Page 39 of Irish Rose
She wished she had another woman to talk to, another woman to ask if this was all there was to lovemaking. She wished there was someone she could talk to about her feelings. She loved Burke, yet she felt no fulfillment after being with him. It had been exciting. The way he had touched her, the way his body had felt against hers, made her tremble and ache. But there had been no glorious glow, no beautiful colors, no feeling of rightness and contentment.
She was probably a fool for imagining there would be. After all, it was the poets and dreamers who promised more. Pretty words, pretty images. She was a practical woman, after all.
But Burke had been right. The bath had made her feel better. There was no reason for humiliation or for regret. If she was no longer innocent, she had brought about the change herself, willingly. One thing her parents had always told her was to follow what was in your heart and to blame no one.
Steadier, she stepped from the bath. She would face Burke now. No tears, no blushes, no recriminations.
Seeing no other cover, she wrapped the towel securely around her and stepped into the bedroom.
He’d lighted candles. Dozens of them. Erin stood in the doorway, staring at the soft light. There was music, too, something quiet and romantic that seemed to heighten the scent of wax and flowers. The sheets on the bed were fresh and neatly turned down. Erin stared at them as all the confidence she’d newly built up began to crumble.
He saw her glance at the bed and saw the quick, unmistakable flash of panic that went with the look. It brought him guilt and a determination to erase it. There were other ways, better ways. Tonight he would show both of them. Rising, he went to her and offered a rose he’d just picked in the solarium.
“Feel better?”
“Aye.” Erin took the rose, but her fingers nearly bit through the stem.
“You said you didn’t want tea, so I brought up some wine.”
“That’s nice, but I—” The words jammed in her throat as he lifted her into his arms. “Burke.”
“Relax.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I won’t hurt you.” He carried her to the bed and laid her against the pillows. Taking two glasses already filled with pale wine, he offered her one. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.” With a half smile, he touched his glass to hers. Erin managed a nod before she sipped.
“This is a fine room... ” she began lamely. “I didn’t notice... before.”
“It was dark.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and settled back even as she tensed.
“Aye. I’ve, ah, wondered what the other rooms were like.”
“You could have looked.”
“I didn’t want to pry.” She sipped a little more wine and unconsciously brushed the rose over her cheek. Its petals were soft and just on the verge of opening. “It seems like a big place for one man.”
“I only use one room at a time.”
She moistened her lips. What was this music? she wondered. Cullen would know. It was so lovely and romantic. “I heard Double Bluff won his last race. Travis said he beat Durnam’s colt by a length. Everybody’s talking about the Kentucky Derby already and how your horse is favored.” When she realized her head was resting against his shoulder, she cleared her throat. She would have shifted away, but he was stroking her hair. “You must be pleased.”
“It’s hard not to be pleased when you’re winning.”
“And tonight at the party, Lloyd told me that Bluff was the horse to beat.”
“I didn’t tell you how wonderful you looked tonight.”
“The dress. Dee gave it to me.”
“It made my heart stop.”
She was able to chuckle at that. “What blarney.”
“Then again, you managed to stop it wearing overalls.”
She slanted a look up at him. “Aye, now I’m sure there’s some Irish in you.”
“I discovered I had a weakness for women taking in the wash.”
“I’d say it’s more a matter of a weakness for women in general.”
“Has been. But just lately I’ve preferred them with freckles.”
