Page 55 of Harpy of the Ton
She caught her breath at the wicked pulse deep inside.
“The sofa in the parlor’s plenty comfy,” he said.
Relief flooded through her. While she’d relished the brief moment of tenderness in his arms earlier, the thought of his claiming her with that huge body of his was too much. What did husbands do with their wives? Would he mount her like a stallion took a mare? He must have done so in the past. He’d seen her… What had he called it? Herintimate area.
Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment at the notion of someone—anyone, let alone this beast of a man—seeing her naked body.
“Y-you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa?” she asked.
He threw back his head and laughed. “Heavens, love, no matter how you try my patience, I cannot be angry with you for long. No—youtake the sofa.”
He pushed open the parlor door. “You’ve always found trouble gettin’ to sleep in the bed,” he said. “That is”—hegrinned, showing his teeth—“when we’ve used the bed tosleepin.”
“Don’t be crude.”
“I’ll be as crude as I like in my home.”
“I won’t sleep on the sofa.”
“There’s nowhere else, love.”
“Then I’ll leave!”
“Where would you go?”
She opened her mouth to say “home” then closed it again. Like it or not, thiswasher home.
Grinning, he untied his neckerchief, then wound it around his fists.
“Your wanderin’s got you into trouble before,” he said. “I don’t want you falling into the river again. And I don’t want any more gossip in the village about your wayward ways.”
“My…”
“Yes, love,” he said. “What are people to think when a family comes to their village and the wife immediately runs off and returns half-naked in a gown that’s not her own? I’ll not have my good name—or yours—ruined by wagging tongues.”
“Y-you mean they think I’m a…”
She couldn’t bring herself to utter the word.
“What are folk to think? There’s plenty such women selling their wares hereabouts.”
“Are you calling me a whore?” she cried.
“You shouldn’t take such names to yourself, love,” he said, “but what’s a man to think when his wife runs off? Now, must I secure you to prevent any more nighttime wanderings?”
“There’s no need to bind me,” she said. “I’ll not leave.”
“There’s my good girl.”
“Don’t presume to speak to me in such a—”
“Now-now,” he chided, wagging his finger as if she were a child. “It’s best if you save your efforts for tomorrow—you’ve a busy day ahead.”
He took her hand, and she caught her breath at the crackle of need. Then he led her into the parlor.
“There’s a blanket over the armchair you can use,” he said. “You shouldn’t be too cold—but if you’d like me to warm you up, you only need come upstairs and ask.”
She withdrew her hand and snatched the blanket, wrapping it around herself as if to hide her body from his gaze. With a chuckle, he bade her goodnight, then exited the room. His footsteps creaked on the stairs, then a door opened and closed in the distance.
