Chapter Five #3
“Buying people off,” as her father called it, often did not involve the direct payment of money. He got what he wanted by providing much desired goods or services to the other parties. Certainly she would not deny she wanted Kieran to make her fall to pieces again.
But she also recalled the contempt with which Papa regarded those who gave into him easily. Much as he hated being balked, he respected those who stood up to him far more than those who didn’t.
“I’m still feeling a little pain from before.” While technically she still felt slight tenderness, her excuse sounded flimsy even in her own ears. She bit her lip. If he insisted on exercising his rights as a husband, she could do nothing about it.
His sigh sounded loudly through the dark. “I understand your fears, but I assure you that the pain will be less than before.”
“You told me that I would not have to do anything in bed that made me uncomfortable, and I fear it would this evening.”
He growled in his throat. “Something I am beginning to regret. Diantha, I thought you trusted me.”
“I do.” In bed, anyway. Just now she wanted to be left alone. “But I still wish to wait until I am more recovered.”
“Very well.” He bit the words out and closed her door a great deal more loudly than he had opened it.
The next day he spent a lot of time conversing with the senhora. When Diantha demanded an explanation, he retorted that he only inquired after her headache.
She decided her health should take a corresponding downturn.
By the time they disembarked at Le Havre, she had barred him from her bed for the remainder of their voyage.
The train ride to Paris, in a private car arranged for by Quinn Shipping Line’s French office, took place in an atmosphere of frigid civility.
Even the knowledge that the Henriques had remained on board to travel to Lisbon failed to cheer her up.
They stayed in a town house in a fashionable street of the eighth arrondisement. After the dark-panelled suite aboard the Columbia, Diantha settled into the airy rooms with pleasure.
Her elation crumbled when she discovered that Kieran had already gone out for the evening. Finding that she could not face the dining room alone, she ordered a tray in her boudoir.
She tried reading after she finished the solitary meal, but rejected the French fashion periodicals after discovering several articles about her own trousseau in them.
Even Monsieur Jules Verne’s latest work, found after she wandered down to the library, failed to keep her interest. After the first chapter, she glanced at the gilded Louis Quinze clock on the library’s immense marble mantelpiece.
Not even midnight. She sighed, shelved the book, and returned to her room.
Florette appeared several moments after she rang for her, chattering happily about returning to her native land.
Diantha let the words flow past her as she prepared for bed.
Her mood sank further when the maid revealed that his lordship told his valet not to wait up for him.
She also hinted that Diantha should consider admitting him to her bed.
Diantha set her jaw and dismissed the older woman.
* * *
Hours later, Kieran cracked the door of her bedroom.
He absently pulled off his gloves as he peered inside, aware of a pang of disappointment.
Delightful as it had been to look in on his acquaintances at the Grand Café, he intended his absence to teach his wife a lesson. This jealous fit of hers had to end.
He had chosen not to pick a quarrel with her under the curious eyes of their fellow passengers during their voyage.
In the privacy of a town house, however, he planned to put his foot down.
Much as her response to his lovemaking fascinated him, a man did not allow his wife to dictate those he did or did not speak to.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkened room, he could make out the pale blur of her face and the hand flung palm up on the pillow.
Drawn by the memory of her soft skin, he entered the room.
A fold of his cloak caught the edge of a small table, and knocked a figurine onto the carpeted floor. The thump awakened Diantha.
“Who’s there?” She started awake, staring wildly in his direction. He realized she could not see his face.
“It’s only me.” He approached slowly. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
She fumbled around the surface of her bedside table. The rasp of a match sounded, followed by a small flame that resolved into a larger one as she lit a candle. “What are you doing in here?”
He frowned, taken aback by her hostile question. “I’m your husband, Diantha. I belong here.”
“That is a matter of opinion.” She stifled a yawn and sat up a little straighter. “I have had a long day and I wish to sleep, sir.” The sheets fell to her waist.
Kieran swallowed. Her lawn nightgown covered her to the chin, but the rosy tips of her breasts remained visible through the thin material. “I have had a long week of your missish behavior, madam. Most husbands would not show such patience to a wife who banned them from her bed.”
“Most husbands would not have spent their honeymoons flirting with another woman under their wife’s nose.” For someone who had just woken up, she struck him as remarkably quarrelsome.
“You have got to stop carrying on like a jealous shrew every time I engage in a little harmless flirtation!” He crossed his arms. “For heaven’s sake, I only talked to her.”
“Where everyone on the ship could see you!” Her eyes flashed in the candlelight. “And for your information, I was not remotely jealous. The embarrassment was bad enough.”
“I am not the one who caused a scene in the middle of the saloon.” He slapped his gloves against his thigh. “May I remind you that you are now expected to act like a lady, not a vulgar merchant’s daughter?”
“For your information, the two are not mutually exclusive. Although I would probably find better manners in a tugboat captain.” Shooting him a single glare, she blew out the candle. “Good night, your high and mighty lordship!”
The sheets rustled as she rolled herself up in them. As his eyes readjusted, Kieran saw her curled up in a ball, her braid trailing down her back outside the bedclothes. Its heavy length tempted his fingers to stroke it.
He brought himself up short. If he caressed her, it might lead her to think she was getting the better of him.
“Good night.” On those curt words, he stalked out of the room.