Page 70 of Suddenly a Bride
“You won’t hurt me,” she answered softly, sliding her hands up his neck and into his hair, stroking him.
He slung his arms about her waist and pulled her closer until his face was pressed between her breasts. “Whenever I came to Elizabeth’s bedchamber, she cried.”
Gwyneth cradled his head tighter against her, feeling an aching lump lodge in her throat. “What do you mean?”
“She never wanted me to touch her.” He broke off, his voice muffled. “I stopped going to her. And she was happier.”
She kissed his soft hair and then rested her cheek there. “I am not Elizabeth, as I keep telling you.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” It was a desperate whisper.
“My mother told me that as long as I relaxed and enjoyed your touch, it would only hurt the first time. I trust her, Edmund.” She tilted his head up so that she could look into his eyes. “And I trust you. After how you touched me and cherished me in Richmond, I want nothing more than to give myself to you, to prove that you’re wrong.”
“But if I let myself love you, you’ll be in danger.” His voice suddenly grew hoarse, hesitant, and he again dropped his head to her shoulder. “I refuse to be the cause of that.”
She frowned and stared down at him. Before she could ask him to explain what he meant, he slumped against her, and she staggered beneath the weight of his upper body.
“You’re right next to the bed,” she said into his ear. “Help me. I cannot do it alone.”
She groaned as he seemed to press down on her in an effort to stand. Then he collapsed back on the bed, and she was able to help him swing his legs up. He lay on top of the coverlet, snoring softly now, but she found a blanket inside the chest at the foot of his bed. She looked at his body one last time, amazed at how well made he was. She imagined spending every night pressed against him, before with a sigh she covered him up to his chin.
Her plan to seduce him this night no longer mattered. She leaned against the edge of his bed and brushed the hair back from his face. Pressing her lips against his cheek and then his forehead, she berated herself for her selfish plan to make their marriage work only to help her family. There were so many more reasons why she wanted to have a good life with this man. She wanted to make him happy, she wanted to bear his children. She wanted him to love her as much as she loved him. She was certain he was falling in love with her; he had almost admitted it.
Surely his words about her being in danger were only the drink talking.
~oOo~
In the darkness before dawn, Edmund left his room, dressed in leather breeches, jerkin, and a heavy shirt for another day of backbreaking labor harvesting his crops. He was the master of this castle and controlled the bounty of all its lands—but he was trying to avoid his dainty wife.
He didn’t remember exactly what he’d said to her the previous night; words had seemed to pour out of another man instead of him, and now were unintelligible. But he knew she’d removed most of his clothing and put him to bed. He had a vivid memory of his face pressed between her breasts and a terrible suspicion that Elizabeth’s name had come up. What had he said?
But he wasn’t about to ask Gwyneth. All he could do was inwardly curse himself for getting drunk.
Yet she was there at his table in the winter parlor, smiling gently at him, warming the start of what was going to be a long day.
“A good morning to you, husband,” she said.
The softness in her eyes pulled at him—yet made him uncomfortable too. “The same to you, Gwyneth.”
He sat down and watched as she cut him a large slice of bread, then pushed a crock of butter toward him. He took a sip of ale and then began to speak before she could.
“I do not remember how I got to my bed last night. I hope I did nothing to embarrass myself.”
He saw the flash of her disappointment, but she hid it quickly behind another smile.
“Edmund, you were ever the gentleman. I was the one who helped you to bed.”
“I seldom drink like that.” He spoke words, but all he was thinking about was that his wife had undressed him and he didn’t even remember it.
“I know.”
“Did I—what did I—never mind.” He picked up the bread and pushed himself to his feet.
She reached for his free hand and held it. “You talked a little about Elizabeth.”
Appalled that his memory was accurate, he stared down at her.
“But you won’t want to talk about it again, will you?” she continued with a sigh.
