“Children?” he uttered, a look of undisguised revulsion crossing his face. “Gods no!” he shuddered.
“No?” Lenora stared at him. “But—then why? I’m hideous!”
He looked at her a moment, then gave a short laugh. “Plenty of worse-looking women then you have to suffer their husband’s attentions, I assure you!”
“Sir Garman—”
“Just call me Garman,” he interrupted her, his voice thick and strange sounding. Lenora tensed, sensing that his mood had undergone some kind of change. He stalked closer to the bath and her eyes were drawn irresistibly to the alarming part of him that seemed to point toward her with intent. “If you’re getting out, do it now.”
For some reason, his tone filled her with renewed alarm. She sank down farther into the water. “Why?” She wished her voice didn’t sound quite so panic-stricken.
“Well, it won’t bother me to share.” He shrugged, and lifted a foot as if to climb in.
“Wait!” Lenora squeaked.
“Too late.” He was up and over the side, lowering himself into the water opposite her before Lenora even had the chance to scramble to her feet.
Lenora gaped at him. “You’re in my bath!” she pointed out.
“Have you never shared a tub before?” he asked, holding his hand out. Lenora stared at it a moment blankly. “Soap,” he prompted.
“Oh!” flushing, she placed the leaves into his palm, careful to avoid touching his fingers. “And, of course I have. When I was a child!”
He stretched his legs out, and Lenora drew her own in sharply, drawing her knees up to her chin.
“Did you honestly believe I would forego my husbandly rights?” he asked, eyeing her frankly.
Lenora spluttered. “Of course! It didn’t even occur to me for a moment that you might want them!”
He smirked at her as he rubbed the soap leaves over his shoulders. “Not very well acquainted with men are you, for all you’ve so many suitors.”
“Had so many suitors,” she corrected him automatically.
“Mmm,” he agreed in a low rumble.
She huffed, staring at his massive upper body until his eyes lifted to meet hers, then hurriedly adjusted her gaze to stare over his left shoulder.
“And you never granted any of those poor bastards any liberties?” he asked.
“Of course not!”
“Not even a kiss?”
“Certainly not,” she shot back primly and felt his hard stare on her face. “I’m not fond of being cornered or fawned on,” she said, lifting her chin. “And I certainly don’t like people breathing all over me or trying to grab me, rumpling my gowns.”
His mocking gaze made her color flame. Doubtless he thought her a spoiled madam and probably coldly frigid as well, she thought but it was no good lying to him about her disinclination for being fondled. She had always hated it.
“I see,” he said dryly. “So, you had no favorites among your legions of admirers.”
“Of course, I had favorites,” she answered slightly startled.
“It doesn’t sound like it.”
“Sir Lionel Emworth could always be relied on to be very courteous and proper,” she said defensively. “Either he or Sir Winston Colfax were my preferred escorts.”
“Sir Winston Colfax!” he echoed derisively.
“Sir Winston is a very cultured and gentlemanlike man.”
“He’s sixty-five if he’s a day!”
“A very cultured and mature gentleman,” she amended conscientiously. “I enjoyed his company very much.”
“Then why not ask one of them?”
“Pardon?” Lenora dragged her gaze away from where he was now propping a foot on one knee and scrubbing a sponge over a muscular calf.
“To elope with you,” he elucidated.
Lenora drew herself up. “Is it not obvious?” she asked with dignity.
“Not to me.” He shrugged.
“The reason I liked them,” she explained carefully. “Was because they did not demand anything from my company, save the opportunity to savor my beauty.” When he looked as though he expected more, she was forced to add. “They did not trouble me overly for conversation and they did not press wet lips onto my fingers or attempt to maul me in dark corners.”
“How considerate,” he commented dryly.
“Yes,” Lenora nodded. “I always thought so. But now my face is quite ruined, I could hardly expect them to step into the breach when the appeal I held from them is now quite gone, could I?”
“I suppose not,” he agreed. “Did you even try?”
“Try what?”
“To see if their regard ran any deeper than an appreciation of your face.”
She blinked at him. “Of course not. What else could they possibly like about me? There is nothing else.”
He lowered the soap. “You’ve a pretty pair of tits in all events,” he said with a shrug, taking Lenora’s breath away.
She regarded him indignantly a moment. “So that is what is meant to be held in true regard by a gentleman,” she said when the power of speech returned to her. “I did not realize it ran quite so deep as all that.”
He smirked. “It’s the only inventory of your charms I’ve been able to take so far.”
She regarded him a moment in silence, and then on impulse came abruptly to her feet, staring straight ahead of her as she stood naked before him. The only sound in the room were the droplets of water running down her wet form into the tub. She gazed resolutely at the door, her head held high as she let him gaze his fill at her, until she felt herself begin to turn to gooseflesh. “Have you looked your fill?” she asked quietly.
He was silent a moment. “Aye, for now,” he said gruffly.
She gave a curt nod, and clambered over the side of the tub, her cheeks burning at the indecent view she must be affording him of her backside. If there was one thing Lenora had always been insecure about, it was her somewhat ample rear. Luckily, flowing gowns concealed the fact she was somewhat fleshier in that area than she felt she ought to be. Her cousin and childhood playmate Eden had always been slender and perfectly proportioned to Lenora’s eye. Eden had an even distribution, whereas her own frame was decidedly broad in the beam.
Clothed, it was undetectable, for she had a trim waist and high, perky bosom. But naked was a different matter altogether. Naked, you could see her shamefully fleshy buttocks. She hurried across the room, intent on covering herself as soon as possible. Hopefully it was only her imagination that told her Garman’s eyes were fixed on the twin globes of her abundant rear. She thought she heard a sharply indrawn breath. Doubtless he would be greatly amused to find the great beauty so universally admired had always had a concealed flaw!
When she whipped around after dragging a large drying cloth about her, she found his eyes still trained on her, but the sardonic gleam she had dreaded was not present. If anything, his gaze seemed hot and devouring. Finding this equally disturbing, she turned away and dived behind a conveniently placed screen to don her shift. To her dismay, she found she was trembling all over from the confrontation. Her hands shook as she pulled the voluminous white shift over her head. For all her best-laid plans, she had not anticipated this turn of events. But then how could she have ever guessed that Garman Orde would want to bed her? Once she was covered head to toe, she re-emerged from her hiding place and cleared her throat. She certainly did not want Orde thinking her cowed and terrified by his advances. A quick glance in his direction showed him fully absorbed in his ablutions, scrubbing his shoulders.
Thankful of the reprieve, Lenora wrapped the drying cloth around her wet hair and picked up a comb as she made her way to the fireplace. Two of the cats, Grizelda and Tybalt were lying in front of it on a rug. A quick scan of the room showed her Purcel was curled up in one of the two chairs set before the fire while Fendrel sat washing himself in the window seat. Quickly, Lenora crossed over to check the window was securely fastened. She could not lose one of he
r precious cats en route to her new home. Then she returned to the fire and sat in the empty chair, turning her back resolutely to the bathtub. She dragged the cloth from her hair and began finger combing through its tangles until she could get a comb through her damp locks.
The warmth of the blaze began to seep through her, and Lenora relaxed her muscles letting exhaustion overtake her. The journey had been draining and her fitness and stamina were at a low ebb after her illness. Her eyes started drifting closed and the comb fell from her fingers with a clatter. She needed to braid her hair, she told herself, even as she drew her legs up and tucked her feet under her. She was so tired though, bone-weary. If she just let herself take a quick nap, that would energize her, she thought, curling around the arm of the chair. Garman would just have to wait unless he liked his women unconscious. Her lips twisted. Who even knew how he liked his women? Apparently, he did not care if they were pretty. She ought to be grateful of that, she supposed. Was she grateful? She thought of his large, hard body and shivered. It wasn’t exactly gratitude she felt. In truth, she wasn’t sure what it was. She yawned, dragged a cushion under her cheek and lapsed into a deep sleep.
*
When next Lenora woke, it was with a scream in her throat. She had been in the crypt again with its foul stench, surrounded by corpses. Everyone was rotting about her, and she had been left for dead, the entrance sealed up, trapping her in there. The horror of it left her breathless and frozen with terror.
“I have you,” rumbled a deep voice by her ear, and to her astonishment, she found herself in someone’s lap, with big, strong arms wrapped tightly about her. Far from feeling alarmed at this unexpected situation, Lenora’s overwhelming response was one of relief. She was not alone. A warm and vital body was wrapped around her, though all was in darkness. Catching her breath, she burst into noisy, shameful sobs as her rescuer rocked her silently to and fro. After a few moments of this, she managed to relax her rigid limbs and take in her surroundings.
“We’re at the inn,” she mumbled, gathering her wits. “I’m not dead.”
“Not yet,” he agreed calmly.
She took a deep and shuddering breath. “I didn’t mention, did I?” she said haltingly. “That if we share a bedchamber, I will invariably wake you screaming in the dead of night.”
He paused slightly in the steady rocking of their bodies. “This is a nightly occurrence?” Lenora just nodded wearily. “You were sleeping soundly when I put you to bed.”
“I always do at first.” That explained why she remembered falling asleep in the chair and no more. Garman must have carried her there. Then what had he done? Climbed in after her? She glanced at him, trying to make out his expression in the dark, but the light was too faded. “I’m sorry,” she said dully. He gave no acknowledgement of her apology. “You can release me now.”
Unhurriedly, he withdrew the comfort of his embrace and Lenora shuffled sideways off his lap, until she lay on the mattress beside him, making sure there were no points of actual contact. The bed protested when Garman followed suit and stretched out his far bigger body.
She would not sleep now, she never did after being wracked with nightmares, but she would lie as still and quiet as a mouse, so he could drift back off. She nearly jumped when he spoke.
“You need to gain some flesh,” he said casually, and from the rustle of the pillows, Lenora thought he put his hands behind his head. “A roll in the sheets with me at present would likely snap you in half,” he added.
Lenora blinked. “Are you so rough then, that I need to be more robust?” she asked with some acerbity. She felt sensitive about the changes illness had wrought upon her and answered without any thought of delicacy, despite her relief that she was to have a reprieve from the wedding night consummation.
“At present, you’ve only flesh in one place enough to please me,” he answered with a note of relish to his tone as though he enjoyed pursuing such a shocking topic of conversation. “You’ve seen me compete in the field?”
Lenora’s face grew scarlet and her brain scrambled as she realized he was likely talking about her ample rear. She tamped down the mortification to try and focus on his question. “I have,” she admitted, wondering where he was going with this.
“Then you’ll know I give it my all,” he answered coolly. “I’m the same with bed-sport. I expect the same level of exertion and abandon from all participants.”
Lenora was so astonished by this she lay a moment in complete silence as she absorbed his words, her breath coming fast. Sir Garman was brutal and uncompromising in the field. What was he saying exactly? “It seems a strange analogy,” she said a hoarse voice. “You would compare the act of lovers to those of combatants?”
“Lovers?” he echoed with a short, derisive laugh. Then he seemed to consider her words a moment. “And yes, I do compare them. For me it is a physical act, much like any other exercise. It’s only worth doing if you go all in.” She heard a rustle as though he turned his head to look at her. “You should probably put everything your mother ever told you about beddings out of your head. When I take you, you’ll be on all fours. I like it rough and I like it loud. If there must be words, then they won’t be sweet.”
Lenora clutched the bedsheet, her eyes opening wide in the dark. “My mother never spoke to me of beddings,” she heard herself say and was glad to hear she sounded calm if a little out of breath.
“Good,” he answered coolly. “Then you won’t have any preconceived notions about it.”
“And what about your preconceived notions?” she heard herself ask. “To my knowledge, you’ve never bedded a wife before. At least not your own,” she added tartly.
“You think it would be any different?” he asked skeptically, after a slight pause.
“I wouldn’t know,” she replied coolly. “But I shall endeavor to approach it with an open mind.”
“Will you indeed?” he muttered, and again she could hear the amusement in his voice. “I won’t give a damn about crumpling your dress, Lenora. And if you don’t like wet kisses then we should probably dispense with them altogether.”
Lenora’s color flared. She wished she had not told him that about her suitors. She had not expected him to turn her words back against her. “Noted,” she said stiffly. Her suitors had never dared to press their lips to anywhere but her fingers, she thought, staring up at the shadowy ceiling. But she would not tell him that. What did he mean by wet kisses, she wondered? She thought of his full, firm mouth and swallowed. And her being on all fours?
“So, from the morrow,” he carried on with a casual arrogance that quite took her breath away. “We need to start fattening you up.”
“To fortify myself for your attentions, yes, so I gather.” Her tone was rather dry, but he didn’t pay that any attention.
“Good,” he said, then yawned. To Lenora’s surprise, she found herself suppressing an answering yawn of her own.
The absurd notion occurred to her, that Garman had initiated this shocking conversation simply to distract her from her horrific nightmares. She dismissed it almost at once. He just wasn’t made that way, she thought as her eyes drifted shut. She did not doubt he was being frank about his tastes. Indeed, it was hard to imagine him ever sugar-coating his desires to make them more palatable. She doubted very much he would ever take that trouble.
The mattress dipped as he rolled onto his side and Lenora tensed, though he did not reach for her. Why would he? After all, he had made it perfectly clear that he found her body scrawny and unappetizing. Yet for some reason, she had expected him to drag her back against him. She wondered briefly if they had been sleeping in that position before she woke up, then told herself she was being foolish. Something niggled away at the corner of her memory, but she was too tired to focus on whatever it was. To her surprise, sleep was overtaking her again. She welcomed it, for they had another day’s travel ahead of them and when next she woke, it was morning.
*
Lenora made a good
breakfast. Doubtless the previous day’s travelling and the fresh air had done her some good, for it had sparked her sleeping appetite. Berta joined them at the table, but sat farther down the bench, to give them some privacy.
Garman pushed every platter toward her after first helping himself. Consequently, she found herself with a loaded plate of smoked trout, salted cod, and preserved herring. To accompany this were two kinds of bread; a brown barley bread and a white loaf which smelt pleasantly of herbs. Garman eschewed this one, helping himself instead to a large hunk of the barley, but Lenora was intrigued. Sniffing it, she could discern both parsley and rosemary and something else she could not quite identify.
“You’re supposed to eat it,” Garman rumbled, glancing up from the plate of food he was decimating.
“I will,” Lenora replied with dignity. “I just wondered about the herbs in this bread.”
“They won’t do you any good unless they’re in your stomach.”
As she started to saw herself off a slice, Lenora pondered if Garman was especially churlish in the mornings, or if he was always this bad-tempered. She wasn’t sure. It came to her that she had never yet seen him spontaneously smile, let alone laugh though she had seen him victorious in the lists on several occasions. She shot a look at his face only to find him watching her progress with disgust.
“Pass it to me,” he said impatiently and flung down knife and spoon, gesturing with his hands for the bread knife.
“I can do it,” Lenora protested, but found it taken out of her hands. Immediately he began cutting her a large wedge of bread. “That’s rather a large piece.”
He lifted his brows at her. “Have you forgotten your new resolve already?”
Lenora flushed. “No, but—” She broke off when she saw him start to slather it with a thick coat of butter. “I do not like it spread so generously!”
The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2) Page 6
