Those words were unwise because, of course, they brought what she had been thinking about clearly to mind and she blushed hotly. Robert was distressed. For the first time a horrible notion leapt into his head. Had he forced Merry? He remembered now that she had cried for help several times. Had she been screaming? It had sounded soft to him, ecstatic, but he had been so drunk! He stood staring at her, appalled.
Frightened by his expression, Merry took a step forward. “What is it?” she cried. “Robert, what’s wrong?”
“D-did I…? Merry…did I force you?”
Of all the questions he could have asked, that was the most unwelcome, the most embarrassing, but Esmeralda knew she must answer. Yet if she said no, she was a whore, and if she said yes, Robert would never come near her again. Clearly stated in her mind, Esmeralda knew at once which was the more dreadful to her and cast her reputation to the wind without a second thought.
“No,” she said firmly, and then, trying to salvage something, she added, “you are my husband, Robert. You have been so kind, have done so much for me. How could I refuse?”
“That’s…” He tried to smile. “Well, I certainly am your husband now. Annulment’s out. Right?” The last words were uncertain.
For a bare instant Esmeralda hesitated again. Then she said, “Yes, I agree.”
She had tricked and manipulated her father for years without a single qualm of conscience, but to do it to Robert, who was himself so transparently honest, was horrible. With a few words, she could free him from a burden that he did not seem to welcome. But Esmeralda knew that those few words would be final. Robert would never think of making love to her again if he believed annulment was still possible, and that would cause so great a strain in their relationship as to make any continuance of it impossible. Not yet, she thought as she spoke. I can always offer him his freedom. I must try to make a complete marriage work first.
Although Robert was far from the most perceptive of men where women were concerned, his sensitivity with regard to Esmeralda had been greatly heightened because of his desire for her and his guilt about having possibly mistreated her. The slight hesitation before she answered, which he would not have noticed under other circumstances, was markedly apparent to him in this case. He felt an odd sinking in his midsection, thinking that, even if he had not forced her physically, she had had little choice, then or now. He would make it up to her, he vowed to himself. He would make her happy.
His troubled expression wrung Esmeralda’s heart. She put out her hand to him, saying, “Robert…”
He took the hand and drew on it, very gently, very tentatively, as if he were afraid she would resist coming closer, or as if he hoped she would resist. Esmeralda pushed that second thought out of her mind and yielded to the hint of a pull, smiling up at him.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Robert said, his voice as soft and as uncertain as his grip.
“Is that what’s worrying you?” she asked hopefully. “Because if it is, I wish you would forget about it. You must have noticed that I survived.”
Her cheeks were pink again, but Robert saw with intense relief that her eyes were amused. “Well,” he began with renewed confidence, “it’s been on my mind, you see, because I…er…” The confidence trickled away as Robert sought for what he considered proper words for what he wished to say.
“Yes?” Esmeralda asked encouragingly.
“I…ah…I hope I have not…er…given you a…a distaste…a permanent distaste…”
“Oh dear,” Esmeralda said, and then feeling Robert stiffen slightly, and his grip on her hand, which had tightened, loosen again, she said quickly, “No. Oh, Robert, I don’t know how to answer you, not because I don’t know what I wish to say but because I don’t know the way to say it. My mama died before I was old enough to have the proper mode of response explained to me.”
“The proper mode of response,” Robert repeated in a much more natural voice. “What the devil does that mean?”
“I am not very sure,” Esmeralda replied doubtfully. “Are there not correct ways, I mean ladylike ways, of responding? I obtained a book of manners to learn the correct modes for entertaining when I was in India, and it had pages and pages of proper responses, even one for marriage, but not for…oh dear, I…I would not wish to seem coarse or…or to shock you.”
Robert burst out laughing. If Merry didn’t wish to shock him, she could not intend to refuse him. He had no experience at all with “ladies”, but, from what he had heard from other men and the plays he had seen, he knew that refusal was always proper and modest. Only acceptance could be shocking.
“Well, I can’t tell you the proper mode.” He chuckled. “My mama never explained it to me, either.” He hesitated, and then went on, much more seriously, “And to tell the truth I don’t care what mode you use so long as…so long as you say yes…I mean, so long as you say you are willing to be my wife.”
He seemed so earnest and sincere that Esmeralda’s heart leapt with joy. “Yes, indeed, I am willing,” she replied eagerly. Then she giggled. “And it is most fortunate that we have come to this agreement just now, because we have only been assigned a single bedchamber. It would have been very awkward… I did not know how to explain to M’Guire so…so…”
Robert pulled her closer. “It may not be exactly correct, but I like your mode very much,” he murmured, and kissed her.
For a very little while Esmeralda remained passive, but she found the embrace so much to her taste that she soon attempted to wrap her arms around Robert. She had forgotten that she was holding a basting spoon, which rapped him smartly on the ear as she brought her arms up. He lifted his head in surprise.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with fright because Robert might have thought the blow deliberate.
“Now that,” he said, chuckling, “I can say outright, was not the proper mode.”
Esmeralda’s expression changed from fright to laughter. “I am not so sure,” she remarked merrily. “It seems appropriate, now that I think about it. If a gentleman assaults a maid in the kitchen, a rap with a spoon—”
Robert interrupted her by seizing her and kissing her again. This time she dropped the spoon, and it fell to the stone floor with a loud clatter. He released her, uttered an exaggerated sigh, and took a step backward.
“I take your point. Not in the kitchen.” Then he looked around with surprise. “What are you doing here anyway? Where’s Molly?”
“I sent her away.” Esmeralda’s color rose at this confession, and she continued quickly, “I…we had to talk privately, and the only place to be private would have been the bedchamber if Molly was in the kitchen.”
“You are afraid of me,” Robert said with a worried frown.
“Yes, but not of what you think,” Esmeralda put in hastily. “Robert, we have been joking about the proper mode, and in a way it is funny, of course. Perhaps people should be able to express freely what they feel, but…but a free expression in some cases might give…give a wrong impression. I am afraid, but of seeming too bold, or—”
“Too bold?” Robert took her up on that at once. “Never mind what other people might think. I am as ignorant as you are of proper maidenly behavior. I want to know—I have to know—did you hate what I did or did you enjoy it?”
But Esmeralda could not bring herself to answer his question directly. Instead she stepped closer, put her arms around his neck, and lifted her face to be kissed, murmuring, “I also thought that Molly would like to be with M’Guire.”
Robert understood what she meant and accepted her gesture with pleasure, even though she had not answered in words. The embrace lasted some considerable time, as he explored not only her mouth but her ears and neck with his lips. He received enough encouragement that no doubts of Esmeralda’s pleasure were raised in his mind, for she kissed whatever part of him was available when he was not occupying her lips with his own. He was just insinuating his hand under her chin so that he could unbutton the fro
nt of her riding dress when voices sounded outside. They jumped apart, both flushed with embarrassment.
“Damn it,” Robert growled softly, reaching out for Esmeralda again, “why shouldn’t I kiss my wife?”
“Oh, you should,” Esmeralda murmured, nonetheless evading him as she heard booted feet in the corridor and then mounting the stairs, “but not while dinner burns.” She giggled softly. “I am sure that would cause comment. You never did so before.”
“The more fool I,” Robert said, but he laughed.
“We could eat upstairs,” Esmeralda suggested. “There is a table. It is small—”
“We will manage very well,” Robert agreed quickly. “If we remain here, we will have half the camp tramping in and out.” He paused and sniffed appreciatively. He had eaten nothing all day, of course, and now that his stomach was settled, the savory odor had wakened a sharp appetite. “And you will invite them all to dinner because you are much too charitable. Don’t. I intend to eat it all myself.”
Esmeralda stooped to pick up the fallen spoon, and Robert ran a hand over her buttocks. She jerked upright with a gasp.
“Yes, indeed,” Robert went on, “I am very hungry.”
“Well, if you do that again, you won’t get any dinner,” Esmeralda said severely. “I will end up putting sugar over the chicken and salt in the tea.”
“It was an irresistible temptation.” Robert looked innocent as an angel, but his eyes glittered. “And anyway, I don’t take sugar in my tea.”
“You don’t take it on chicken, either,” Esmeralda retorted, and brandished her spoon at him. “Sit down. I am afraid to turn my back on you, and I must baste the chicken or, hungry as you are, you will not be able to eat it. Neither will I, and I am just as hungry as you are.”
The words were innocent enough. The blush that accompanied the last few made them into a suggestive promise. Naturally, instead of sitting down, Robert took a step forward, but Esmeralda slid sideways toward the sink.
“If you feel so energetic,” she said quickly, tipping what remained in the water bucket into a washing pan, “you can pump up some water for me.”
Robert laughed. “That was not the activity I had in mind,” he protested.
“I know,” she admitted, laughing too, “but it will do you good.”
A door slammed on the floor above, and the floorboards of the upper corridor creaked. The footsteps came down the stairs.
“Cold water is said to have a beneficial effect,” Robert remarked, sighing.
He laughed again at Esmeralda’s puzzled expression, grasped the handle of the water bucket, and went out the back door. Although Robert claimed ignorance, he was not being completely truthful. He did, in fact, know the convention that required “good” women to find lovemaking a trial rather than a pleasure. He had heard it used as an excuse by husbands who frequented houses of pleasure, and it had struck him as a most peculiar and unpleasant idea. Now he was certain that it was also wrong.
Everything Merry said and did marked her innocence. As he moved the pump handle, Robert began to laugh again at the idea of finding the proper mode of response to lovemaking in a book of etiquette. Perhaps it was cruel, because it was apparent that Merry had loved her mother but with a husband like Henry Talbot it was probably Robert’s good fortune that Mrs. Talbot had died before she could pass along to her daughter her notions about the correct behavior of a wife to a husband. As it was, Robert believed he could teach Merry to act in any way that pleased him best. He began to pump with more vigor as he contemplated that delicious prospect and was so absorbed that the bucket overflowed and flooded his boots before he realized what he was doing.
When the cold water seeped through the seams and wet his feet, Robert jumped back with an oath, but then stood still, frowning. Cold water did have a beneficial effect, he decided somewhat grimly. It was all very well to revel in Merry’s innocence, but it could easily get her into trouble. He had been a fool to fondle her as he had in a relatively public place. That sort of thing wasn’t done, and he must not give her the impression that he wanted her to violate convention. She was so mischievous that his bad example might make her push a joke too far.
Until now Merry’s natural modesty had protected her from behavior that would be censurable by the toffee-noses home in England. But he now realized that he must be careful not to lead her astray. Merry was very conformable to her company. She had been totally ignorant of military matters when they met. Now she was as interested and probably more knowledgeable than any army-mad subaltern. And she was right, too, about his never having behaved affectionately before. Nonetheless, any change in his manner toward her would raise comment, which was best avoided. Bedroom manners had best be kept in the bedroom.
Besides, Robert thought suddenly, he couldn’t jump Merry for a quick tumble before dinner as if she were fully accustomed, as many troopers’ wives were, to snatching at any brief opportunity for lovemaking or as if she were a camp follower. He would have to be very careful this time. She said she was not frightened, and she had kissed him willingly, however, if he hurt her again, she might become less willing. That was a worrisome notion, but it was soon overlaid by a contemplation of the many pleasant ways of making Merry not only willing but eager. A minute later Robert jerked his mind back to reality. If he went on thinking along those lines, he told himself, he would have to find a way to work off his energy that was more effective than pumping water. Maybe he ought to sit in the bucket.
The idea made Robert laugh and considering how he would explain his wet breeches in addition to his wet feet was amusing enough to permit him to pick up the water bucket and enter the kitchen in a less indecent condition than that of a few minutes earlier. As he lifted the bucket to the counter, however, the bottom just caught on the edge. Had the bucket not been overfull to begin with, this would not have done any harm, but Robert had not been thinking of water or buckets and had not poured away the top two inches of liquid as he should have. A gush of cold water spilled out over him. Merry uttered a little cry of warning, but it was too late. Robert jerked, tilting the bucket even farther, and half the contents cascaded down his thighs.
Esmeralda clapped both hands to her mouth in an agonized mingling of an urgent desire to laugh and real fear that Robert would be very angry. After all, she had sent him for the water. However, to her surprise, he burst into roars of laughter himself, nearly spilling what remained in the bucket. Esmeralda seized it before this could happen and pushed it back to a safe spot on the counter.
“I am so very sorry,” she cried. “I should have known you were not accustomed to fetching water.”
But Robert only gurgled something about the beneficial effects of cold water and, still laughing, staggered up the stairs to find their room and change his clothing. He did not come down again, which made Esmeralda rather nervous. She had visions of entering the room and finding Robert naked in the bed. This was exciting and repellent at the same time. She would have to put the dinner aside and take off her clothes with him watching. She was still dusty and sweaty, too, from the long ride and the heat of the kitchen. She had been too busy to wash and had not expected Robert so early.
However, Esmeralda’s fears were unfounded. She found Robert wearing a shirt, pantaloons, and slippers. He was sitting quietly at the table, staring out the window, so deep in thought that he did not hear the click of the latch, and Esmeralda caught a glimpse of an expression of deep concern on his face. Instinctively she said, “Robert—” and he jumped to his feet and came toward her.
“Good God, Merry, why did you carry that heavy tray up the stairs?” he exclaimed, taking it from her.
“Shall I be cruel and say I lacked faith after the water incident?” she replied lightly.
Robert smiled as he set the tray safely on the table, but his look of concern returned as Esmeralda detoured around his boots, which he had set to dry in a patch of sunlight in the middle of the floor. “Merry,” he said, “I have been thinking of w
hat to write to my parents and of how…how peculiar all this will sound in a letter. I do not like to lie to them—”
“No, don’t,” Esmeralda interrupted. “They would never forgive me if they discovered I was the cause of such unfilial and dishonest behavior.” She sat down in the chair opposite Robert’s and stared at him. “I don’t know what to say, Robert. I would not for the world be a cause of discord between you and your parents. I did not love Papa, but I would have done anything for my mother. I do understand how dear parents can be.”
“It’s nothing to do with you, Merry. My parents won’t have any objections to you. Can’t see why they should. You’re a lady, and you’ve got something as a dowry—not that they’d be likely to worry too much about that anyway.”
Esmeralda opened her mouth to tell him that she had a good deal more than something as a dowry, but the words would not come. For one thing, keeping the amount of her fortune secret had become second nature. For another, she wanted very much to have Robert accept her for herself rather than because she was exceedingly rich.
Absorbed in his problem, Robert did not notice and went on. “No, it’s nothing to do with you, it’s just that I never wrote them about it when we were married. I guess I thought it would worry them, and I didn’t want to give m’ mother any ideas. And I’ve never mentioned you in any letter I wrote—well, there were only two—since then. It’s not only that they might be hurt if I write now and say we’ve been married since the twenty-eighth. I guess I can explain that, but how the devil am I going to explain why I’m telling them now? I mean, I could explain it to Fa if I could talk to him, but in a letter? And if m’ father’s not home, m’ mother would open any letter from me.”
“Oh, no!” Esmeralda cried, “Please do not. What will they think of me!”
“Think of you! Fa’ll want to take a horsewhip to me for getting so drunk I’d treat a decent girl like a whore.”
“Perhaps,” Esmeralda whispered, “but more likely they would think I…I did not behave as I should.” It was the truth, of course. Robert had been very drunk, but if she had not encouraged him, she believed he would not have persisted.
Fortune's Bride (Heiress, Book Four) Page 24