Keegan's Lady (35 page)

Only, of course, that wasn't an option. As Joseph had pointed out earlier, Ace had bitten this off, and now he had to chew it. Besides, just the thought of another man holding her like this made Ace feel a little green around the edges. She was his wife, his responsibility. He'd deal with her. Somehow. He just had to rearrange his thinking a little, that was all. Wipe the last twenty years out of his mind. Clean up his mouth. Acquire some manners. Start remembering he was dealing with a lady and not a whore.

Jesus. The poor girl was in for some rough road.

Ace tightened his hand in her hair. "Caitlin, I'm not going to proceed with anything, okay? Just forget I said that."

"You aren't?"

The hopeful note in her voice set off warning bells. He opened one eye. "Not directly, no."

The tension didn't ease from her body. In fact, she seemed to grow more rigid. "What does that mean?"

He had no idea. "That there's nothing for you to worry about right now."

She wriggled to sit erect and fastened bone-melting blue eyes on his. "But what about later?" Her stomach rumbled, and she gulped, slipping a hand between them to press it against her waist. "I really think I'd better ans—"

"Honey, you already did."

"I did?" She looked totally perplexed. "I don't remem—"

"Trust me," he said huskily. "I have my answer. Now let's just drop the subject, all right?" Her stomach chose that moment to growl once more. "If we don't, you're liable to start puking again. It's nerves making you feel sick, I think. That and not eating for so long."

Puking. Now there was a word. Yet another to strike from his vocabulary. His mother referred to vomiting as "purging" or "tossing up." He felt pretty sure the word "puke" had never passed her lips.

Suddenly Ace felt exhausted. A bone-deep kind of exhaustion. He leaned his head against the wall, absently rubbing a hand up and down Caitlin's arm. "Just relax for a few minutes," he told her softly. "Let your stomach settle down. Then we'll go and get some food into you. I made you up a plate and set it on the warmer."

"I'm really not hungry."

"You are and just don't know it. We've got cool milk in the icebox. Wouldn't a big, tall glass taste good?"

"No."

"Sure it will."

He drew her back against him and pressed her head to his shoulder. He definitely liked the way she felt in his arms. She squirmed, trying to get comfortable. The friction caused some interesting changes to occur inside his trousers, namely an erection the size of a log. He hoped to God she couldn't feel it.

There was no God in heaven. She suddenly stopped breathing and went unnaturally still. Ace mentally ticked off the seconds. When ten had passed, he opened his other eye. "Caitlin?"

"What?"

Her voice sounded as thin as parchment paper, and she didn't so much as twitch. She may as well not have bothered. The warm pressure of her rump against him was enough. He willed his body to behave itself, but that particular part had never seemed to be connected to his brain.

"Don't be afraid," he said in a thick voice that made him want to kick himself. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"W-would you mind if I moved?"

Ace nearly said no. Then he thought better of it. If he made her sit tight, she'd learn an important lesson, that he didn't let his baser urges control him. Hardly ever, anyway.

"No, I don't mind." He let his arms fall away, resisting the urge to shove her off his lap. A man with a will of iron, that was he. "Scoot."

She didn't need to be told twice. He doubted she could have moved faster if he'd yelled, "Fire!"

He drew up a knee as she slid off his lap, the better to hide the bulge in his trousers. He tried to ignore the fact that his shaft was nearly bent double by the change of position. She went back to where she'd been sitting before, bracing her back against the wall. Her eyes regarded him with wary alertness.

Ace rubbed a hand over his face. Blinked. Hauled in a deep breath. When the ritual was over, he draped his arm over his upraised knee. Blinked again. Christ. Now he knew why Scotsmen wore kilts.

Silence settled between them. The kind of silence that made a man sweat. He listened to the chickens clucking below the loft. One hen had a strident, shrill cluck that made him seriously consider having chicken for supper. Wringing a neck right then sounded diverting. Nice and violent.

Rape. He wondered who the bastard was who had done such a thing to her. Did he still live around No Name? Ace was dying to ask. It was a question he absolutely would not allow to pass his lips. No more pushing. He had to give the girl some room to breathe. Patience. It was a virtue. One he needed to cultivate.

"Who was the son of a bitch?"

Caitlin blinked in startlement. "Pardon?"

Ace clenched his teeth. He felt his right cheek start to twitch. "Is he still around these parts?"

"Wh-why?"

He knotted and relaxed his fist. "I'd like to pay him a social call."

"A social call?"

Ace regarded her in stony silence. He could tell straight off he wasn't going to take to gentlemanly behavior like a duck to water. "I want to pound his face in. Introduce his tonsils to his asshole. Make him wish his mother had been a nun."

Her eyes went wide. "Oh."

"Well?"

She bent her head and began picking at something on her skirt. "I don't want to talk about it," she said shakily. "Please don't make me. You said no details."

He had said that. "I'm not asking for details, just the son of a bitch's name."

"I can't talk about it," she said, her voice going shrill.

"That's all I'll ever ask. Just give me his goddamned name."

She clamped a hand over her face. "You promised!"

Ace tossed his head back and nearly cracked his skull when it impacted against a log. He bit down so hard on his back teeth he almost broke a molar. "I'm sorry," he finally said after several long, throbbing seconds. He was definitely going to kill that stupid chicken. "I did say I wouldn't ask for details."

Silence again. He hated it when she stopped breathing like that. It made him wonder if she'd gotten so scared she'd died on him, or something.

"Just one question." He slanted her a look. "Did the bastard pay for what he did? Or did he waltz off scot-free?"

She gave what sounded like a tortured little laugh behind her hand. "Oh, yes, he paid."

Ace relaxed slightly. "Good."

She made to response to that. "You're not feeling sick again, are you?"

She took a while to answer. "Only a little queasy."

"Milk might help."

She drew her hand from over her eyes, but kept her gaze carefully averted from his. "I'd really rather not." She toyed with a clump of straw beside her. Silence again. The smell of the hay seemed to be bothering her. She kept rubbing her nose. Or maybe it was just a nervous gesture. "Now that you, um, know..." Her voice trailed away, and she sneaked a glance at him. "Do you feel differently about getting an annulment?"

That was a loaded question. He couldn't tell by her expression if she was hoping he'd say yes or no. "I'm not giving you an annulment, Caitlin, so get it straight out of your head."

"Not even now?"

He narrowed an eye at her. He was thirty years old, and he'd never known a woman yet whose mental functions didn't bewilder him. "Now? Why would I?"

"Well, because . . ." She left that hanging. Toyed nervously with the straw. Nearly rubbed her nose off. Then she waved a limp hand, the gesture conveying there were a number of things she wanted to say that she couldn't quite bring herself to articulate. "I wasn't honest with you last night. Being compromised isn't exactly the same thing as—" She broke off and tossed a handful of hay away from her. "You know."

It hit Ace then. She truly did feel soiled, just as he'd suspected. In their society, rape indelibly marked a woman for the rest of her life. She was never again considered to be quite up to snuff. Respectable men usually chose chaste virgins as their brides, or equally respectable widows, or compromised young women who'd emerged from the experience with their reputations unscathed.

A lump rose in his throat. Gazing at her averted face, he thought he'd never seen such a sweet countenance.
Auburn
lashes cast shadows on her pale skin, which was absolutely flawless except for the bruise along her cheekbone. A small, delicately shaped nose. A full, rosy mouth made for kissing. A pointy chin that she somehow managed to make look stubborn. She wore her hair in a braided coronet that might have been severe on any other woman, but on her, it looked delightfully mussed, with coppery tendrils escaping everywhere.

She was beautiful . . . And in his books, innocent. Endearingly so. Slender with small breasts and a fashionably tiny waist. One look at her, and a man knew she was uncharted territory. She may have been raped, but she'd never been loved. There was a hell of a difference. Ace yearned to tell her he felt lucky to have landed her, but now didn't seem an appropriate moment, and he doubted she'd believe him, anyway.

"I don't want an annulment, Caitlin."

She sneaked another glance at him. "Are you sure? It won't make me feel bad or anything."

Ace nearly chuckled at that. She'd more likely to leap for joy, even if, deep down, his rejection hurt. He had a hunch she had long since grown accustomed to feeling inadequate, that considering herself to be a rotten apple in the barrel was something she'd learned to live with, just as he'd learned to live with a limp and a messed-up face. You never forgot your flaws, you just worked your way around them and tried not to feel hurt when other people found you lacking.

"I'm absolutely positive I don't want an annulment," he told her gently, "now and forever, amen."

She plucked up some more hay, studying the strands with fierce concentration. "Now that—" She paused to drag in a tremulous breath. "Now that you know, can I safely assume you plan to give me some time?"

The quavery note in her voice told him just how important his answer was. "How much time are we talking about? A few days, a few weeks?"

"A year would be nice."

He did laugh then. "Caitlin, physical intimacy is a mighty important part of marriage. A whole year?"

"Six months?"

He tried to imagine walking around with a throbbing erection bent double in his trousers for six months. "I don't think so."

"Three, then."

He raised his other leg and rested his loosely folded arms on his knees. "How about if we take it a day at a time?"

She turned the full effect of those blue eyes on him. He had already learned his lesson on that front and looked away. "A day at a time?" she said thinly. "With me never knowing from one minute to the next when you might decide to—" She broke off and made a small sound of frustration. "At least give me a designated amount of time so I can relax between now and then."

He forced himself to meet her gaze, steeling himself, determined not to give way. "There's no reason you can't relax on a day-to-day basis, Caitlin. Making love is nothing to dread, you know."

"No, I don't know."

"Well, take my word for it. I make no claims to be the greatest lover who ever walked, but I do know my way around a woman's body. I can't promise you falling stars and bells ringing in your ears like my sister reads about in her dime novels. But I can guarantee you it will be at I least passably nice."

"Passably nice? What exactly does that mean? Somewhere between bearable and downright awful?"

He chuckled again. He couldn't help himself. She looked so stricken, as if having him touch her would be the most dreadful thing she could imagine. "What's your favorite treat?" he asked softly. "Your very favorite."

"Why? What does that—?"

"Just answer the question."

"Chocolate candy," she said without hesitation.

He made a mental note of that so he could get her some the next time he went to town. "Mediocre sex with me will be every bit as good as chocolate candy. And that's if things don't go very well. Good sex will be like—" He hesitated, then smiled. "Imagine sinking neck deep in a whole tub of melted chocolate and being able to eat until it comes out your ears. That's what making love can be like. Better than anything you can dream of."

She was looking at him as if he were crazy.

His amusement faded. "I mean it, Caitlin. Why would I lie to you? The first time I touch you, you'll find out for yourself. Right?"

"You're a man."

"The last time I checked, yes."

Her eyes went suddenly stormy. "You're making fun of me and deliberately missing the point. I realize men like it. That doesn't mean women do. They just endure it. Once they're married, they aren't given any choice. Their only consolation is that it's the only way to have babies."

"Who told you that?"

"That it's the only way to have babies?"

"No, of course not. Who told you women just endure it?"

"No one. I've simply observed and reached my own conclusions."