"I think that is true enough," Charlotte broke in. "I try not to let mere trifles distress me."
"Good. But others do. He says,
"But in fearful natures they gain ground too fast. There is nothing makes a man suspect much, more than to know little; and therefore men should remedy suspicion by procuring to know more, and not to keep their suspicions in smother. What would men have? Do they think those they employ and deal with are saints? Do they not think they will have their own ends, and be truer to themselves than to them?"
"Yes, I dare say that is human nature."
"Not always, however."
"No, that's true," she agreed tilting her head to smile up at him. "Your tenants and servants are exemplary."
"They have no reason to be suspicious of me and thus acquit themselves well."
She nodded, her head rubbing against his warm thigh until Thomas thought he would be driven to distraction. "Pray continue. I'm sorry if I interrupted."
He tried to get hold of his own tongue once more, hardly able to form a sentence for thinking about hers...
But no, he would never dare ask anything like that of her. She was his wife, and seemed as untouched as a rose in bud.
"You should stop me if you're not clear about anything. And I'm pleased to see you've gained enough confidence to feel able to do so. I would like you to trust me in all matters, my dear wife."
"I am trying, thanks to you and your improving books, Thomas, as you well know."
He bent over his lap to give her a kiss on the brow, and turned to the book quickly to distract himself from her ripe berry lips. "Hmmm, where were we? Ah, here it is.
"Therefore there is no better way to moderate suspicions, than to account upon such suspicions as true and yet to bridle them as false. For so far a man ought to make use of suspicions, as to provide, as if that should be true that he suspects, yet it may do him no hurt. Suspicions that the mind of itself gathers are but buzzes; but suspicions that are artificially nourished, and put into men's heads by the tales and whisperings of others, have stings.
"Certainly, the best means to clear the way in this same wood of suspicions is frankly to communicate them with the party that he suspects; for thereby he shall be sure to know more of the truth of them than he did before; and withal shall make that party more circumspect not to give further cause of suspicion. But this would not be done to men of base natures; for they, if they find themselves once suspected, will never be true."
After he had finished reading the essay, she sat up next to him, leaning into his side so that they were sitting hip to hip, thigh to thigh.
Thomas's body was still thrumming with need, and he moved his mouth down to claim hers in a soul stirring kiss which sent her to the heavens. Once again, just as she began to reciprocate fully, he broke it off.
She gasped at his abrupt manner and dared to complain, "Why do you keep--"
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, rising from the sofa to stand in front of the fire. "Because you hardly know me, Charlotte. Nor I you if the truth be told. How can a good marriage be forged by two strangers in only a few short weeks?"
"Yet by kissing you, touching you, can I not get to know you?" she asked shyly.
He blew out a tremulous breath. "Yes, in time. But you're still so very young and--"
"But old enough to learn. And time will most certainly cure my youth."
"Indeed," he said with a fond smile. "On the other hand, it might not. Some people are eternally young, innocent. I would like you to stay that way as much as possible.
"Which is why pressing on with our physical relationship is not a good idea. I will tell you truly, Charlotte, long before we ever became engaged, I was not immune to your ample feminine charms."
"Charms?" she said, quirking one eyebrow.
"Yes, you beauty, your lively manner. But I told myself you were too young, tender--"
"I don't understand," Charlotte said, gaping. "Are you trying to say that you actually, well, liked me? As a woman, in addition to my fortune, I mean?"
He stepped over to the side table and snatched up the decanter, poured a measure of brandy, and downed it in one gulp.
Charlotte stared at him in stunned silence. He poured another glass and a small one of sherry for her, which he pressed into her long slender fingers.
"And if I said I did? Would you believe me?" he asked at last, when the silence grew too oppressive.
"Then I would ask why you were always present, but so aloof."
"Because you were but seventeen when we first met formally, my dear, a mere child. I would never have even considered asking to pay court to you, let alone marry you, at such a tender age."
"Yet many are married younger than I," she argued, before sipping from her glass.
"That is true, but I doubt it's healthy for the woman to indulge at too young an age. Especially since abstinence is the only certain way to not get with child."
She blushed. "So you're saying you don't wish for any children, ever?" she asked, feeling bitterly crushed. "Or just none with me?"
"Good God, Charlotte, how can you say--"
"By the way you've avoided me every time we get, well, heated as we did in the carriage that first night."
He shook his head. "I didn't lie when I said how fond I was of children. But it's too soon, Charlotte. You are still very young, only eighteen to my twenty-eight. I seek only to protect you, my dear. And would not have you do anything impetuous simply because of any selfish acts of mine, or the naturally healthy urgings of your own young body."
"Healthy urgings?" she repeated blankly.
"I was your age once. It was torment."
She blinked owlishly. "I don't know of what you speak, except for that dreadful tight feeling I get in my chest and, well, belly when you kiss me and draw away."
"Your chest?" he asked softly.
She reddened. "Yes, you know. My, er, protuberances. And the place I sit upon."
He gave a puckish smile at her terminology. "Very well, we can share a few kisses and I can perhaps relieve some of those aches if you trust me, and do as I say."
The breath felt as though it had been sucked from her lungs. "Wh-wh-what would you have me do, Thomas?"
"I shall come behind you on the sofa. I think with this venerable and stout piece of furniture as chaperon, we can increase your education without endangering your virtue."
He downed his brandy and moved around the back of the settee with all of the air of a man about to jump off a cliff.
"I'm going to start with your neck, and ears. If there's anything that frightens you, by all means, tell me to stop."
"Yes, Thomas," she promised, though inwardly she was determined to move forward with their relationship in whatever manner he chose. Her curiosity and what he had called her healthy urgings were ample reason, even if she had not admired him so. He was a miracle, kind, intelligent, alluring. And he had admitted he had been thinking of her long before he had ever said a word.
The reticule and fan for her birthday! She had wondered about them. He had admired her! Been so thoughtful and considerate.
And then all rational thought flew out of her head as his warm lips pressed against her neck, elegantly bared by the low cut of her sapphire velvet evening gown with gold trim.
It was the most exquisite torture, wanting to hug him, touch him, yet being unable to reach.
"No, keep your hands on your lap, or the sofa arm, pet. I don't think I'll be able to stay calm if you caress me as well," he confessed raggedly.
He kissed up and down her neck on both sides, while his hands eased up gradually to cup both her breasts.
She stiffened slightly at the heated contact but soon relaxed and lolled her head backwards.
Then she experienced the totally novel sensation of being kissed upside down, his tongue licking the sensitive roof of her mouth until she gasped. His hands moved up further to rub her shoulders, his thumbs kneading the hollow at the back of her neck.<
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"All right?" he whispered.
"Oh, yes, Thomas, please, kiss me again? And my breasts--"
He took the hint and slid his palms downward, and moved forward to turn his mouth into hers.
He dragged his lips away as he felt he whole body shimmer with passion like the heat haze on a summer's day.
"No, Thomas, please, I need you to--"
He was saved from making any reply by a tap on the door, which heralded the arrival of his sister, who had come to say goodnight.
"I had no idea it was so late," Thomas said, looking as sheepish as Charlotte had ever seen him.
Indeed, she commented to herself as he stepped away from her to give his sister her usual kiss on the brow, the night was yet early. And would be a long one if she couldn't quell her urges to some degree.
She looked on with no small regret when he escorted his sister to the door and kept right on going out into the foyer. "You will forgive me, my dear, if I leave you to your own devices for the rest of the evening. I have a few pressing papers to deal with in the library. Good night, Charlotte. Pleasant dreams."
She clamped her mouth shut before she screamed at him in frustration like a fishwife. How could he? Was the man made of ice?
As she made her way up to her room on trembling legs, she wished she were. Her longing and true feelings for him were becoming harder and harder to conceal. Yet she felt no closer to knowing his own mind or the reasons he had married her than she ever had.
She thought once again of the essay on suspicions. He was avoiding her because he was sure she was concealing her past with Paxton.
And she was timid around him because she was sure that he was hiding something from her.
She had worked up the courage to confront him about her more amorous feelings. Would it be possible to ever discuss with him all her confusion over their marriage?
What if he rejected her?
Charlotte sighed. Even if he did, she decided as she trudged her way up the stairs to her lonely bed, it couldn't be any worse than continually leading her on only to thwart her deepest yearnings.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Charlotte thought about her torrid romantic interlude with her husband, indeed that whole evening they had shared, for several days afterwards. She took heart from the exhortation to air her suspicions openly and honestly. About a week later she decided to do just that.
She found Thomas in the library, going over a large ledger, entering the rents which had come in at the beginning of the month. It was hard to believe they had been married for nearly six weeks already. Yet in some senses, it was as if they had known each other all their lives.
"Come in, my dear," he said with a small smile when he saw her peep in the door.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Your Grace."
"Not at all. It's a welcome excuse to stop. Looking from one page to the other to make sure all of the entries go on the correct lines in the ledger can be quite taxing. And my name is Thomas."
"Yes, of course, Thomas," she said, reddening. "I just wanted to tell you that I've finished with the essays you marked out for me. I wanted to thank you for taking the trouble. They've given me much to think about."
"Any in particular that you wanted to discuss with me?" he asked her, with a knowing glance.
She stared at him. Why did he always seem able to read her mind?
"I re-read the essay on suspicion. Am I to take it that you would wish me to come to you directly, as it suggests in the book, whenever I have a matter upon which I am concerned?"
He nodded. "I would like you to feel confident that I shall deal with you fairly and honestly as a true friend, yes."
"Then why have you barred Agnes from the house? She came to call yesterday, and--"
She watched in dismay as his face took on a grim, forbidding aspect. "I'm respecting your father's wishes in that regard. It was he who advised me that he believed she would not be a good influence upon you now that you're married."
"My father?" she asked, astonished.
Thomas nodded. "Yes. You may discuss the matter with him too if you wish. I considered his opinion, observed her character, and agreed. I will speak even more plainly. I believe that she is still friends with the man you had intended to elope with, and as such, might do us both a mischief. I'm almost certain it was she I overheard with your aunt and the man in question. Therefore, she can do you damage. She knows too much, and is somewhat immoderate in her ways."
"Oh no, surely not," Charlotte protested. "She seemed perfectly charming to me, and I am sure she would never do me deliberate harm."
"She will not be given the chance to, my dear," Thomas said in a firm tone which brooked no refusal. "We shall go on as we have been, cautious of your reputation until we are certain that nothing she says about a dalliance with another man will possibly be lent any credence." He set down his pen firmly now to give her his full attention.
"And I will remind you that I do not wish you to see them. That includes your aunt, who has been given a generous household allowance by me, and will want for nothing except my good opinion of her. Even if you run into them by chance, I urge you in the strongest possible terms not to say anything to any of that trio more than the barest civilities."
"But why?" she asked in genuine confusion. "I care not for gossip and tittle-tattle. I'm happy here, and settled. What harm can they do to me, or to us?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Are you indeed?"
She blushed and looked down at her lap for a moment, and then nodded. "Happy? Yes, yes, I am, Thomas. I didn't think I would be, but you've been so kind and tolerant of my youth. I know I've thrown my defiance in your face when I've been piqued, but I cry your pardon now. It was ill done, and not the act of a friend. I know you've claimed no noble motives in marrying me, but you've been far more indulgent than many a husband who claims to be in love with his wife.
"And yet that indulgence has not been indifference. You obviously care, or else you would not try to improve my knowledge, my acquaintance, my clothes. I want for nothing, and have a full and interesting life thanks to you. Sometimes too full," she added with a smile. "I am not a child, that must have trinkets and baubles dangled in front of me to bribe me into behaving myself and staying out of mischief."
"So the loss of love is not something you repine for?" he asked quietly.
She sighed. "I would be a liar if I said I didn't wonder what my life would have been like had things not gone awry that evening. But I'm realistic enough to know that things could have gone much worse for me had you not happened to come along."
"Much worse? What makes you say that?" he asked, his eyes glittering.
"Only that my father might not have given his blessing. I would have been embroiled in a scandal, and not been received in any good society."
"There are far worse things than those, far worse. You should thank the Lord every day that you have been spared them," he said with asperity.
She looked at him in confusion. "I know not what you mean."
He frowned. "We spoke of them before in reference to Sarah's clinic for women in London."
"Oh, yes, but in my case..."
"Don't be so sure," he growled, his eyes glowing like hot coals. "I can safely say that very few of those women dreamt that that would be their lot when they were growing up. I'm sure many of them even came from good homes with families who loved them and tried to protect them."
She could hear him audibly grinding his teeth. "I'm sorry if I've displeased you with my innocence and ignorance. It was not intended."
He gave her a grim smile. "No, it's my fault. Burning indignation has its place, but not directed at my innocent wife."
Thomas bent his head back to his books, and she felt effectively dismissed, as if he had slammed a door in her face. She turned to leave, but then stepped back toward the desk.
"If it would help ease the tedium of the chore, I could read the tenants' names and amounts for you," she offered timidly.
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The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1 Page 55