Regency 01 - Honor

by Jaimey Grant

  She couldn’t read his expression. He smiled, as he usually did, a sweet curving of his lips, an achingly tender smile that melted her insides.

  Twisting her fingers into the delicate material of her robe, she pondered her next course of action.

  “Darling, this will never do. Here I am, so very comfortable in this bed that you admire so much and you are standing out there, shivering with cold.” He moved over in the big bed and gestured for her to join him.

  Verena hesitated but only for a moment. Moving forward, she climbed into the huge bed, sitting up stiffly beside her husband. He said nothing and she tried to keep her eyes away from his bare chest. Did he never wear a nightshirt? Was he…she sucked in a panicked breath…completely naked?

  She almost jumped when he took her hand, making her relinquish her death grip on her wrapper. Forcing her mind away from the ever-present panic, Verena stared at their linked hands. Breathing deep, she acknowledged the lack of threat in his touch, releasing a tiny sigh.

  “Why did you come here, Doll? I have an idea, but I wouldn’t want to assume anything, so I need you to tell me.”

  He wanted her to say it? Out loud? A lady didn’t do such things!

  A lady also didn’t enter her husband’s room, uninvited, a voice whispered in her mind.

  Strengthened by that simple knowledge, she turned her head, looking him in the eye. Faltering, she dropped her gaze to their linked hands, somehow managing to find her voice.

  “I am come…to ask you to teach me…that is, to show me…I mean…” Her voice faltered to silence. Garnering every last shred of courage she could muster, she blurted, “Oh, Connor, please prove me wrong!”

  Even as the heartfelt words left her mouth, Verena knew her husband couldn’t possibly understand what she was feeling or why. He couldn’t know the reasons behind her fear, the constant feeling of anxiety that assaulted her while in the presence of a man.

  And suddenly, she couldn’t stand to hear the questions. Throwing her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips to his, desperate for the spark she’d felt once before, for the innocent desire that she’d once felt as a girl on the cusp of womanhood.

  She wanted her innocence back.

  Connor pulled away, smiling. “I am not rejecting you, love,” he said in a husky whisper, easing her newest fear. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She nodded, surprised at her own lack of hesitation this time. Connor was a man of honor, a man who would trade his life rather than hurt a woman. Verena knew him and knew he was the only man she trusted.

  Her husband’s lovemaking progressed slowly but thoroughly. At times Verena felt fear teasing her mind but Connor managed to relieve her worry with a kiss that melted her insides. Even feeling his hand on her breast didn’t frighten her as much as she had supposed it would.

  Divested of her wrapper, Verena felt the first tiny flaring of panic. Connor’s kisses and gentle caresses went far in alleviating the fear but when she felt the proof of his desire pressing against her thigh, the panic rose up in her like a maelstrom, sweeping away any and all desire she’d felt.

  Verena pushed against his chest, the swirl of terror in her mind lending her more strength than she could normally boast. Logic tried to break in but she could hear nothing beyond the mocking laugh and the tortured screams that echoed in her memories.

  Steel bands wrapped around her. Panic sucked the air from her lungs, depriving her of the voice to scream her fright. Her eyes burned with the pressure of eyes closed too tight, tears seeping from the edges. When a malevolent face rose up to taunt her, she snapped her eyes open, filling her vision with Connor’s concerned features, willing the other man’s face back into the deepest recesses of her mind.

  And panicked anew at the strange familiarity she always felt when with her husband.

  “Verena, stop this now!”

  Her husband’s voice cut through the remaining fear like a whiplash. Verena stilled, trying desperately to convince herself that Connor would never hurt her.

  Drawing in deep gasping breaths, she gradually became aware of her surroundings, felt comforted by her husband’s strong embrace rather than confined, and wished with all her heart that she was a normal young bride instead of the unbalanced thing she’d become.

  “Verena?”

  She refused to meet his eyes. She looked anywhere else…and then wished she hadn’t. In her struggles for freedom her gown had twisted up around her body, revealing most of her legs. Her midnight hair lay in tangled clumps over her shoulders, offering her a small amount of decency where the bodice of her nightrail had torn.

  Connor sighed, forcing her gaze to finally meet his. His eyes were trained on her pale skin, skin he’d never seen before but had every right to under the law. She pulled at his arms until he released her and jerked the hem of her gown back down to her ankles.

  Connor leaned back, giving Verena an unimpeded view of his smooth chest. Embarrassed, curious, and still feeling the effects of overreacting, she looked at his face, unwilling to allow herself to stare at him. She’d just attacked him and now she wanted to admire him? She was more unbalanced than she’d realized.

  “Verena, what happened?”

  She forced herself to meet Connor’s eyes. “I don’t know,” she lied. She couldn’t tell him what had set off her panic. If she did, he’d know she’d been with a man before, something the men she knew did not tolerate. “I just can’t do this. I am sorry.”

  Connor frowned, studying her face until she felt like squirming. She did shift her body, allowing the blood to flow back into limbs that had become cramped. He sighed, pulling the bedclothes up just a bit more.

  “My love, do you want to return to your room?”

  She gave him a puzzled look, brows drawing down and eyes narrowing. Of course she did.

  “I think you should stay here tonight. I will not touch you again. Unless, of course, you ask. But I don’t think it would do you any good to go alone to your room where you can sit and nurse your fear.”

  Verena could see vestiges of passion in her husband’s eyes but she heard sincerity in his tone. Perhaps she could stay with him tonight.

  But he was a man. She swallowed hard. He was definitely a man, she thought as she remembered the feel of him pressed so intimately against her. His masculinity had never been in doubt, but she had never been quite so aware of it before now.

  She started to shake her head. Her husband stopped her with a hand on the side of her face. “Do not say no, Verena,” he commanded softly. “If I cannot make love to you, at least let me hold you.”

  Verena was nonplussed. Was it possible for a man to hold a woman in his arms without ravishing her? Her mind rejected this idea, but her heart told her to trust him.

  So, she nodded.

  “Good,” Connor said with a return of his normal good humor. He slid away to pull on his breeches, returning a moment later. Then he set about restoring order to her garment and Verena watched in amazement as he never once tried to touch her.

  She might not have been quite so reassured had she been privy to his tortured thoughts.

  *

  Sixteen

  “Milord, I—”

  Meechum backed out as quickly as he had entered and Connor sighed with relief. His relief quickly changed to chagrin when he realized it would soon be spread throughout the castle that he had finally bedded his wife.

  Being a somewhat typical member of the aristocracy, Connor was often guilty of forgetting that servants were people with ears who liked to gossip more than the top ten thousand. But now he remembered and reflected ruefully that there could have been servants lingering anywhere in the vicinity of his father’s study during any one of the many conversations he had had regarding his wife. The chances of those below stairs knowing of the terms of his marriage were very good.

  Oh, well, Lord Connor thought. It was too late now, anyway. If Meechum spread the word, he was sure his mother would say something. He rose ginge
rly from his bed, being careful not to jar his wife. After a hurried toilette, he returned to the bed and pressed a soft kiss to her brow. Then he left and went in search of Adam.

  Verena awoke in an empty bed. She looked around in a daze. Then she realized she was in her husband’s room, in his bed, and he had already left for the day.

  He hadn’t touched her in passion, even once, in the night. He had actually left her to simply sleep in his arms.

  A warm cocoon of happiness suffused her entire being. Her husband’s actions went a long way to relieving more of her fears.

  Her face flamed scarlet when she realized that Connor’s valet had most likely entered the room this morning to help his master prepare for the day and seen her in his bed. A tiny amount of her happiness disappeared.

  Oh, Lord, give me strength, she prayed.

  Well, it was too late now, Verena thought, unknowingly echoing her husband. She rose and went to her own room.

  Bridgette was waiting with a knowing smile on her lovely face. It disappeared when she looked closely at Verena.

  “Oh, Doll, don’t tell me it happened again!” she cried.

  “Fine, I won’t tell you,” said Verena tartly.

  “So what was it this time?” Bridgette asked in a conversational tone. She moved around the room selecting her friend’s morning gown and accessories while Verena decided what to say and how much to tell her.

  Walking over to a chair by the fire, Verena slumped down into it and sighed. “Have you ever been with a man, Bri?”

  The maid grew very still. She turned around slowly and regarded Verena with a guarded look. “Why do you ask?”

  Verena was too upset to notice her friend’s unusual reticence. “Is it painful every time?” she asked softly.

  Bridgette relaxed. “I’ve heard from some that it is, my mother for example,” she replied cautiously.

  Momentarily distracted, Verena looked at her in surprise. Bridgette had never mentioned any of her family before and Verena had never asked. She still honored her promise not to pry into her friend’s life even though Bridgette now knew everything about her. Well, almost everything.

  “What did your mother tell you?” Verena asked curiously.

  Bridgette picked up the morning gown of dark blue muslin with the lighter blue stripe and brought it to her mistress. Verena obediently stood and, after slipping from her nightgown and into her underthings, allowed Bridgette to slip the lovely gown over her head. The maid moved around behind her and quickly did up the tiny buttons in the back. Verena had begun to think that her friend wouldn’t answer her question when she finally spoke.

  “My mother wasn’t the one that told me, actually. I was five when she died. My nanny, who had been mama’s nanny too, told me it was a painful, unpleasant, and distasteful duty that every lady must endure. She said when my turn came to grit my teeth and think of the King and how I’m doing this as a duty to my King and country. She said that was what mama went through and that was what every lady could expect.” She snorted quite rudely.

  Verena was confused by the vehemence in her friend’s tone. “But wasn’t she right?”

  “Of course she wasn’t. My mother was a twit,” the maid said scornfully, her green eyes flashing. “She married a man forty years her senior, a lecherous brute without a care for her sensibilities, all for the sake of money and a title. Of course she hated lying with the bastard.”

  This was the closest Bridgette had ever come to outright admitting that she was a lady born, but Verena ignored this fact for the time being.

  “But Connor is not a lecherous brute, nor does he lack care for my sensibilities. So what can I expect from him?”

  Bridgette shrugged and gently pushed Verena into the chair at the dressing table. She gave a few simple twists to her black locks and secured them with several bone pins. “I have heard from others that being with a man is quite pleasurable for both.” She clasped Verena’s pearl pendant around her throat. Her voice contained a note of some emotion Verena could not name. “The first time will hurt, mind you, I’m not saying it won’t. But only the first time. You don’t have to worry after that.” She stood back and allowed Verena to rise.

  “So, you believe what this other person told you instead of your nanny? Why?”

  “Does it matter?” the maid asked defensively. “Just believe me when I say it’s true.”

  Verena searched Bridgette’s face carefully. “So, I don’t have to worry about pain after the first time with Connor?”

  Bridgette grew very still. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not you’ve already been with a man.”

  Verena colored miserably.

  Bridgette stooped down, meeting Verena’s gaze. “If you have given your innocence to another man, it would go far better for you to tell your husband before he finds out for himself. As far as men are, he seems kinder, more understanding than most. I’m sure he’ll forgive you if you are honest.”

  Verena’s jaw dropped. Was that how it sounded, that she’d indulged in a liaison and now feared her husband’s discovery of it? She might have laughed if it wasn’t so sad.

  If anyone would understand her story, it was this servant with whom she’d developed an unusual friendship. She plunged ahead, heedless of the warning bells sounding in her head.

  “When I was fourteen, I was…I was…forced to…he…” She broke off abruptly, the ugly word “rape” caught in her throat.

  It didn’t matter. She’d made herself understood. She ignored Bridgette’s gasp. “What I remember the most is the terrible pain, like I was being torn in half. I never want to experience that again, so if I have to go through that with Connor, I’d rather know now.” She turned to her friend, silently begging for reassurances that her fears were unfounded.

  Gazing up at her from her spot on the floor, Bridgette sighed. “That explains the nightmares,” she murmured, rubbing at her temples. “I don’t know what to tell you. It shouldn’t hurt. Courtesans would be the most illogical creatures alive.”

  Verena nodded miserably. She wished she had never initiated this conversation. Bridgette put her arms around her and hugged her close.

  “Doll, Connor loves you. He will do everything possible to make sure you enjoy being with him. Do you trust him?”

  “Yes,” Verena whispered, secretly hoping her friend was right about Connor’s feelings toward her.

  “Then trust that he will never hurt you. He has already done more for you than most gentlemen would.”

  “I know, Bri, I know.”

  Bridgette stepped back. “Trust me when I tell you it can be extremely enjoyable.”

  Verena saw the seriousness in the emerald depths of her friend’s eyes and nodded. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the thought that Bridgette was speaking from actual experience rather than simple hearsay.

  But Verena didn’t care if her friend was a fallen woman so the thought went away before it ever really surfaced. She was reassured that if it did hurt when she finally gave herself to her husband, it wouldn’t be as much as it had when she was a child. And to be able to give Connor what he wanted would be worth some pain.

  Connor found Adam in the breakfast room reading the newspaper. When he looked up, Connor could tell that Meechum had been busy. Adam’s smirk revealed his knowledge.

  “Save me your speeches and comments,” Connor said with a small measure of his natural good humor. He walked to the sideboard and inspected the chef’s offerings while Adam went back to his paper. Caring little that his friend was reading, he asked, “Where’s the duke?”

  “He’s already had breakfast and left,” Adam answered, without looking away from his paper. “One of the tenants, Jessop, I think, lost some of his cows and Denbigh went to investigate. He took Evan and Havard with him as well as two grooms.”

  Connor’s cousin Havard stood to inherit everything if Connor and his brother should die without issue. Connor supposed the man was
a decent sort, but he always got a strange feeling whenever he was around. But then, Connor never did care for toad-eaters and Havard was one of the worst.

  Evan Northwicke was Connor’s favorite relative. He was a bear of a man with the disposition of a rambunctious child. He and Connor had forever managed to get into some kind of trouble together and Adam, with his more serious mien, was often the one to save them from a whipping—unless Adam was the instigator of whatever lark in which they were involved.

  Connor smiled to himself as he filled a plate with eggs, kippers, bacon, and toast. He gave Adam’s half-eaten steak a rather longing glance but refrained from ordering one up for himself.

  Sitting, he stared hard at the newspaper that blocked his friend from view.

  “Have you discovered anything more about Bainbridge?” Connor asked, referring to Verena’s brother.

  The paper rattled, communicating the annoyance of the reader at the interruption. “I have only managed to contact someone at Bow Street to look into it,” came the annoyed tones of the man behind the paper. “It will take some considerable time to discover anything.”

  “What are your plans today?”

  Adam finally looked away from the paper. He folded it neatly and set it on the table beside his coffee cup as he answered. “Very little, in fact. I am planning to leave in two weeks. I have some business to attend to in London.”

  Connor swallowed a bite of perfectly prepared shirred eggs. “And you will be checking in at Bow Street? Perhaps your friend will have heard something by then.”

  Adam rolled his eyes heavenward, muttering, “Eight o’clock in the morning and already I’m longing for a drink.” Settling his pale eyes on his friend, he offered, “I will introduce you to Conant. You can interrogate him and his Runners all you want. I have to settle some other issues for private parties.”

  Satisfied, Connor let the subject drop, applying himself to his breakfast while his mind pondered the “issues” to which his friend referred. Adam amused himself with finding people. Mostly runaways, soldiers, and servants absconding with their masters’ property. He seemed to find an almost sadistic delight in returning such ones to the people they so desperately want to escape.