Chapter Ten #2
She stared at him, as if a little shocked and he felt instantly remorseful, because of course he hadn’t meant it literally. “But there, I won’t press you. If you have taken me in dislike. . .”
“No, it’s not that at all,” she said quickly. Her blush rose again. “You have been everything that is kind. If I . . . if I had never married before, I would . . .” She broke off, shaking her head.
“Were your marriages so distasteful?” he asked gently.
She sighed. “Yes. . . no. It’s not as if my husbands—either of them—were especially cruel or treated me harshly. It’s just. . .”
Marcus waited. There were more kinds of cruelty than physical violence. Caging a wild little bird, for instance.
She stared at him a moment, then took a deep breath and said in a low voice, “I am not fit to be a wife. To anyone, let alone a man like you.”
“A man like me? What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all. I’m the one who’s all wrong—me!”
Marcus waited. She was pale, and her fingers were knotted, her knuckles white with tension.
The conversation was obviously distressing her.
A gentleman would not press her further.
A gentleman would accept her refusal and change the subject.
But Marcus wasn’t going to be a gentleman, not this time, when so much was at stake.
“In what way do you think you’re ‘all wrong’?” he asked gently.
She sighed again. “I was never a good wife. Oh, I was obedient enough, and faithful and did everything that was required of me, though it was very hard for me at first. Well, you know how I was raised as a child. I was half wild and I had no idea how to be a wife. Holgrave, my first husband, had to work very hard to train me.”
Train her? he thought savagely. Like a dog? She’d been fifteen, still a child. And her so-called ‘wildness’ had been charming.
“But even though I did what they told me, l—I was not happy being a wife, not with either husband.” She met his gaze, sending him an anguished silent message. Was she talking about the marriage bed?
Looking down, pleating the fabric of her skirt in restless fingers, she said, “I could never be a good society wife—I hate all that. I don’t like entertaining and, and people looking at me, and I know as an earl you would need to hold grand events and important dinners.
But I dislike balls and parties, and I am hopeless at polite conversation, and I—”
He cut her off. “I feel the same. I dislike most society events and attend them only out of duty. I would never ask you to play the grand hostess. Having a few close friends around for dinner, yes, but not if you didn’t like it.”
She shook her head. “That’s not all. You—you don’t understand.”
That was true. He waited.
She smoothed the crumpled fabric of her skirt and added in a low, desperate voice, “There is something broken inside me.”
Broken? Her spirit, maybe—her family and those husbands had obviously knocked the confidence out of her, but Marcus was sure that deep inside her, beneath the careful, smoothly correct facade, some remnant of that wild, joyous little girl still existed. He’d glimpsed it on their rides.
“I don’t believe it,” he said gently.
She shook her head emphatically. “It’s true.
” She rose and took a few agitated steps around the room, then turned and said in a burst, “I am barren, a barren wife twice over. And a man in your position needs children, needs an heir.” Her eyes burned, her fists were clenched at her sides in white-knuckled knots.
Ah, so that was it. That explained her anguish, and her shame. As if the ability to bear children was her only value. He made a dismissive gesture. “I don’t need to marry to get an heir. I have two brothers who are my heirs, both married and their wives are breeding.”
Her forehead puckered. “Don’t you want children?”
“Of course, children would be welcome, but if they don’t come, I would accept it. I would never blame you.” He paused to let that sink in, then added, “But how do you know you are barren?”
“Two husbands and I never quickened.”
“Two husbands, both of whom were very old.”
Again she shook her head in denial. “Hewitt had a friend who was only a year younger than him, and his young wife presented him with a healthy son. Hewitt was desperate to do the same and he tried and tried, but every month. . .” She swallowed. “I was a grave disappointment to him.”
“Then he was a fool. Marry me and I’ll give you a child—” He broke off.
“I’m sorry, that was unforgivably arrogant of me.
What I should have said is, marry me and we’ll leave the question of children in the hands of God, where it belongs.
I won’t mind either way. I don’t want a brood mare, I want a wife, a companion, a friend.
” And a lover he added silently to himself.
He didn’t want to alarm her. If she hadn’t enjoyed the marriage bed. . .
She said heavily, “I fear I’ll disappoint you there, too.”
“We were friends as children, weren’t we? And you enjoy my company when we go riding, don’t you? It needn’t be any more than that.”
She sank down on the settee and eyed him solemnly. “Do you really mean that? Do you not want me in your bed?”
He considered that. “I do desire you, but I promise I will never force you. I will respect your wishes.” If celibacy was the price he had to pay to have her in his life, he would pay it.
But he hoped he wouldn’t have to.
She was silent for a long time, thoughts and worries flickering across her face.
Marcus waited. She rose again and made several more agitated circuits around the room, then stopped abruptly and faced him.
“Do you truly mean it, Marcus, that my company would be enough for you? Just my company? You’re not asking for any more? ”
“I truly mean it. My word of honor on it.” It was the first time she’d called him Marcus since she was a child. He took it as a hopeful sign.
Her eyes were troubled, and she said in lowered voice, “You’re not hoping this will be a love match, are you? Because I can’t promise that. I don’t know if I can love anyone anymore.”
“I’ve never wanted a love match.” He saw the doubt in her eyes and said firmly, “It’s true.
Ask my aunt. She will confirm it. I haven’t a romantic bone in my body.
No, our marriage will be a practical solution for both of us: you will have a home and security for the rest of your life, and I will have a friend and a congenial companion for the rest of mine. ”
“And you’ll marry me even knowing I’ve never quickened with child? And probably never will.”
“Yes, it doesn’t make the slightest difference to me.”
She took a deep breath. Marcus held his breath and waited.
#
TESSA PACED ANOTHER few circuits of the room.
What to tell him? Yea or nay? She really, really didn’t want to get married again but equally, she couldn’t bring herself to leave Marcus to face the scandal on his own.
Lady Gosforth was right. He was a deeply honorable man, and he would loathe being spoken about in the kind of nasty, gleeful, faux-concerned, acid-saccharine manner she’d experienced herself in the past.
She was used to it: he wasn’t. And he absolutely didn’t deserve it. All he’d ever done was try to protect her.
Which was why he was offering marriage now—to protect her. But she knew how vicious gossip could get, and she just couldn’t leave him to face that alone, not when he’d saved her from Edgar’s dreadful plot.
Edgar—where was he, she wondered briefly. It was a relief not to have to deal with him. But it wasn’t like him to simply let her go.
She pushed the thought aside. She had a decision to make. He was watching her calmly, his eyes steady.
Did she trust him? She did, unreservedly.
Did she love him? She’d been more than halfway in love with him as a child. And now . . . But he didn’t want love, she reminded herself. Just companionship and friendship. A practical marriage.
He was kind, and he listened. And he hadn’t tried to make her be someone she wasn’t.
He’d even said he wouldn’t blame her for her barrenness.
That was a relief. Hewitt had been furious with her, berating her every month, when it was clear that she hadn’t conceived.
As if she’d tried not to, when the truth was she’d yearned for a child.
Ached for someone to love, who would love her in return.
She’d been so desperately lonely in her marriages.
He’d promised he wouldn’t force her to the marriage bed. She trusted his promises. She’d never enjoyed the marriage bed but . . . she would try. Men wanted it, she knew, and it would be unfair of her to accept so much from him without giving him anything in return.
She would have a home. Security. And a man who respected her. It was more than she’d ever had —or ever dreamed of.
She owed it to him for all he’d done for her.
She turned to face him. “Very well, I—” She broke off and moistened her lips, then said in a rush, “If you are of the same opinion in a week’s time, I will marry you.”
He frowned. “Why wait? If you have reservations, share them with me now.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “My reservations? It’s you I’m thinking of—your reservations.”
“I have no reservations,” he said firmly. “And I will not change my mind. And may I remind you that we need to quash those damaging rumors as soon as possible.”
She bit her lip. “Oh. Yes.” His reputation as an honorable man was at stake. How could it have slipped her mind? The turmoil of being asked to marry him, she supposed. And having to confess her infertility.
“Marriage is the very best solution for both of us,” he said, his voice resolute. “In fact, it’s the only solution. The gossip will only get worse. So what do you say?”
Tessa’s throat was dry. Her palms were damp. She surreptitiously wiped them on her skirt, swallowed again, then cleared her throat and said in a voice that was slightly hoarse, “Then if you’re sure, I will marry you whenever you want.”