"I guess I thought that after you had a chance to consider, you wouldn't really make an offer," she said in a small voice.
He gave the wry half smile she loved. I'm not sure whether that shows lack of faith in me or in yourself." His smile faded. "You are living proof that a woman doesn't need a husband to have a worthwhile life. Even if you do wish to remarry, I can understand that you might prefer more promising material. Just… just tell me now, and I won't mention the subject again."
His statement reminded her that she was not the only one to feel uncertain. "I have no doubt that you would make a marvelous husband. The problem is-" she swallowed hard, "I don't know if I would make an adequate wife."
He caught her gaze with his own. "You are honest, beautiful, have a kind heart, and do not suffer fools gladly. To me, those seem like excellent qualifications for a wife."
She smiled at what he considered important, but her eyes slid away. "I don't know if I can give you an heir. It's true that my husband and I did not share a bed for very long, so perhaps I am not barren, but I am past thirty now-"
He cut her off sharply. "That doesn't matter. I'm offering for you because I want you to be my wife, not a brood mare. It doesn't bother me to think that Robin or a son of his will have Wolverhampton after me." Painful bleakness showed in his eyes. "My mother and my first wife both died in childbirth. I would not want to see that happen to you."
Desdemona looked down to where her hands were frantically twined in her lap. The trouble with half truths is that they were not much protection after they were demolished. She should have known that the real truth could not be avoided.
She forced herself to look at him. "There is another,more basic reason why I fear I would not be the wife for you. You are a warm, passionate man. Surely you want a wife who is the same. But I don't know if I am capable of being that kind of woman."
She hoped he would understand what she was trying to say, but no such luck. After a long pause, he said quietly, "Could you explain what you mean a little more clearly?"
Her shoulders bowed and her voice broke. "My husband… he used to say that lying with me was like bedding an icicle. That any trollop on the streets was warmer than I."
Giles crossed the room and sat on the arm of her chair, then put his arms around her. "Hush, love," he said, rocking her gently, his cheek against her hair. "Few women are passionate in a miserable marriage. Don't condemn yourself because of the words of a selfish brute."
She clung to him, shaking, but his words eased some of the tight knot inside her.
He smoothed back her hair with a gentle hand. "You are so incredibly fairminded. There is probably not another woman in London who would so conscientiously spell out her presumed failings when a marquess offered for her."
She leaned back in his embrace to look him squarely in the eye. "I'm not interested in marrying a marquess. I'm interested in Giles Andreville, who is the kindest, most amusing, most attractive man in England."
A slow smile spread over Giles's face. "It seems that we both think marriage is a good idea, so when shall we do it?"
Before she could answer, he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. The desire that had ebbed while she was revealing her fears began to return. She kissed him back, wishing that she were more experienced.
He lifted his head and smiled into her eyes. "You don't kiss like a cold woman." He stood, then pulled her to her feet for another, longer embrace.
She loved the feel of his broad, muscular body. He was the only man who had ever made her feel delicate and feminine. She pressed against him, losing herself in his kiss.
He broke away, his breath coming quick and hard. "I think we can work matters out to our mutual satisfaction, don't you?"
Perhaps he was right, but she did not want to risk the unknown. Her gaze dropped to his cravat as she said haltingly, "Marriage is forever, Giles. It might be better if we don't do anything so irrevocable until we are sure. Or rather," she qualified, "until I am sure that… that I can fulfill my part of the bargain."
"There will never be any guarantees, Desdemona," he said gravely. "I think it is enough to trust that love will carry us through." He touched her cheek in a gossamer caress. "And I do love you, very much."
"I love you, too," she whispered. "But I don't have as much faith as you. I think it would be better if we… tried first."
He stared at her. "Desdemona, are you propositioning me?"
She nodded, blushing, and ducked her head again.
He wrapped his arms around her and began to laugh. Humiliated, she tried to jerk free.
He held tight, not letting her escape. "Do you have any idea how alarming it is for a man to be told that his whole future depends on one night's performance? The thought is paralyzing."
When she realized that he was laughing not at her, but at himself and the splendid absurdity of human nature, she was able to laugh with him. "It doesn't have to be only one night We can take as long as necessary." She smiled mischievously and wriggled closer. "And while it's been a very long time since I've been this close to a man, if my memory serves, the indications are that you don't seem the least bit paralyzed."
Giles gasped, his arms tightening. "Shall we see if I can convince you that you will make the best of all possible wives?" He bent over for another kiss that left them both breathless.
Wordlessly she guided them upstairs to her room, her head resting on Giles's shoulder, more happy than she could ever remember being in her life. Somewhere during that last kiss, she had realized that he was right, that the powerful attraction she felt for him meant that she really was capable of being a warm and willing wife. But it would be a pity to skip the proof.
After closing the bedroom door behind them, Giles said softly, "Let me look at you."
Her maid had left a single lamp burning on the bedside table. It gave enough light to show the intentness of his expression. Shyly she stood still while he circled around her. He unfastened her pearls, pressing a kiss on her nape when he was done. Then he used his fingers to roughly comb her hair down over her shoulders. He buried his face in it, murmuring, "I've wanted to do this for so long. Your hair is all fire and silk, just like the rest of you."
His breath warmed her throat; his admiration warmed her heart. With dawning confidence, she said, "I want to see you, too, Giles."
She untied his cravat, then unfastened his collar buttons so she could lay her hand on the warm expanse of his chest. Brown hair tickled her palm and she felt the acceleration of his heart.
Garment by garment, they took turns undressing each other. They moved with deliberate slowness, feeding the fire between them with soft words and gentle touches.
When her shift whispered to the floor, leaving her naked except for her stockings, he said huskily, "You are beautiful, so splendidly beautiful. Boadicea, the ancient British warrior queen, must have been like you, all redgold hair and blazing womanly strength." He smiled. "Ever since Daventry, I've been thinking what a magnificent neck you have."
She blushed. "Is that what you were staring at all evening?"
"Of course it was your neck. Am I not a gentleman?" He slid his hands under her lush breasts, lifting and molding them. Breath rough, he said, "I've wanted to do this as well." He rubbed his face in the deep, warm cleft, then began licking and kissing her nipples, worshiping her with his touch.
She gasped and arched her head back. For the first time in her life, she loved her harlot's body, for it gave him such pleasure. More than anything on earth, she wanted to please him, to return the joy that was blossoming in her.
When they lay down together, it was as partners. When they joined, it was at her frantic urging, her need to have him become part of her. And when they cried out, it was together.