She was like sunbeam and silk, his prickly, haughty wife, and she was very tentatively kissing him back.
Hugh felt her gasp as his tongue gently coaxed the seal of her lips apart. Every part of him, every sinew of his body, was aware of her—the feel of her, the delicious taste of her. Spurred on by her response, he deepened the kiss. It seemed the lady was enjoying this as much he was. And he clamoured for more.
An unexpected yearning grew in the pit of Eleanor’s stomach and moved deep into her core as Hugh’s mouth covered hers, kissing her in a way she could never have imagined.
This was madness!
She felt the touch of his fingers along her collarbone before his lips left hers to kiss the column of her neck. He lifted his head, desire blazing in his eyes. A wordless question. It was a question Eleanor could not answer even as her wayward body craved more.
Hugh dipped his head and claimed her lips again, his hands cupping her jaw gently. Saints above, what was happening to her? Eleanor felt as though she was losing herself, gradually and slowly losing sight of everything around her.
Yes, indeed, madness!
She longed for more...longed to explore this sensual pleasure she had never known existed. Her previous experiences had centred on cruelty and dominance. This was nothing like that, but even so a voice from deep inside her was warning her about the loss of control...how things could spiral quickly into the unknown.
This was happening far too quickly and it had to cease.
Eleanor opened her eyes and slammed the palms of her hands onto Hugh’s chest, untangling herself and scrambling to the other side of the bed before he had a chance to grasp what had happened. She sat with her back to him, listening to his breathing from behind her.
Dear God, what had she done?
She screwed her eyes shut and groaned inwardly. Yes, she had felt her body betray a thrill of excitement, and in her muddled head she knew that she had actually enjoyed kissing Hugh—unbelievable as that was—but Eleanor couldn’t do it. It repelled her, frightened her... And yet would it...with Hugh?
She shook her head. No, she didn’t want to know. And what could she do anyway? Her body was not hers. Hugh had every right to make his demands and force her to submit, even though he had suggested they might wait.
Her back stiffened and her fists clenched as she waited for his inevitable outburst of anger.
It didn’t come.
Instead, Eleanor heard him sigh deeply, get up and walk around to the ornately decorated coffer. She glimpsed Hugh from under her lashes as he tapped a tattoo on the surface with his fingers before grabbing two silver goblets and pouring ale from the silver jug into each. He was there in front of her in two big strides, pressing a goblet into her hands.
‘Thank you...’ she muttered. ‘I... I prepared the wedding ale myself, with added spices and honey,’ she said, looking at her feet as she turned the goblet in her hand.
‘It’s delicious,’ Hugh said as he took a large gulp.
Tension crackled between them as the silence stretched.
‘Eleanor, look at me, please.’ He gently lifted her chin with his fingers. ‘I apologise for my...eagerness.’
She pulled away from his hold and took a sip from her goblet. ‘There is nothing to apologise for.’
‘It seems there is—and it also seems that I’m making quite a habit of it.’
She shrugged, hoping her expression was one of indifference, but her head was in a haze of confusion. It was both unexpected and puzzling that Hugh should apologise for her woeful lack of wifely duty. Yet here he was, apologising to her again after doing so yesterday. Could she remember any man—knight or nobleman, least of all her husband—ever apologising about anything, ever? And yet Hugh de Villiers didn’t think it beneath him to do just that.
‘Eagerness on one’s wedding night is natural, Hugh. My reaction is not.’ She sucked air through her teeth and continued. ‘But you should know that...that intimacy disgusts me.’
There—she’d said it and now he knew. Perhaps he would find other women to warm his bed whilst she looked the other way.
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, willing her to say more.
So she did. ‘It’s...it’s not your affliction, but mine. I told you yesterday that I’m not fit to be a wife. I’m unnatural, Hugh.’
‘I take it that is what Millais said to you?’ he said. ‘Well, I want you to know that he was wrong. Very wrong.’
‘Even so I... I’m damaged. I carry terrible scars.’
Eleanor left those words hanging between them, feeling so uncomfortable talking about the past that it made her squirm.
Hugh looked at her with compassion, without a trace of pity, as if he understood how deep those scars ran.
‘I appreciate your honesty, Eleanor but I am not Richard Millais. You must understand that you should never have experienced what you did with him. And if anyone was unnatural it was Millais, not you.’ He lowered himself slowly to one knee, placed his goblet on the floor and took her hand in his. ‘Listen to me, I have never forced an unwilling woman into my bed, Eleanor and I’m not about to start now. I want you to give yourself freely to our union. And until then, if I have to wait...well, then I will wait.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’ He shrugged. ‘My hope is that you might come to realise that the intimacies you find so disgusting may actually be the opposite.’
Eleanor shook her head in disbelief but said nothing.
‘We need time...time to get to know one another.’ Hugh smiled before continuing. ‘So from now on I will sleep on a pallet that I will ask my squire to smuggle in from somewhere. I will make him swear an oath of secrecy. No one need know.’ He stood up and stretched out his arms.
‘You believe
