Page 64 of War of the Wedding Wagers
Amelia heard a surprised pause. “There’ll be no scandal as long as we’re both discreet. I cannot marry for another three years according to the terms of my late husband’s will, so you know that I shan’t hold you to a breach of promise. No, SirFrederick, I’m merely here to follow up on what we started before.”
Started before? Amelia didn’t like the sound of that. She drew herself up indignantly, waiting for Sir Frederick to refute anything implied by the widow.
And was gratified when he said, “I’m truly sorry, Catherine, but I cannot.”
A short pause truncated proceedings before Mrs. Perry’s surprised, almost indignant, “You cannot? What do you mean, you cannot? You surely have not offered for that silly little Miss Playford? And even if you had, you’d have even more reason to want to enjoy the heady delights I’m offering. A silly little miss like that knows nothing about pleasuring a man of your discerning needs.”
“Not Miss Playford.” He paused. Maybe he was looking into her eyes to make her attend to him. Amelia hoped so. “It’s Miss Fairchild who holds my heart.”
“Miss Fairchild!”
The scorn in Mrs. Perry’s tinkling laugh brought the blood to the surface of Amelia’s skin. She felt herself burning with shame. What did Mrs. Perry feel for Amelia that caused such excoriation in her tone?
“Well, certainly if you’re after moral-improving homilies, then Miss Fairchild is the young lady for you. Is that how you want to end your days? Dying of boredom?”
Amelia put her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. If Sir Frederick didn’t defend her, she’d burst through that door.
But of course she wouldn’t.
And of course Sir Frederick did.
He cleared his throat. “Catherine. There is no need for you to take this personally. Besides, Miss Fairchild is not in the habit of offering moral-improving homilies. Her conversation is delightful and entertaining—”
“Do spare me!” Mrs. Perry interrupted. “She’s a shrinking violet. A frightened virgin. She knows nothing of what’s needed to please a man like you.”
The rustle of silk suggested movement within, followed by what sounded like a struggle. Amelia’s fingers clenched in the folds of her shawl as she pictured the scene. The widow’s voice had taken on a desperate edge that made Amelia’s cheeks flame with secondhand embarrassment.
Amelia was still trying to make sense of Mrs. Perry’s words as she heard a muffled noise. As if Sir Frederick were trying to restrain the woman. What was Mrs. Perry doing?
“Please, Catherine—This is not what I intended. It’s not the reason I am here to meet you. Put on your pelisse—”
“I’m beautiful! Touch my breasts and tell me I’m beautiful.” Her voice sounded ragged. “Would your Miss Fairchild offer you this? And with no strings attached. I don’t think so. She’ll lie on her back and stare at the ceiling, thinking of England while you try to have your pleasure. But how can a man enjoy pleasure from a woman who believes sex is purely for making babies, and who squeaks and holds her breath rather than responding and touching you as a man like you would—”
“Enough, Catherine! Put on your cloak. I had no idea you came here with nothing underneath. Your slander has only determined me more that following my heart means dealing honorably with Miss Fairchild. You know nothing about her and how she—”
“How she would respond to you and your overtures? Nor do you but you’re willing to take a chance that she’s not the frigid virgin I believe she is? You’re willing to be saddled with a wife for the rest of your life without knowing—”
“Enough, Catherine!”
Shivering with emotion, Amelia heard the exchange from within the room. She should go. Perhaps Mrs. Perry did speakthe truth. What truth? She was referring to matters that no unmarried young woman could know about.
Certainly, Amelia had felt stirrings when she’d been kissed by Thomas. She’d felt far more stirrings when she’d been kissed by Sir Frederick, but how could she find the language to explain how her body tingled and tendrils of desire curled through her loins?
But this was a whole other unknown world about which Mrs. Perry spoke.
And was Amelia really up to satisfying a man like Sir Frederick when she had no idea what a husband truly needed?
Wanted.
Amelia pressed her burning cheeks against the cool stone wall, her mind reeling. The storm outside matched the tumult in her thoughts. Mrs. Perry’s words had opened a door to knowledge Amelia wasn’t sure she was ready to face. Yet something deeper than curiosity stirred within her. A need to understand this aspect of marriage that no one had ever dared discuss with her.
The sound of Mrs. Perry’s angry departure echoed through the rotunda, followed by silence broken only by the steady drumming of rain. Amelia’s fingers traced the rough stone of the wall as she wrestled with her decision. Should she leave now, retreat to the safety of her room and the familiar world of books and propriety? Or should she step through that door and demand answers to questions she barely knew how to frame?
Her hand trembled as it found the doorknob.
Chapter Thirty
Amelia stepped backinto the rotunda’s inner chamber, her heart thundering against her ribs. Sir Frederick stood by the window, his broad shoulders tense, one hand braced against the rain-streaked glass. He turned at her entrance, relief flooding his features.
