Page 27 of Suddenly a Bride
When she handed the fork back to him, he deliberately made sure not to touch her.
She smiled. “What a novel thing. We should have some made for the castle.”
“It is frivolous. There is too much real work to be done.”
Her smiled faded. “Oh, of course.”
They finished eating in silence, and he told himself that this was the wisest course. But already he’d begun to wait for her smiles.
When he pushed his plate aside, she slid a small cake in front of her and cut him a piece. This must have been what she’d worked on just for him. When he bit into it, he wasn’t a bit surprised to find it delicious. She was watching him.
He had to say something. “This is very good. Throckmorten never baked this before.”
That small smile touched her lips. “That is because I made it.”
“You could charge much for this, and a person would pay it.” He was foolish to give her compliments.
She blushed again, and her eyes softened, and he knew he’d made a grave mistake. He finished the last bite and stood up.
“Good night, Gwyneth.”
“Would you like another piece?” she asked, looking at him in disappointment.
“Not tonight.” He made himself turn away from the promise in her eyes.
Gwyneth watched as he shut the door behind him. Mixed with her sadness were fresh stirrings of anger. How was she to reach her husband?
She continued to sit at the table long after the sun had set. Mrs. Haskell quietly came in and lit candles but seemed to sense Gwyneth’s mood and said little.
“My lady, is there anything I can get for you before I leave for the night?”
The sympathy in her voice almost made tears rise in Gwyneth’s eyes, but she was still too angry to cry.
“No, thank you, Mrs. Haskell. I shall see you on the morrow.”
When she was alone again, she gathered her resolve and left the winter parlor. She walked across the deserted great hall, where no one feasted, no one celebrated. She felt very alone. Even Lucy was more a maid than a companion, as the girl began to forge a new life that couldn’t include her mistress.
Purposefully Gwyneth entered the corridor to the servants’ wing and stopped when she came to Edmund’s door. She raised a hand to knock but could only freeze with indecision. What did she mean to do, demand a wedding night? This could not be the way to woo a man such as her husband, who seemed wounded by his first marriage and everything else life had thrown at him. Surely he would be offended and refuse her. Or would he be angry and hurt her in his hurry to finish the consummation? Was that how she wanted to start her real marriage?
Defeated, she was about to leave when she realized the door was open a crack. She could see the fire in the hearth, which was the only source of light in the room, and the edge of her husband standing before it. She gently touched the door and gave the tiniest of pushes. It opened another couple of inches, and she could see all of Edmund now, not quite in profile, standing still before the fire as he stared down into it. She held her breath, but it seemed that he hadn’t noticed the door moving.
And then he shrugged the doublet off his shoulders, and she forgot everything else. His white shirt was loose about his neck but snug across his broad back, as if there weren’t garments big enough for him. Even his breeches, which were normally worn loose on a man, seemed tight. When they sagged, she realized with shock that he was unfastening them. He pulled his shirt off over his head, then let the breeches fall until he was wearing only a scrap of linen about his hips. Beneath his garments was a body as well muscled and sleek as a work of art. She’d glimpsed such a statue at Langston House and had not imagined that a living man could look that way. Even his scars, like the ones that twisted up his right thigh, fascinated her.
Gwyneth’s face felt hot, and that heat continued moving down through her body, until it centered strangely between her thighs. What was this feeling, this yearning? She wanted to be held in his strong arms, and maybe feel safe. Was this how other wives felt?
Then suddenly Edmund turned and saw her. She was so frozen by the sight of his sculpted chest that she only flinched when he threw the door wide. He filled the doorway and her view, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath, even as he frowned down at her.
And then she turned and fled, knowing she’d made a terrible mistake by moving too quickly with her husband. He’d only reject her again, as he’d done each night. But this time she’d have to see it in his face.
Edmund slammed closed the door so hard, he thought the hinges would break. Gwyneth had finally seen his damaged body. Elizabeth used to cower when he was naked, as if he was about to beat her instead of make love to her.
He pulled his breeches back on and sat down heavily in a wooden chair that creaked under his weight. Except for Elizabeth, he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t paid a woman for sex. And Elizabeth had only wanted the thrill of the unknown. Then she’d panicked at the thought of marrying against her father’s wishes. Unbeknownst to Edmund, she’d told her brothers it was Alex Thornton, his close friend and the brother of a viscount, who had compromised her. When Edmund had realized what was going on, he forced Elizabeth to tell the truth, and she’d never forgiven him for it. Neither had her parents.
As the night aged, he thought about Gwyneth lying alone in that fairy-tale chamber. Gwyneth, who baked for him, who wanted him to accept her. Gwyneth, who ran from him.
Did it even make sense? Perhaps he was on guard against the wrong person. But he had no way of knowing. Even the stranger who’d been at his wedding had disappeared.
He didn’t go to watch Gwyneth sleep that night. All the next day he avoided the castle, taking bread and cheese for his noon meal as he went from farm to farm, discussing with his tenants which fields to harvest first. He ate supper alone at the tavern in Swintongate, where he always received prompt service and wary glances. But he still had to go back to Castle Wintering, back to Gwyneth.
