Chapter Twelve
Emily retired early, unable to bear the tension of the situation any longer.
Neither of them had any heart for investigating the inscription, which was a painful end to what had been such a promising day.
Her thoughts were in such a whirl between Deo’s words and Bidenden’s interpretation of them.
Could Deo truly be a man who preferred men to women?
Everything in her rebelled at this notion, but the sliver of doubt ate at her.
As she washed, slipped on her nightgown, and climbed into bed with her book and Kester, she determined to talk to him and perhaps put things to the test. If I can get him to kiss me again, perhaps things will become clearer.
*
Deo came up to bed late in the cowardly hope that Emily would be asleep.
They had barely conversed all afternoon beyond the necessary, which was heartbreaking when he—and she, he was sure—had been so looking forward to beginning the investigation of the inscription.
But with everything so strained between them, that was out of the question.
At dinner she had ignored him completely and conversed with surprising animation with Lord Kenrick, which had him clutching his knife and fork so hard he was surprised he hadn’t bent them.
Kenrick was known for his charm and winning ways with females, and he contrived to keep Emily so well entertained she even laughed at several points in the conversation.
Bidenden, who was seated on the opposite side of the table and down two from Emily, watched her with covetous eyes, which provoked Deo to glower at him.
He wanted to gnash his teeth and growl at the man.
Back off—she’s mine! He didn’t, of course; he wasn’t a dog.
But he felt like one. The worst cur imaginable.
He was so discomforted, he drank more wine at dinner than he probably should have, and was conscious, as he made his way upstairs, that he was mildly tipsy, a state he didn’t often find himself in.
For one thing, because of his size, it took a fair bit of alcohol to affect him.
And for another, he was of a generally abstemious habit, not given to excessive drinking.
He didn’t like the loss of control it brought with it.
He checked his progress at the bedroom door, for Emily was not asleep as he’d hoped.
She was sitting up in bed with a book, and her hair was loose round her shoulders.
The collar of her nightgown was open, showing an expanse of neck and bosom.
Not that it was more than showed when she wore a gown; it was more the context that made it alluring.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, putting the book aside.
“Oh,” he said, and then cravenly, “I’ll just go and wash.
” He dove into the dressing room and stripped and washed.
Stevens had laid out his dressing gown for him, and he slipped that on.
Should he redon his breeches? He wasn’t going to walk out there naked for Emily to gawk at him.
He debated, reaching for his breeches, but they were uncomfortably hot to sleep in.
He reached for a shirt instead and, removing the robe, put the shirt on and then the robe over top.
Girding his loins mentally, he returned to the bedroom.
Emily had picked up her book again, and even he, who was remarkably insensitive to emotions from others, could feel her latent anger.
Emily had never demonstrated anger toward him before.
He found the idea oddly thrilling. He approached the bed and got into his side of it, but he didn’t remove the robe.
That would be tantamount to removing his armor.
He didn’t feel strong enough for that. Even the shirt which reached to mid-thigh wasn’t sufficient on its own to stop him feeling more than half naked in front of her.
She put her book aside. Kester, who had come up with her and settled on the bed, lifted his head to acknowledge him and settled back down across Emily’s feet.
It occurred to him that if it came to a choice, Kester would side with her, and he wasn’t sure that he blamed him.
Before she could say anything, he blurted, “I’m sorry.
I behaved abominably earlier. I know I upset you, and I apologize. ”
Emily, who had opened her mouth, closed it and swallowed. Clearly, she hadn’t expected him to say that. Visibly regrouping, she said, “Thank you.” She seemed at a loss for a moment, and then she reached out and touched his hand resting on the coverlet. “Deo, can you explain, please?”
“Explain what?” he said helplessly. He was so wretchedly bad at this.
“Why you’re acting this way.”
“I need more context. Which way, exactly?” he asked, taking refuge in pedanticism.
“You said that you don’t feel as others do. What did you mean?”
He slumped back against the pillows and let out a sigh.
He never talked about this sort of thing.
Dash it, I don’t even think about it. Or I try not to anyway.
He was so used to being different to everyone else, he took it for granted.
He had tried to warn her, but clearly his warning had fallen on deaf ears.
But he had wanted a wife, and this was the price he had to pay for it.
How to explain?
“My parents, my father in particular, was a—very cold man. My mother was much the same. My father believed emotions denoted weakness.” He swallowed.
Just talking about it made him feel sick.
But Em deserves to know. She said it is her duty as my wife to understand me, as I should strive to understand her.
She is so sweet and . . . perfect. How could I know the advertisement was going to bring me the perfect woman? I don’t know how to manage—
“Deo?” she prompted, squeezing his hand and recalling his wandering thoughts. Jerked back to the present, he cleared his suddenly clogged throat and sought for the right words.
“I don’t think either of them knew what to do with me. I have no siblings.” He paused, breathing deeply. Who knew this would be so damned difficult?
“Neither of them showed the slightest desire to show me any affection.” His voice sounded hollow as he spoke this self-evident truth out loud.
He’d never said that to anyone. Never confessed that his parents didn’t love him.
He was slightly surprised by how much it hurt to admit such a humiliating fact.
Her hand squeezed his again, and he squeezed back involuntarily. It helps a bit, having her hold my hand. A little curl of comfort stirred in his breast.
“I was raised by the servants as a small child. I have the vaguest recollection of my infant nurse. I believe my father dismissed her from her post for showing me too much affection.” He frowned, trying to bring her face into focus and failing.
He shook his head. His heart was beating too fast, and his chest felt tight. He tried to breathe through it.
“He chose tutors for me who were strong disciplinarians, and I was rewarded only for academic excellence.” The lump in his throat refused to be pushed down, and he stopped speaking because his throat had seized up entirely.
“Oh, Deo!” Emily’s soft cry of anguish made him look at her, surprised, as she launched herself at his chest, her head coming to rest on it, her small, warm body nestled into him. He could feel the gentle swell of her breasts pressed against him.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “That is awful!”
Hesitantly, he moved an arm up to wrap it around her. “Thank you,” he said thickly. “So, you see why I—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I have difficulty with emotions, both expressing them and responding to them.”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” She raised her head, and he could see the tears in her eyes. As she blinked, drops rolled down her cheeks.
“Sweet Emily,” he said, husky voiced. “Don’t cry over me. I’m not worth it.”
“Yes, you are,” she said fiercely and kissed him.
He froze at the touch of her lips against his.
But the explosion of pleasure her touch provoked made him raise his hands to her face and move his lips over hers, testing, nibbling, experimenting.
Her lips parted on a gasp as she responded to his touch, to his tentative kisses.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of her mouth moving against his.
Without conscious thought, his tongue licked her lower lip and then ventured more boldly beyond her lips, and the feeling that provoked in his body made him groan involuntarily.
The effect on her was equally electric. Her whole body moved closer, molding itself to his, one leg straddling his thigh as her lips widened, and she used her tongue in imitation of his to explore his mouth, too.
And the sounds in her throat as she did this made his already inflamed body harden further.
This was nothing like the sloppy kisses he recalled with such horror from his teenage years. This was exquisite. Why, oh why, have I never tried this before? Because I have been waiting for her. I’ve been waiting to kiss Emily, my wife. The pleasure of it took his breath away.
He deepened the kiss, giving more, taking more. His heart thudded so hard the pulse beat in his ears threatened to deafen him.
She moved her body over his in an effort to get closer and nudged at his cock that was straining against his belly with her hip.
The touch sent a shudder of hard desire through him.
His cock twitched and leaked on his belly beneath the cloth of his shirt and robe, triggering memories of his humiliation.
Of the hot rush of his seed exploding all over Marah’s rucked up petticoats and bared lower belly, and her subsequent disgust and contempt.
He broke the kiss and a cold shiver of self-loathing passed through him as he caught his breath, his cock withering a bit as if he’d doused himself in cold water.
“What’s wrong?” asked Emily, staring up at him.