by Deborah Hale
As Laura edged on to the bed beside him, Ford offered an alternative. “Perhaps if we make a clean breast of things we can lay the past to rest and start afresh. I wish you’d told me your marriage to Cousin Cyrus was only in name.”
“It was more than name.” Laura averted her eyes and spoke in a subdued murmur. “At least Cyrus wanted it to be. He tried to…be a husband to me but he…couldn’t.”
“Cyrus was impotent?” Ford wasn’t sure why that came as such a shock to him—perhaps because he’d been so bedevilled by desire for Laura that he found it hard to imagine a man incapable of being roused by her.
“Is that what it’s called?” She twisted her wedding ring around and around her finger. “I only know he couldn’t do…what you did last night. He tried quite often at first, but less and less and as time went on. Mostly when he’d had too much to drink.”
“That would not have aided his performance,” Ford muttered. It must have driven Cyrus mad to have a beautiful, desirable young wife in his bed and not be able to avail himself of her charms. “Have you any idea what ailed him, that he couldn’t be a proper husband to you?”
“Must we talk about this now?” Laura scrambled from the bed and bolted behind the dressing screen. “I thought you were hungry. We should go get something to eat.”
Her voice had the high, tight pitch of barely controlled panic.
“Laura, what’s wrong?” Ford surged to his feet, threw on his dressing gown and followed her. “I know this is not a very pleasant topic of conversation, but—”
Ducking behind the screen, he found her pulling on a gown. A tear trickled down her cheek, leaving a faint moist trail behind it.
“My dear!” He tried to take her in his arms, but she backed away, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I am sorry to distress you with my questions, but this all came as such a shock.”
For a moment he feared more tears might follow the first one, but Laura inhaled a deep, quivering breath and composed herself. “Don’t you see? I was what ailed Cyrus. It was my fault for not doing my duty, not being a proper wife. I tried to be. But when he tried to make love to me, I felt as if I was going to retch.”
Her confession affected Ford the same way. “Was that how you felt last night with me?”
To his vast relief, Laura shook her head. “Surely you do not need to ask that. You made me feel things I never imagined—as if I was on fire or pounded by the surf. I must have done what I was supposed to, mustn’t I? Because you had no difficulty…with your part.”
Though she held herself back from him in a wary stance, her anxious expression begged for reassurance. Some instinct warned Ford he could hurt her very badly if he was not careful. There was a time he would not have hesitated to press his advantage, eager to repay all the pain she had caused him. None of that entered his head now.
“No difficulty at all.” Sensing she might feel cornered, he backed away. “Quite the contrary, in fact. Though I must confess, that had only a little to do with your reaction. I hope I would have behaved like a gentleman and not persisted if I thought my attentions were offensive to you.” Memories of his ungentlemanly conduct a few nights ago reproached him. “But that would not have hindered my ability to take my pleasure, if I’d chosen to.”
“It wouldn’t? But Cyrus said…”
Ford took a few more steps back and sat on the foot of the bed. “What did he say? That you were to blame because he could not perform?”
Laura gave a hesitant nod.
A grunt of bitter laughter burst out of Ford. “That is the biggest load of rubbish I have ever heard. If every man in England was rendered impotent by his wife’s aversion, most titled families would have gone extinct long ago.”
His wry quip brought the ghost of a smile to Laura’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it came. Ford sensed there was more she had not told him about her marriage to his cousin. Perhaps because he’d never bothered to ask. That was about to change, but for now he had heard as much as his peace of mind could bear.
Was this what peace of mind felt like? Laura wondered as she bobbed about in the bracing, briny waves off the Brighton coast.
As far back as she could remember, there had been some worry nagging at her—her mother’s health, her father’s business, whether Ford would ever be in a position to marry her. Then her world had been rocked by tragedy that made all her past cares seem like nothing. In its wake had come a host of new worries about Cyrus’s advances and his temper, the effort to conceal her misery from her family. In recent years the old spectre of poverty had returned to haunt her along with the fear of Ford’s return and the trouble it might bring.
Now her mind felt as lightened and invigorated as her body, buoyed by the cold, salty seawater. There were still a few clouds on the horizon, but why spoil her enjoyment of the moment brooding about them? Hadn’t she worried herself sick about her wedding night, all for nothing? Ford had given her a taste of pleasure beyond anything she’d imagined. But his passionate lovemaking had helped her begin to see the failure of her first marriage in a new light.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” called the brawny dipper woman who had plunged Laura into the water a few minutes earlier. “You look to be enjoying yourself, but you’ll take a chill if you stay in much longer. Back into the bathing machine, if you please.”
Shivering in her sodden bathing costume, Laura climbed into the back of the small wooden shed on wheels. As the horses towed it back toward the shore, she stripped off the long-sleeved flannel shift and groped around in the dark to dress in her own clothes.
She found Ford waiting for her up on the promenade. “Survived the dipping, did you? You are braver than I. Give me a Turkish bath any day.”
“It felt beastly cold at first—” Laura took his arm and they began walking back toward the inn “—but once I got used to it, I found it very refreshing.”
“It seems to have agreed with you.” Ford looked as if he was trying to suppress a smile, but not succeeding. “Your face has excellent color and your eyes are sparkling.”
“Are they?” After an instant’s futile resistance, she surrendered to the giddy rush of elation his compliment brought her.
“Even brighter now.” He stared at her with such intent admiration, she was certain he would have kissed her if they had not been surrounded by people.
A moment later, he regained his accustomed brisk manner. “I made some enquiries while you were sea-bathing, about our being able to look over the public rooms in the Pavilion. I am told it can be arranged if you are interested.”
“Of course I am.” Laura had marvelled at the exotic structure during their stroll on the Steyne the previous evening. “I hardly recognised the place from how it looked when I saw it as a child.”
“The King has spent a fortune,” said Ford, “having the place enlarged, renovated and redecorated. We have come at a good time to see it, for I’m told the latest work is nearly complete. When do you think you will feel up to going?”
“As soon as you can arrange it. Why? What do you mean when I feel up to it?”
It was difficult to tell with Ford’s face so darkly tanned, but Laura thought his color rose. “You know.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “A tour of that kind will mean a great deal of walking.”
A hoot of laughter burst out of her. “Don’t fret on that account.” She turned to whisper in his ear. “I did not break my leg, only my maidenhead, and the soak in seawater has done wonders for that.”
In spite of her reassurance, Ford remained touchingly solicitous of her comfort all that day, insisting their visit to the Pavilion could wait until later in the week. Instead, he took her for a drive through town in a hired curricle, then to a play at the Theatre Royal in the evening. He never mentioned what she had told him that morning, though now and then he seemed distant, making her wonder if he might be thinking about it. Their manner toward one another was cordial but sometimes awkward, as if they no longer knew each othe
r despite the intimate connection they shared.
That night, Laura did not linger over changing into her nightgown. Though she unpinned her hair and shook it out, she did not bother to braid it before going to bed.
The moment she slid between the sheets, Ford reached over and snuffed the candle. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”
Without making any effort to kiss or touch her, he settled back on the pillows and lay still.
Laura lay beside him, staring into the darkness, listening to the hiss of her breath and fighting to quell the sting in her eyes. Had Ford sated his desire the previous night, leaving him spent and indifferent? Or was it something else?
She would not weep. She had prided herself on shedding less than a handful of tears since her father’s death and one of those had been only this morning. Through years of adversity she had discovered strength within herself and she had cultivated it. Just because her life had taken a turn for the better did not mean she could afford to weaken now. Even as she repeated that personal creed over and over in her mind, her eyes stung harder and moisture gathered in the corners.
“Laura,” Ford whispered, turning toward her, “are you still awake?”
Caution urged to keep still and silent, but she could not resist the hushed entreaty of his question. Swallowing the warm, salty liquid that trickled down the back of her throat, she murmured, “Yes. Why?”
“You needn’t worry.” Ford fumbled in the darkness for her hand. “I will not…bother you again until you’re healed from last night. I swear, if I’d had any idea how it was with you, I would have been gentler, taken more care.”
His furtive reassurance shattered her defences. A sob burst out of her, mixed with a gurgle of laughter. “So that’s what this is about. I thought perhaps you weren’t satisfied with me, after all.”
“Good Lord, no! What more proof could you want after last night?” Ford pressed her fingers to his lips and raised his other hand to stroke her cheek.
It came out of the darkness so suddenly she could not keep herself from flinching.
Ford groaned as if the breath had been kicked out of him. He lifted his hand from her cheek to rest on her unbound hair, fingers combing feathery furrows through it. “Did Cyrus ever…hurt you?”
She couldn’t tell him. She had vowed never to tell anyone. Throughout her marriage she’d gone to great lengths to hide the truth from her family and the servants. It was one of the shameful secrets she had kept hidden away for so long behind the stout walls she’d erected around her heart.
Though she made no reply, Ford seemed to hear through her silence. “He did, didn’t he?”
Still not able to say the words, Laura nodded, her head brushing against the tips of his fingers buried in her hair.
“Damn him to hell!” growled Ford as he gathered her into his arms, cradled her head against his shoulder and held her in a powerful, protective embrace.
As they lay there, cloaked in forgiving darkness, their bodies seemed to exchange some wordless communion. Ford’s hard, lean muscles tensed with righteous anger, while his smooth, warm skin radiated comfort and his heart pulsed with healing sympathy.
“I swear,” he whispered at last, with a depth of fierce certainty that had been lacking in their marriage vows, “I never will!”
Ford held her in his arms all that night, sometimes dozing, sometimes awake and thinking. Hard as it was for him to imagine an old duffer like Cyrus beating a defenceless woman, he knew it must be true even before Laura gave that hesitant nod. It explained so many things that had puzzled him about her behaviour. No wonder she’d been so secretive, so wary…and so reluctant to wed him.
Dear heaven, what must she have feared when he’d barged into her bedchamber after the ball? Ford could not have felt more sickened with shame if he had intended to hurt her.
Whatever she’d done to him in the past and whatever her reasons, she had been punished worse than he had ever wished upon her. Far worse than she deserved. From the parched depths of his heart, he dredged a trickle of forgiveness. It tasted sweeter than he would ever have believed.
When morning dawned, he lay there with Laura in his arms, bathed in a deep, delicious contentment, savouring her warm, soft presence. As on the previous morning, he feasted his eyes upon the innocent beauty of her face, admiring the dainty shape of her nose, the luscious fullness of her lips, the luminous softness of her skin.
For the first time, he noticed a tiny scar to one side of her chin and another extending from the corner of her right eyebrow. How many more scars had Cyrus inflicted on her? How many bruises that had faded from her flesh, but not from her heart? Protective rage swept through him. If only he’d known. If only he’d been there to defend her from his cousin’s cowardly abuse, rather than thousands of miles away, wishing her ill.
Just then Laura’s eyes fluttered open. In a voice husky from sleep with a subtle shade of wariness she asked, “What is the matter? You look so angry.”
Unable to deny his feelings, Ford sought to explain them instead. “Not with you. With Cyrus…and with myself. When you wrote me that letter breaking our engagement, you hoped I would come looking for you to demand an explanation?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and gave a faltering nod.
“It was unreasonable and unfair, but part of me clung to the foolish hope you would rescue me.”
How hard had that hope died? Ford shrank from imagining. And what else had died with it? At the very least he owed her an explanation, though it was far too late to change anything.
“I did come looking for you after I got back to England. When I went to your house, your cousin’s wife told me you were already married. She did not say a word about your father’s death. She made it sound as if you’d been eager to wed Cyrus for his fortune.”
“And you believed her,” Laura stared into the dark depths of his eyes. “Because another woman you’d loved and trusted had turned out to be a fortune hunter.”
The notion left Ford shaken. He had never thought of it that way. Was his father’s ruinous second marriage the reason he’d been so quick to condemn Laura as a mercenary fortune hunter?
“I still wanted to find you. But before I could track you down, my creditors descended on me and I had to flee the country.”
Her lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Words he’d never thought he would hear himself say to her fell from his lips. “So am I.”
For a while they spoke no more, each wrapped in their own painful memories and regrets. Then, slowly, tentatively, their hands began to move, spreading chaste caresses. Seeking to give comfort and perhaps to find it. But any touch from Laura, no matter how modest, soon had Ford wanting more.
His breath picked up tempo and a hot, thrusting hunger quickened in his loins.
“We should get dressed and go to breakfast.” He tried to pull away from her, though every fibre of his body resisted.
“Is that really what you want?” Laura’s lips arched in a bewitching grin and the sparkle returned to her eyes again. Clearly she found his predicament amusing.
“You know right well what I want to do.” He could not resist rubbing against her, sending a shudder of delicious torment through him. “But I promised I wouldn’t until—”
“So you did.” The melodic ripple of laughter in Laura’s voice carried a warm note of sympathy. “And it was kindly done. But I don’t feel sore at all this morning and we are on our honeymoon, after all.”
Ford’s body urged him to listen to her and yet…“After everything you’ve told me about your marriage to Cyrus, I want to prove I can be a different kind of husband.”
Her impish grin muted into a bittersweet smile. “You have done very well so far. And I want to be a good wife to you. I hope you don’t think because you saw a little blood it meant you injured me. Believe me, I have suffered much wor—”
Perhaps it was the horrified look on his face that stopped her, or perhaps she had not m
eant to speak of it and could not bear to.
Before he could urge her to unburden herself, Laura rushed on, “Besides, if you were to woo me as passionately as you did the other night, it would be the opposite of Cyrus. And I do want to stop thinking about him.”
Though she had provided him with an ideal excuse to do what he very much wanted, Ford’s conscience still nagged at him. “Listen to me. You do not need to prove yourself a dutiful wife by making your body available to me at the slightest sign of interest. Remember how you fought and threatened me on the night of the ball because you thought I was trying to force you? This would only be a different kind of force. Unless you want me as much as I want you, what would be the point?”
The words had scarcely left his mouth before he wondered what had become of his long-held intention to sate himself on Laura’s favors until he tired of her. Looking back, he realised his resolve had been eroding by slow degrees ever since he’d returned to Hawkesbourne. The events and revelations of the past few days had placed a greater strain upon it than it could bear.
At last Laura whispered, “I do…want you, that is. I want to feel the way you made me feel on our wedding night.”
“In that case—” Ford let his hand stray lower to fondle her breast “—I would be delighted to oblige you.”
He set about bedding her slowly and carefully, as if she were made of the most delicate porcelain. Skimming over her skin with his fingertips or his tongue. Drizzling her lips with whisper-light kisses. Employing all his skill and patience, he coaxed her to the brink of release before easing into her. By that time, his desire had reached such a hot, pulsing pitch that it took only a few strokes to send them both into shuddering spasms of bliss.
Afterward he held her and stroked her, hoping his body might convey some of the things he could not bring himself to say. He wondered what she was thinking. In the wake of his lovemaking, had memories of her first marriage returned to haunt her? He wished she would tell him more about what she’d suffered from Cyrus. Unburdening herself of those long pent-up fears and hurts might help her begin to heal. But he knew how hard it could be to share such painful secrets.
