Page 5 of Impassioned
He took his hand from between hers and stepped back. His wariness intensified, and it was as if he’d stepped back behind the wall he kept around himself. “What do you mean?”
“I wish to share your bedchamber. Or we can share mine. However, yours is larger.”
His jaw tightened. “I told you when we wed that I expected us to retain separate bedchambers. I have not changed my mind about that.”
He’d stated that quite clearly not long after the ceremony. It was not a strange request—many married couples, including his parents and hers, slept separately. “Then I would like you to visit mine more often. Starting with tonight.” She sounded so bold, so confident. She prayed she could maintain that attitude when he actually arrived at her bed. In the past, she’d shrank from him, her anxiety and apprehension getting the better of her. Their wedding night in particular had been ghastly, a dark, quick encounter during which she’d lain practically immobile, paralyzed with fear. After which, he’d apologized and hadn’t visited her again for some months—not until they’d gone to Hampton Lodge later in the summer.
He held up his hand with a grimace. “I’m afraid I’m indisposed.”
She’d been prepared for prevarication—this was a dance at which they were both very accomplished. It was time, however, to change the steps.
Sabrina moved toward him so that they were as close as when she’d tended his hand. “You need an heir. We’ve been married almost two years. My mother is certain there’s something wrong with me, that I can’t bear children, and I know there is speculation as to my…ability to give you a child. The sad fact is that I daresay we haven’t tried enough to ascertain if any of that is true.”
A small burst of exultation at having made it through saying all that resonated in her chest. It was short-lived, however, since his face had turned ever increasing shades of white until he looked like the alabaster bust of David in her father’s library.
“Er, well, we will keep trying.” He pivoted slightly, his gaze focused on the hearth and the low fire burning in the grate.
It was time—past time—to make her mission clear. Perhaps then his attitude would change.Ifhe could bring himself to want her, and Sabrina wasn’t sure he could. Nothing he had ever said or done had led her to think he found her desirable. Her shoulders twitched with the discomfort she’d come to accept, that her husband would never be pleased with her. When she had a child to love, none of that would matter. She wouldn’t be lonely anymore. “I’ve come to London to get with child, and I’m not leaving until I am.”
His head snapped toward hers, his eyes goggling. “What has happened to you?” His shocked reaction was at least better than one of disgust. She hadn’t been sure what to expect.
“Nothing has happened to me. I am merely trying to be a proper countess. You need an heir, and I want a child.”
He continued to stare at her, and it took him a moment to respond. “That will come. In time.”
Not disgust then, but apathy. Which was worse? “We’ve had plenty of time. I expect you to visit my bed every night until I’m certain I’m with child.”
He didn’t meet her gaze. “I can’t commit to every night. I’m a very busy man.”
“What are you doing when you should be sleeping? Have you taken a mistress?”
“No!” He answered quickly and vehemently, a look of sheer horror arresting his features for the barest moment. The reaction was so stark and so swift that she was certain it had to be a lie.
And why wouldn’t he have a mistress? That’s what men in his position did, particularly men who weren’t remotely interested in their wives. At least, that’s what she’d been told. It made no difference to her how he spent his time, so long as he gave her a child. Mistress or no mistress, he had a responsibility as a husband, and especially as a future duke, to produce an heir.
Irritated that he didn’t seem to see the urgency, she fisted a hand on her hip. “I’m not asking you to be a husband, just to do your husbandly duty. Do you think you can manage that?” Now she was shocking even herself. She’d planned to confront him; it was her entire purpose for coming to town. However, she hadn’t expected to lose her temper. She hadn’t even realized she had one to lose.
“You—you…,” he sputtered, his forehead furrowing with deep lines as the muscles of his jaw worked. “Whoareyou?”
She straightened her spine, rising to her not unimpressive height of five feet and five inches. He might have a mistress, but she was hiswifeand onlyshecould give him an heir. “I am the Countess of Aldington, and I demand my marital rights.”
“Good God,” he muttered, walking away from her toward the fireplace. He gripped the back of a chair, then immediately lifted his right hand while whispering something else. A curse perhaps, because that likely hurt his wound. After a moment, he faced her, his features tightly drawn. “I will do my duty, but I will visit you in your chamber, as usual.”
“When?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“When my hand is better.” He scowled at her.
“Didn’t you marry me in order to carry out your duty to produce an heir?” She knew it wasn’t because he’d fallen in love with her. Or even that helikedher. And he certainly didn’t desire her.
His jaw clenched again, and she swore she could almost hear the grinding of his teeth. “I did.”
The temper she’d just realized she possessed took rein once more. “Don’t take too long, because I’m going to have a child whether you participate or not.”
His eyes darkened, and he stalked to her, standing even closer than when she’d bandaged his hand. “Did you just threaten to allow another man into your bed?” Oh, this was new. It seemed he had a temper too.
She ought to be frightened—and part of her was, the part that was still reserved and soft-spoken, afraid of her own shadow, no matter how badly she didn’t want to be. This new part of her, however, the one that was tired of being alone and desperate for someone to care for, wasn’t scared. She was emboldened. Or perhaps even…excited. A reaction from him meant she was gaining ground. She hoped so anyway.
She arched a brow and gave him what she hoped was a saucy look. “Would that encourage you to do your duty?” How she hated that word. As if she were a required task instead of a woman. His wife.
