The Marriage Bed (20 page)

"It is not the same."

"How is it different?"

He made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Because no other woman in the world ever makes me so insane that I want to smash my head through a window."

"Not good enough."

"Because you are my wife, I am your husband.
Because I want children, Viola.
I think you want them, too."

"What you mean is that you want an heir."

"No, that is not what I mean." He must have realized how unbelievable that sounded, given that was his whole reason for trying to come back to her, and he amended his answer at once. "I mean, I need an heir, yes, but I want children. Isn't that what marriage is for?"

"Because marriage is a sensible decision," she said, a dreariness coming over her as she spoke.

"For me and for most of the people we know. Not everyone looks at marriage the way you do, Viola. It isn't always about love. That is one of those rules that govern our lives."

He was right about that. She thought of the titled families they knew. Anthony and Daphne were an exception—for most couples of their acquaintance, marriage was not about love. It was about alliance and securing heirs, then going on to lead separate lives and
have
lovers of one's own choosing. She saw the future stretched out before her—a future that she had thought to avoid when she married
John
—a loveless marriage.

She could take lovers, she supposed, to ease the wretched loneliness, if she wanted them, but she could not imagine being touched by any other man but
John
. Still, something prompted her to ask the question. "The rules apply to us, too, I suppose? I
mean,
I could be like Peggy Darwin and take a lover of my own, if I wanted one."

"No, you could not!" The words came out of him with unexpected force, as explosive as gunshots in the room.

"But you could. In fact, you already have. That's hardly fair."

"Too bad."
Turning, he looked at her, defying fairness.
"My heir, Viola, no other man's.
That's part of the rules, too."

"But what about after that?
You go your way and I go mine? Then you can have as many lovers as you please, just like before? The only difference being that I shall be free to do the same? Is that how it works,
John
? If I come back to you, is that how it will be for us, too?"

"I hope not."

"Without love, how else could it be?"

"To my way of thinking, that depends on you. Are you going to turn me out of bed?
Because if you are, I will eventually go get a mistress.
It is that simple."

"How convenient for you that the entire future of our marriage rests with me."

"So it does."

She might have laughed at that, except there was nothing amusing about the situation. "And if I am a faithful wife, will you be faithful to me in return?"

The defiance melted away, and sulkiness stole into his face like shadows. He folded his arms. "No man ever answers a question like that."

"No?
Why not?"

"If I say yes, you will not believe me. If I say no,

I ruin any chance of ever getting you into bed again. If I say I don't know, I am condemned for not giving a definite answer. No matter what I say, it's the wrong thing, and I lose."

"This is not a game! It is not about winning and losing. I want—" She broke off, and amended her words. "No, I
deserve
an honest answer to my question. If I came back to you, and I
were
a faithful wife who gave you children, would you be a faithful husband to me?"

"I don't know."

She shook her head, staring at him in disbelief. "You don't know? What sort of answer is that?"

"An honest one!
I told you, that is a no-win question for a man. No matter what I answered, it wouldn't satisfy you. Would I do my best to be a faithful husband? Yes. Would I succeed? Again, that depends on you. Can you be a good wife to me? Can you be a loving, affectionate companion? Can I rely on you not to dissolve into tears and shut your bedroom door to me? Can I rely on you not to turn into the unforgiving ice queen when things don't go your way?"

That hurt. She bit her lip, looking at the resentment in his face, resentment directed at her when she did not deserve it. "That is a cruel thing to say."

"You wanted the truth."

"For heaven's sake!"
She jumped to her feet, truly angry now. "You talk as if I am being
unrea
sonable
. It is not unreasonable for a woman to expect her husband to be faithful!"

He also stood up. "Nor is it unreasonable for a man to expect his wife to make fidelity worth his while!"

The sound of sobbing from the other side of the closed door interrupted any reply she might have made. Both of them turned as the door opened and Beckham came in, a wailing Nicholas in her arms and a distraught look on her face.

"Forgive me, my lord," the nanny said to
John
with a quick curtsy.

Viola was rather relieved by the interruption. She was beginning to understand what he meant about how she might not like his honest answers to her questions. "What is it, Beckham?"

"So sorry, my lady, but I am looking for Mr.
Poppin
."

"Oh, dear."
She looked at Nicholas. "
Poppin's
gone missing, has he?"

"I am afraid so," Beckham answered. "I know the baby was in here with her grace earlier this evening, so I was hoping they had left
Poppin
in here."

Viola took a glance around the library. "I don't see him."

"Who is Mr.
Poppin
?"
John
asked over the child's sobs.

"His favorite toy, my lord," the nanny explained, and returned her attention to Viola.
"I

can't
think how I tucked him in without noticing it was missing, but I must have done. He fell asleep without it, he was so tired. But then something woke him, and he must have discovered the toy wasn't there, because he just started crying his little heart out. I don't believe he's going back to sleep without Mr.
Poppin
."

Viola looked at the baby, who was sobbing as if the end of the world were at hand. "What's wrong, Nicky?" she crooned, and reached for him. She pressed kisses to his wet face. "
Poppin
playing hide-and-seek with you again?"

Nicholas would not be soothed by a few little kisses. He wailed louder, and Viola looked at Beckham with a sigh. "We are going to have to find that toy."

"It seems so, my lady."

She started to hand the baby back to the nanny, but
John
's voice stopped her. "May I—" He broke off, clasped his hands behind his
back,
and looked away.
"Never mind."

Viola looked up at him, studying his profile. There was no anger in his face now. He looked grave and uncomfortable.
Almost embarrassed.
She could not remember
John
ever looking embarrassed, and she could not help being curious. "What were you going to ask?"

She watched as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He did not look at her, though he did cast an uneasy glance at the nanny before re-turning his attention to the baby. "I only wondered if I might hold him," he muttered, "but then I realized it sounded too silly for words."

"You want to hold Nicholas?" she asked in astonishment, uncertain she had heard him right. Men never wanted to hold babies, especially not those who were wailing at the top of their lungs. But he gave a quick, jerky nod, and she realized he meant it.

"It isn't silly at all," she said, and stepped closer to her husband. "Here."

She started to hand Nicholas over to him, but he did not reach out take the baby from her. "I don't know how to do this," he said, looking suddenly panicky.

She settled Nicholas against her shoulder again to demonstrate. "Just like this. You see?" After a moment he nodded and she turned the baby around. Leaning closer to her husband, she handed the sobbing child over to him.

He took the baby in a way that was tentative, uncertain. She could scarcely believe it.
First embarrassment, then uncertainty, from
John
, of all men.
What an odd evening this was turning out to be. He pulled Nicholas against his chest, the baby's bottom resting on his forearm, his hand against the baby's head, holding him in the exact position she had.

At that moment, for the inexplicable reason known only to angels, Nicholas stopped crying.

In the sudden silence, Viola stared at her husband. He looked as if he
were
holding a miracle in his hands, and she felt the world caving beneath her feet. Arguments and unfair words and expectations dissolved away, and a queer, piercing, painful joy hit her in the chest. She could not move, and she hoped it wasn't Cupid who had just fired that arrow into her heart.

"Bless us all," murmured Beckham. "You've a way with babies, my lord."

John
pulled back a bit to look into the face of the child in his arms. "Deuce
take
you," he said, laughing as if amazed.

The baby stared at him, a frown of puzzlement puckering his brow, as if uncertain what to do in the arms of this stranger. Then, his face still streaked with tears, he smiled and said something unintelligible that sounded suspiciously like a coo of affection.

John
pressed his forehead to that of the baby. "If people find out about this, I shall take no end of ribbing at the club. We'd best keep this between ourselves, old chap."

The baby gurgled in reply, and Viola watched as he lifted one hand to bat at her husband's cheek.
John
turned his head, blowing air into the baby's palm, making him laugh, seeming to charm Nicholas without any effort at all. Even babies were not immune.

He bounced the child, settling him more firmly in the crook of his arm, appearing much more comfortable with holding him now than he had a few moments before. "What a handsome fellow you are when you're not crying. You have your mother's eyes, I see. No lady's heart shall be safe twenty years from now."

The baby stirred and pressed a hand against
John
's chest, burying his fingers in limp linen ruffles and cravat silk. He made a distressed sound and looked about him, wriggling.

"Not interested in being the heartbreaker of the ton, eh?"
John
said. "I cannot say I blame you. Women were designed to turn men's entire lives into chaos at every possible opportunity. Best to steer clear as long as you can."

"That is a terrible thing to say!" Viola protested. "Nicholas, don't listen to him."

"He won't,"
John
told her. "We men never steer clear. That would be like compass needles not pointing true north. It's just not possible."

The baby pushed against
John
's chest with both hands. "Pop," he said.
"Pop-pop."

"Yes, I know," he said with a nod of complete understanding. "T
hank
you for reminding me of the important business at hand." He began walking around the drawing room, the baby in his arms, making a great show of looking for Mr.
Poppin
. As he peered behind the pianoforte, under tables, and between chairs, he continued talking to his nephew in worldly-wise accents. "The devil of it, my boy, is that women are more important to us than anything else, and they know it. Not that any of the fair sex would ever use this fact against us, mind you."

He bent at the knees with the baby in his arms, looking under a round rosewood table. "But it's important for a fellow to keep his wits about him."

He straightened and paused to look at his nephew. "Be especially careful of the no-win question," he advised the baby, who was staring back at him in grave fascination. "They will get under your skin with that one every time. Mark my words."