CHAPTER 14

LIAM CAME BACK TO EARTH slowly. Having just enough presence of mind to collapse on his side next to her rather than on top of her. His breath still came in gasps, his lungs pumping air as his heart galloped like a wild horse.

What the hell had just happened? He looked down and saw the smears on the sheath. Bloody hell. With a low curse, he flung himself from the bed, went to the washstand and, after removing and discarding the sheath, he took a washcloth, dipped it in the still warm water from the bath and returned to the bed.

Thalia had bundled herself in the sheet, her wide eyes watching him warily.

"Let me wash you."

Her head shake was vehement. "No, thanks. I'll do it. Give me the cloth."

He heaved a great sigh. "Thalia, let me care for you. Please."

He sat on the bed and lifted the sheet. Sliding his hand under, working by touch rather than sight, he found the apex of her legs. "Open for me, please."

She complied, at last. Flinging her arm over her face, she parted her legs a fraction. Enough for him to wipe away the blood. So much fucking blood. Jesus! He felt like a barbarian who had just deflowered a maiden.

Well, that's exactly what he had done, wasn't it? Even if said maiden had tricked him into it. Even if he had no fucking idea what he was doing. He had never taken anyone's virginity before. Even his wife had not been a virgin on their wedding night.

He flung the cloth into the washbasin and got in the bed, facing her. She was still covering her eyes, refusing to look at him. Well, that would not do.

"Thalia, look at me, please."

She lowered her arm and peered at him. "Are you angry?"

"Angry? Not exactly. I'm baffled, confused, hurt that you lied to me—"

"I didn't lie," she interrupted. "Maybe I kept some information to myself, but I told no lies."

"Oh? Did you not say you were a widow? Does Lady Renier even exist? Is Thalia your real name?" He hoped to God it was, because the name was just too perfect for her.

"My name is Thalia. And I am indeed the widowed Lady Renier."

"Then how in God's name were you a virgin until a few minutes ago?"

She looked away. "My late husband never consummated the marriage."

"How is that possible? Did he die before the wedding night?"

"No. We were married for three years." Her voice was monotone. Containing none of the cheekiness and challenge he had come to expect from her.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and urged her to turn to him.

"Tell me," he urged her.

Lying side by side, facing each other, there was not much room to evade his eyes. Still, she managed to not look at him while she replied. "There's not much to tell. It was an arranged marriage. He could never consummate. The few times he visited my bed, he wouldn't...get stiff. Maybe he was not interested in me. I don't know. It just never happened. Can we leave it at that?"

Maybe he shouldn't care. After all, they had agreed only to one night of pleasure. But to hell with it. He was nowhere near ready to part from her. He felt an almost overwhelming need to know all her secrets, claim all of her. Make her his and protect her. Bloody, bloody hell.

"No, we can't." The turmoil he was feeling showed in his voice. "Because I don't understand a thing. I feel duped. What game are you playing?"

"You bloody idiot!" She burst with the first show of passion he had seen from her since this conversation started. He relished it. Anger he could deal with. Her evasive responses he could not. "I'm not playing any games. Is it so hard to understand that a woman of my years, a widow who was left untouched by her husband, would want a night of passion? To at least know what I was missing out on?"

"I get that. But why not tell me beforehand?"

"Why do you care, anyway? Was it painful or difficult for you?"

"Well, no. But still—"

"Would you have gone through with it if I had told you?"

"Maybe. I don't know. But I would have certainly done things differently."

"I wouldn't have wanted anything different. It was fine. Now leave it be. Good night." With that, she turned away from him and huddled in the blankets.

He almost burst out laughing at her evaluation of their sexual encounter as ‘fine'. Fine did not begin to describe it for him. It had been transcendent. Earth shattering. Amazing. Her responses, her passion... he couldn't dwell on it, or he would get another cockstand. And right now was not the moment.

He hugged her from behind, cradling her body with his. "Thalia, why don't you want to share it with me?"

"It's humiliating," she replied in a small voice that heralded tears like thunder heralds rain.

"Is anything more humiliating than my tale of how my wife cuckolded me and then the newspapers painted me as a fool and a murderer?" he asked, realizing he had made progress when she went still and silent in his arms."

"He found me unattractive. So much so that it affected his ability to...perform with me. There. Are we equally humiliated now?"

"It is not my wish to humiliate you, Thalia. I just want to understand. I find that very hard to believe."

"Well, it's the truth. And my untouched state until now proves it."

"Hmm, maybe he was incapable. And he tried to hide it by blaming you."

"He was not incapable with other women," she muttered, and the bitterness and pain in her voice were hard to miss.

"He consorted with other women while he was married to you?" The fucking lowlife bastard.

"Not long after he died, I received a visit from a girl he used to frequent. She was only fifteen and looked even younger. She was tiny and slim and very pretty, like a porcelain doll, with delicate features and adorable blond ringlets around her face. I thought she was a child. In a way, she was, but she was also a prostitute. And she was pregnant. Said the baby was my husband's. And that the brothel where she worked had kicked her out for being in the family way. She had nowhere to go and was destitute. She had come looking for him out of desperation, and when I told her he had passed away, she looked so desolate. Like someone who had lost her last hope of survival. I took her in. That's how I learned of my husband's proclivities."

His hold tightened around her. Damn, what a sordid tale. He knew of men like her husband. And of awful places that catered to those desires. But that was his shame, not hers.

"I don't like to speak ill of the dead, but your husband sounds like a depraved bastard. His unwillingness to consummate your marriage is no reflection on your attractiveness, but rather of his devious desires."

"Well, it's not as if any other men are knocking at my door, falling at my feet. They rarely give me a second glance."

"What about me?" he said, giving her a slight nudge with his hardening cock. She caught her breath in surprise. "I gave you a second and a third. Hell and damnation, I can't keep my eyes off of you, bella . You are so gorgeous. I want to sculpt you. You've already made me come twice in swift succession tonight. And I'm ready to go again. I'm a mature man of two and forty, and you have me as randy as a lad of eighteen. How can you possibly think you are not desirable?"

That caught her attention. Thank fuck, because he couldn't tolerate her despondency. Turning within his embrace, she insinuated her hand between their bodies and grabbed his cock, making his breath stutter in his throat.

"You want to do it again?" There was surprise, but also delight in her eyes.

"Stop looking at me like that," he admonished. "You need to recover."

"I feel fine," she reassured him, giving his unruly cock a hearty squeeze that tore a groan from his chest.

"Aren't you sore?"

"Not in the least," she replied with a cheeky grin.

"I'll need to wash the sheath," he grumbled.

The minx had the audacity to laugh at his squeamishness. "Go wash it, then."

Fuck, she was going to be the death of him. And he would die a fortunate man.