Virtue and Vice

by Kimberly Brody

  Grabbing her hands to still her struggles, he yanked her arms against her sides, then thrust deep.

  Her harsh, pain-filled cry penetrated his mind at the same moment he felt the resistant barrier tear as he buried himself inside her.

  He went utterly still.

  Nay!

  He recoiled in stunned horror and reared back to look down at her face.

  Nay! Nay! Nay!

  The single word repeated in his head as the full realization of what he’d done washed over him.

  He stared at Izzy’s pale face, perhaps truly seeing her for the first time that day. Words failed him.

  What the hell have I done?

  As he absorbed in shock what had just happened, he dropped his head to the pillow beside hers and held motionless. He pressed his cheek to hers, overwhelmed by remorse so heavy it almost choked him.

  The moisture of a tear landed against his. It scalded him, or maybe it was only his shame that burned him so. He forced himself to raise his head and look at her again.

  Her eyes were clenched shut, but that didn’t stop tears creeping from the corners. Her face was ashen, her lips pinched in agony. Her hands were fisted so tightly the whites of her knuckles showed.

  He was undone.

  Obviously, there was no way to recover; she would find no pleasure in this encounter no matter what he did. He withdrew immediately, but remained above her, leaning his weight on his arms, trying desperately to think of a way to comfort her.

  “Izzy. Izzy, shh. You’re all right now.” He wiped away her tears with a fingertip, then stroked the hair back from her face. “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart,” he whispered, agonized for her.

  She opened tortured eyes. “It hurts.” She whimpered in a broken voice.

  “Shh. I know. ‘Tis over now and the pain will soon pass. Relax, Sweetheart.” He feathered kisses across her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, then finally brushed over her lips, hoping the light touch would soothe her.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, though it was only a matter of minutes, her tension slowly eased. Her hands loosened against the sheets and color returned to her face. But the moment he shifted his weight she went rigid again. He immediately moved onto his side next to her, giving her space.

  “Relax, Sweetheart. The worst has passed, I promise.”

  More than anything, he wanted to comfort her, but he had no idea where to even start. She turned on her side facing away from him, curling herself into a tight ball. Her body shook with the force of her sobs, though she didn’t make a sound.

  As he stared at her slender back and her shaking shoulders, his heart bled for her and for all she’d been through during the long course of the day, all because of a false confession she made to her father. Now that the veil of anger that had clouded everything lifted he reconsidered the scene in the baron’s study. What was it she’d said, exactly?

  “I’m no longer innocent.”

  He closed his eyes. She hadn’t truly lied, had she? Perhaps in the most technical sense only. She’d but stretched the truth. Aye, she wanted her father to think the worst, but she never claimed not to be virgin. And arguably, after the time they shared in the crofter’s hut, she truly wasn’t innocent. Why hadn’t he recognized the significance of her choice of words sooner?

  He cursed, looking back at everything through what he now knew. It wasn’t haughty aloofness with which she surrounded herself all day. She’d been quite frankly overwhelmed by everything she’d been through; the confrontation with her father, then with him, discovering his true identity and the charade he’d played, her father’s rejection, her cousin’s knowledge, his fury and insistence they still wed, her fear of the unknown and the natural apprehension of a girl leaving the comfort of her beloved family and home. She’d spent her wedding day abandoned, alone, and scared. He ached for her, for everything she’d gone through.

  He ached for himself, too. For so long he’d yearned for the moment he could finally make her his, both in marriage and in his bed. He’d envisioned passion and laughter and tenderness. But he’d not heard her hot cries of pleasure, nor felt her shudder around him in sweet ecstasy the way he always knew she would.

  Instead, anger and jealousy had turned him into a man he didn’t recognize; a bitter, ruthless violator. Izzy deserved to be gently loved and cherished and instead he’d taken her as though she was a common streetwalker. He ravished his own wife.

  He stared at the bright smear of blood standing out in stark contrast against the pale sheets, proclaiming in vivid color what he’d done, then shut his eyes against the sight.

  Why hadn’t she simply resorted to that most efficient of all female theatrics? Her tears would have stopped him, even in all his fury. A weeping woman was hardly conducive to lovemaking after all. Hell, she’d have been well within her right to cry, given the situation, so why hadn’t she?

  Pride. Of course. Everything else was stripped from her during the course of the day; pride was all she had left. Pride had dictated she fight him, to make him believe the truth before the marriage began. She hadn’t even truly rejected him, she’d only wanted him to listen first and believe her…

  He put a halt to his train of thoughts. It certainly wasn’t Izzy’s fault he did this to her, to them. After what she declared in the Baron’s study, he wasn’t wrong to doubt her, but once he decided to marry her despite everything else, she’d deserved the respect of a new bride.

  Helplessness consumed him. What could he do for her? He wanted to hold her, but he knew she’d reject his touch. Seeking to comfort in some small way, he laid his hand on her shoulder, but she flinched away.

  “Sweetheart, what can I do to help?”

  “You can go to the devil!”

  His heart broke when she answered him in such an Izzy-like way.

  And then she whispered, “I miss Julian” in a voice so low he almost missed it.

  He turned away, trying to gain control over the lump that rose in his throat. When he thought about the awful way their marriage began, he had to fight the urge to sob himself. He now had the greatest of all uphill battles to fight if he wanted this marriage to succeed.

  He would prevail and make this right for her if it was the last thing he ever did.

  Chapter 14

  There was nothing Ram, or Julian, or whatever his name was, could ever do to make things right between them, ever again. It was too late. The tenderness she’d yearned to see from him had come too late.

  Izzy remained on her side facing away from Ram, letting her tears run their course. Her body was sensitive and sore and she was so very tired. The long day had brought nothing but misery and she only wanted it to end.

  This marriage was a match made in hell. She clung to the only thought that lent her any hope at all. There must be a way to undo this dreadful mistake. Surely, Papa would help her when he learned of what Ram did! Papa must help!

  She heard the sounds of Ram moving around the room and knew he’d approached the bed again. He squatted, so he was on eye level with her, and held up a white washcloth. White flag of surrender, or a new form of torture?

  When he reached for her she flinched away. He pulled his hand back.

  “Izzy, you need tending.”

  She read the remorse in his gaze but it had no impact on her raw feelings. Where was his understanding and concern only a few minutes before? She flipped her hair back from her face.

  “I don’t need anything from you.”

  “Perhaps not, but I need to do this for you.” He lowered himself onto the bed beside her and wiped the damp cloth across her face, erasing the stiff trail of dried tears, his touch so gentle and nothing at all like the way he’d handled her all day.

  “Oh, Izzy. How have things come to such a pass with us?”

  She didn’t answer, wouldn’t allow him to sway her by the sincerity in his voice. Instead, she watched warily as the hand holding the washcloth dipped down to her thighs- and she saw the blood.

  S
he pressed her legs closer together. “W-what are you doing?”

  His breath released in a hiss, as though he’d been holding it. “I want to make sure I didn’t hurt you.”

  “You did hurt me.”

  His eyes closed for the a brief moment, then opened them and sought her gaze again. “I know, Sweetheart, and I’m so sorry for that. I was rougher than I would have been had I known,” he blew out a breath. “I was much rougher with you than I ought to have been under any circumstance and I’m sorry. I was wrong, Sweetheart, what I did was wrong. I need to be sure I didn’t…cause you any serious harm. Will you let me do that?”

  His words should have been a balm to soothe her pain, but they weren’t. Compared to the previous times they were together, what he’d done to her in this bed was wretched, practically sacrilegious. It was almost inconceivable that the man she’d spent so many hours with in the little cottage could do what he’d just done. Her bitterness over the entire day overwhelmed her and she wanted only to go home. Except she didn’t truly have a home anymore. Her parents would turn her away should she try to return to them. They’d say she belonged with her husband. This strange new place was the only home she had now.

  She lay on the bed in silence as he washed her thighs with the cloth, dipping between her legs, his touch tender. The cool dampness felt good against her skin. With hard-found will power, she held still for his ministrations.

  “Where are my belongings?” she inquired after a time had gone by and there was only silence between them as he worked.

  “They’ve been put in the adjoining chamber. Is there something you have need of?”

  “I want a night rail.”

  He left her side for a moment, tossing the soiled cloth into a basin on a washstand, and returned with something black. “Will this do?”

  It was a man’s dressing gown, but she nodded, accepting it from his hands. She slipped it around her shoulders, slightly more comfortable to be less exposed. If she were about to fight a battle, she would do it clothed. The sleeves were far too long, falling over her hands, but it served her purpose.

  “You look very fetching in my robe. Better than I ever have, I warrant.” He smiled.

  “My lord, I am very tired.”

  “Rest easy, Izzy. I’ll not make any further demands of you this evening. I promise I’ll not hurt you again.”

  She ignored his vehement vow and eyed him with distrust. “Where will you sleep?”

  He sighed heavily. “Izzy, you are my wife, and this is my bedchamber. ‘Tis only appropriate I slumber here with you.”

  The thought of sleeping beside him had her stomach clenching in anxiety. What if he awoke in the night and wanted to do that thing to her again? She didn’t think she could submit to him a second time. Yet, by the granite set of his face, there would be no convincing him otherwise.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t ever slept at his side before. The thought instantly brought to mind images of the hours she’d spent in the crofter’s cottage with Julian and she choked, wishing so very much that the man she’d known truly existed.

  Ram reached out and took her hand, his eyes smoky with remorse.

  She yanked her hand from his grasp.

  She could sleep beside him until morning, and then she would demand he take her back to her family. She wouldn’t perpetuate this sham of a marriage one more night.

  Slipping under the sheet, she kept as far to the side of her bed as she could, without falling off. She heard Ram as he moved about the room, heard the hiss of each candle extinguished before the room was plunged into darkness. The bed dipped as he settled himself on the other side.

  “Good night, Izzy.”

  She didn’t respond. Instead, she lay in the dark, waiting for morning.

  ***

  When Izzy awoke the next morning in the strange bed, she didn’t remember where she was for a moment. It was very early in the morn and she’d slept fitfully, getting very little rest. As she lay there, the events of the day and the evening before crashed over her with sickening reality. She was married. To Julian. Except he wasn’t Julian. He was a man who despised her as much as she despised him.

  She was reminded just how much as she rolled onto her back and felt the discomfort between her thighs. She forced away the urge to cry as she remembered what he’d done to her, how much it had hurt. Her body now protested every motion and would make her movements today cumbersome and slow. She concentrated on putting the throbbing ache out of her mind. There were important things to be done this day.

  Glancing quickly toward Ram’s side of the bed, she found him awake and watching her.

  “Good morning, wife.” His smile was soft. She couldn’t bring herself to respond in kind, but he continued as if she had. “I never had an opportunity to give you your wedding gift.” He leaned toward the bedside table, then produced a long, blue velvet box. Opening the lid, he displayed a magnificent diamond and sapphire necklace and a matching pair of dangling earrings, truly a small fortune in jewels. “I bought this for you last week, in London.”

  “I don’t want your gift, my lord. You can’t buy my forgiveness with trinkets.”

  “I’m not trying to buy your forgiveness, sweetheart. ‘Tis my wedding gift to you.”

  She met his gaze directly. “Did you have any intention of giving me a gift when you brought me home last night? Or was I to receive it only if I earned it by pleasing you well enough? Tell me, Ramsay, if I’d fought you as I did but wasn’t virgin, would you have withheld your gift?”

  His smile disappeared. “Izzy,” he reached for her hand, but she snatched it away, tucking it beneath the coverlet. He sighed. “Izzy, we must find a way to get past all this. Can we try to begin anew?”

  Her mouth fell open in surprise. Did he truly believe it could be so simple after what he did? “My lord, I don’t want to start anew.” She rushed on before he could stop her. “I thought about this late into the night. I think we should seek an annulment.”

  His sharp bark of laughter took her aback, and his face went from laughing to sober in an instant. “You’re not jesting, are you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Izzy, there will be no annulment. Our marriage was consummated. As unfortunate as that experience was, this marriage is legal in all ways.”

  “No one needs know that!” Panic set in, for last night she’d convinced herself he would go agree with her on this. “We have no business being married. You despise me and I abhor what you’ve done. ’Tis sheer folly to continue this sham of a marriage.”

  He sat up in the bed, turning to face her. “There will be no annulment!”

  “But I don’t want to be married to you! This has all been a dreadful mistake.”

  His eyes flashed. “I’m afraid it’s not up to you, Sweetheart. We are properly married in the eyes of the church and the crown, nothing will change that.”

  She fought the urge to weep.

  “Izzy, I know we got off to a terrible beginning, but I’ll make it up to you, I swear I will.” His voice gentled. “You felt tenderness for me ere we came face to face yesterday. Surely you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  “I don’t want to forgive you. I don’t want to be married to you!”

  His jaw clenched, his lips thinned and hardened. “You must find some way to reconcile yourself to this marriage, Isabelle. We are married and we will remain that way.”

  He flung himself from the bed. She averted her gaze from his nudity, utterly miserable at the entire turn of events.

  “We have a wedding supper to attend at your parent’s home, for family only. I suggest you ready yourself. Your things are in the chamber through that door.” He pointed across the room, but she didn’t look.

  He stormed out of the bedchamber without awaiting a response.

  A pair of hours later, Izzy stood at Ram’s side at the door to her parent’s house. How strange she could no longer open the door and barge right inside. This was no longer he
r home.

  She felt awful; she was sluggish and tired, her body sore and aching. When she’d caught sight of her image in a silver mirror, her paleness had shocked her. Pride had forced her to pinch her cheeks to bring some color to her face.

  Her mother met them in the foyer, putting her arms around Izzy in welcome. She stood stiffly in her mother’s embrace, for if she allowed herself any softness, surely she would break down.

  “Come. Heath arrived just this morn. He’s anxious to see you and meet your new husband.” She smiled at Ram and hugged him warmly.

  Traitor.

  The thought of seeing her middle brother brought some light to Izzy’s dismal day. More than a year had passed since he’d last come home and he was always the brother with whom she was closest.

  Heath stood as she entered the sitting room, opening his arms to her, and she flew across the room, letting him enfold her in his strong embrace. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

  “Is it true, my baby sister is a married woman now? I can scarce believe it. Yet you’re still no bigger than a sparrow.”

  She couldn’t believe it either. Still, she smiled at his familiar teasing. He forever made fun of her lack of height. “You look well, Heath.” Tilting her head, she studied him with sisterly curiosity. In fact, he looked more than well. He’d fought his first battle for the royalist cause at the age of fourteen, and it had been his life’s work ever since. Since those early days, he’d always carried himself with an air of grim determination. Now he looked relaxed, his eyes fairly sparkling with humor and warmth.

  “The Netherlands appear to agree with you.”

  “Aye, they do. As does one particular Dutch woman.”

  Izzy forgot her own woes as true happiness for her brother engulfed her. “Oh, Heath! How wonderful. Will you bring home a wife soon?”

  He winked. “She’s not the sort of woman a man marries, Izzy. But since marriage would be insane for a man in my line of work, I’m very content with the way things are. As is she.”

  Izzy mentally snorted. She highly doubted it. Irritation with her brother flared. If his lady wasn’t the sort of woman a man like Heath would marry, it could only be that she was worldly and experienced. Good enough to be his mistress, but no more. The double standard between men and women had never before been so apparent, nor as appalling. Disappointment at Heath for belonging to the brotherhood of man that perpetuated such a double standard replaced the fleeting happiness she’d felt. It was illogical to hold her brother partly to blame for the ordeal she’d suffered the day before, but how different would her wedding night have been if men accepted in women the same behavior they themselves engaged regularly in?