore, she said, “I thought you were simple.”

  Evan choked on his cognac. “Simple?”

  “Yes. Not unintelligent exactly, but not worldly either,” she said, no apology in her tone or words. Just the truth.

  “That’s hardly flattering.”

  He supposed he should find her honesty a comfort, considering how dishonest marriages in her circles could be. Instead, talking with her was like looking at a madly spinning compass, dizzying and disorienting.

  “Well, don’t let this go to your head, but I realize now how wrong I was. You’re anything but simple.”

  “So what am I then?” He held his breath.

  “I’m not sure.” Prudence closed the door behind her, and Evan’s heart bucked like a ship running headlong into a swell. “I know you’re sure of yourself, but other than that, I don’t really know what you are. I find myself completely befuddled whenever I am around you.”

  She assessed him, her dark brows knit together, as though he were a puzzle and not a man.

  Evan came away from the mantel and stood before her. “I will tell you anything you want to know, but you must tell me one thing first. Why did you want to marry a simpleton?”

  “I told you, I like to be in control. A simpleton was unlikely to involve himself in my affairs. In my business affairs,” she hastily amended. “But evidently, you know all about the family business and are even part of it.”

  Evan put his finger under her chin and tipped her face up to look at him. “I won’t try to wrestle control from you, you know. I only hope you will come to me if there is anything I can do to help.”

  “So you can solve my problems for me?” she said, defiance in her eyes.

  He dropped her chin. “No, so we can solve them together.”

  Prudence’s shoulders relaxed. “I’d like that.”

  If Prudence were any other woman, he would have kissed her senseless right then. But she wasn’t. Being with her was like navigating in shallow waters. Once you knew where you were, things became easy. Until then, it was best to take it a bit slow.

  “Then we can agree to forgive each other? Me for not telling you who I really am, and you for thinking I am a simpleton.”

  Prudence nodded, and a contemplative silence fell between them.

  The business portion of their talk over, Evan decided it was time to press on matters of a more personal nature.

  “Would you like to sit down? You could join me in a glass of cognac.”

  Prudence didn’t speak, didn’t move. She simply looked at him as though expecting something from him.

  “Would you prefer something else? I could ring for some sherry.” He thought the sweet, tawny wine that so many women enjoyed to be vile stuff, but at this moment, he would grant her any wish just to get her to stay with him awhile longer.

  “Yes,” she said. “I want out.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The firelight caught Evan’s charcoal-colored eyes until they glowed about the edges like smoldering embers.

  “We’ve been married for less than”—he glanced at the clock on the mantel—“less than twelve hours, and you want out?”

  “No, you misunderstand me.” What had she meant? The words had come as much of a surprise to Prudence as to Evan.

  “Then, pray tell, what do you mean?”

  Prudence grappled with the tumult of emotions and half-formed thoughts, but as usual, her own impulsiveness had backed her into a corner. She had no time to sort it all out, let alone come up with a response that saved her pride. At least not one Evan was likely to believe. In such a situation, she did what came most natural to her. She told the truth.

  “I want out of my promise.”

  She hoped he wouldn’t make her spell it out. It would be humiliating beyond words.

  “Let’s see.” Evan leaned against the mantel. His crisp shirt opened even wider, displaying an alarming amount of hard, male chest. “Putting aside our marriage vows, I can think of two promises you made. One, you promised to be faithful, and two, you promised that you would not require me to bed you. Tell me you haven’t decided cousin Richard is the man for you after all.”

  Prudence almost choked. “Mercy, no.”

  “Then I take it you are asking me to make love to you?”

  “Yes,” she said, her face feeling as if it might catch flame.

  Prudence kept her gaze trained on him, a desperate attempt not to show how much power he had over her at this moment. Not to show how much she wanted him, despite all her protestations that theirs was purely a business arrangement. If her grandmother had taught her anything, it was to not flinch during a negotiation.

  She could still hear Rachel Ashcroft’s instructions, given when she was all of seven and riding with her grandmother in a carriage on their way home from some meeting or another. Silence is power, my dear. State your demands then wait for the other to respond. While she couldn’t remember the particulars of their discussion, Prudence doubted this situation was what her grandmother had in mind.

  While she waited, Prudence argued with herself, rationalizing her actions against her intentions. She hadn’t come to his room expecting to become his lover. She had promised him she would not hold him to that part of the marriage. She would honor his wishes if he turned her away, as he surely would at any moment. Yet the sight of him readying for bed, in a state of domestic dishabille, had her imagining what being his lover would be like. As usual, that which she imagined she had spoken aloud without so much as a thought. Perhaps not everything, but enough that she could no longer hide behind vague innuendo and hopeful imaginings.

  The single word yes, soft and husky, played over and over in her mind until it sounded like a plea.

  The fire crackled in the hearth, its golden-orange light playing over the features of Evan’s face, casting shadows that made his expression hard to read. On the mantel, the clock ticked away the seconds. With each tick, what was left of her pride shriveled a little more.

  She turned to go.

  “No, wait.” His voice was hoarse, as if the fire had sucked the air from the room and made it difficult to breath, let alone speak.

  Prudence half-turned but didn’t meet his gaze. “No, it’s just as well. I shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t fair of me to promise you one thing and then immediately go back on that promise. My only defense is that it was a request, not a demand.”

  Waiting for him to say something, anything, she studied the dark grains in the wood beneath her feet.

  The floor creaked under the weight of Evan’s step.

  “Good, because although you might be able to issue orders to me as Captain Foster, here I am simply Evan, your husband.”

  Husband. The word, spoken almost as an endearment, drifted over her, caressed her. It wasn’t the term of mastery that she had always considered it to be, but of something else. An indefinable essence that spoke of a life filled with companionship, and perhaps, of more.

  Or had she only heard what she wanted to hear?

  Despite his sweet words, her stubborn assumptions about marriage refused to die easily. “Oh, yes, I forgot. I am the one who is supposed to obey you.”

  Evan set a hand on her shoulder and turned her to him. “I would never make you do anything you did not wish to do.”

  “Nor I you.”

  As if she could. How many times had she felt his strength against her? He had carried her into the house more than once as if she were no more than a child. He had twirled her around the dance floor, making her feel as if she were a part of him. Even now, she could feel his strength flowing into her from the palm of
his hand against her small shoulder. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she knew he would never use that strength against her. Only to protect her.

  Laughter rumbled deep in his chest, a sound that flowed over her, warm and liquid, like honey and butter melted together and drizzled over toast. “As I recall our agreement, I never promised that I would stay out of your bed, nor keep you out of mine.” He leaned down, his face so close his warm, cognac-scented breath brushed her cheek. “As I recall, I promised quite the opposite.”

  He brushed his lips over hers. It wasn’t so much a kiss as a promise of one. Ribbons of pleasure rippled to the tips of Prudence’s bare toes.

  “Now what was it you wanted me to do?” he asked, his voice as soft and sensual as his lips had been.

  “I wanted you to...”

  He nibbled the line of her jaw. The ribbons tightened, drawing her closer to him.

  “Sorry, come again. I didn’t catch that.” His words brushed against the sensitive shell of her ear.

  He was going to make her ask again. She didn’t mind. Unless he was an exceptionally cruel man, and she didn’t think he was, he would fulfill her request. Her entire body thrummed with anticipation.

  “I want you to make love to me.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Wife,” Evan said before his lips claimed her in a bruising kiss that left her trembling in his arms.

  So unlike kissing Richard.

  Prudence nearly giggled at the inappropriate thought, but she couldn’t help comparing the two men. Richard’s lips had been soft, tentative, and closed. Evan’s lips were hard, his mouth open. Where Richard’s kiss asked for permission, Evan’s kiss demanded she give herself over to him.

  And Prudence wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.

  She kissed him back as hungrily as he kissed her. When he flicked the tip of her tongue with his, she instinctively opened her mouth further, inviting him in. He retreated, and she made a low desperate moan in the back of her throat.

  “Patience, my sweet.” Evan set his forehead against hers, the heat of his breath caressing her face. “We have all night. There is no need to rush things.”