hope of a proper match, and I could not find the proper moment to s-say anything .”
Nor had Noah exactly sought privacy with his bride since she’d accepted his proposal. What would have been the point?
“What would you have said?” he asked.
“That I am not pure.”
“But you are chaste,” Noah muttered. “You exude chastity.” And virtue, and feminine grace, and dignity, and all manner of qualities appropriate to a duchess.
Thea rolled to her side, her back to him, and he suspected she was crying again.
“Stop that.” He rolled too, to spoon around her. “Would you please stop crying, rather.”
“I’m not crying.” Her body shuddered to the contrary, and Noah felt unaccountably like a bully, for which he also resented her.
“Thea, this is not a tragedy,” he said, his hand tracing the line of her spine. Even in the yardage of her nightgown, even lying in bed, she gave off an air of dignified injury, which was confounding, when she wasn’t the wronged party. “Araminthea…”
“I’m listening.”
Two words bearing an entire lecture on bruised feminine sensibilities, which was amazing, and ironically amusing too.
“Do you know what manner of family you’ve married into?” Noah went on talking, mostly to distract her as he worked his way closer. “My late uncle, from whom I inherited my title, had three wives, each of whom he esteemed greatly, to hear him tell it. Nonetheless, the love of his life was a countess he referred to as his Unattainable Muse, whom he cherished his entire life, to the extent he left at least one cuckoo in her nest, though my father suggested the tally might have been closer to three.”
All of whom Noah nodded to politely in the park. “I bear a striking resemblance to both of the lady’s sons. My surviving uncle continues to cut a swath through the ballrooms and house parties, often taking up with willing ladies half his age. It’s either an inspiration or a complete farce, I know not which.”
Thea was listening, Noah sensed, because her posture gradually eased, and she didn’t flinch when he brought his legs up along hers.
“There are those who believe my half brother, Harlan, could be the result of my youngest uncle’s attempt to console my father’s third wife,” Noah went on, “though I don’t credit that rumor, myself. My uncle has consoled many a widow, though, and the resulting progeny are considered the deceased’s posthumous miracles. I’ve forbidden him to attend any more funerals, unless the grieving widow is past childbearing age.”
Thea peered at Noah over her shoulder, and he used the moment to finish stealing a march across the bed.
“Are you serious, Anselm?”
“I was single-handedly upholding the standards of common sense among the menfolk in my family, and then you came along—I thought you an eminently sensible choice, I’ll have you know—and upended my good opinion of myself entirely. I do not appreciate it.”
Noah did not know exactly what to do about it, either.
“I am sorry.” Thea subsided, facing away from him. “I am truly, truly sorry.”
Noah believed she was sorry to be found out, but he wasn’t a saint, and practicalities demanded consideration.
“We will not be intimate until you’ve had your courses, Thea. You will understand my reasoning, given that there’s a ducal succession to consider. Unlike my father or my uncle, I believe children should be raised wherever possible by those responsible for their creation.”
“As do I.”
Noah had sensed that about her, sensed she’d be an involved parent, not a woman who pretended her own nursery was located in another shire.
“Please assure me you haven’t any children, Duchess.”
A moment of banked dread passed as Thea drew the covers up, tugging hard until they came free of Noah’s hip.
“I have no children, Your Grace. For Nonie, I would surrender all of my worldly freedom, my independence, and my dreams of a less pragmatic union. I
Nor had Noah exactly sought privacy with his bride since she’d accepted his proposal. What would have been the point?
“What would you have said?” he asked.
“That I am not pure.”
“But you are chaste,” Noah muttered. “You exude chastity.” And virtue, and feminine grace, and dignity, and all manner of qualities appropriate to a duchess.
Thea rolled to her side, her back to him, and he suspected she was crying again.
“Stop that.” He rolled too, to spoon around her. “Would you please stop crying, rather.”
“I’m not crying.” Her body shuddered to the contrary, and Noah felt unaccountably like a bully, for which he also resented her.
“Thea, this is not a tragedy,” he said, his hand tracing the line of her spine. Even in the yardage of her nightgown, even lying in bed, she gave off an air of dignified injury, which was confounding, when she wasn’t the wronged party. “Araminthea…”
“I’m listening.”
Two words bearing an entire lecture on bruised feminine sensibilities, which was amazing, and ironically amusing too.
“Do you know what manner of family you’ve married into?” Noah went on talking, mostly to distract her as he worked his way closer. “My late uncle, from whom I inherited my title, had three wives, each of whom he esteemed greatly, to hear him tell it. Nonetheless, the love of his life was a countess he referred to as his Unattainable Muse, whom he cherished his entire life, to the extent he left at least one cuckoo in her nest, though my father suggested the tally might have been closer to three.”
All of whom Noah nodded to politely in the park. “I bear a striking resemblance to both of the lady’s sons. My surviving uncle continues to cut a swath through the ballrooms and house parties, often taking up with willing ladies half his age. It’s either an inspiration or a complete farce, I know not which.”
Thea was listening, Noah sensed, because her posture gradually eased, and she didn’t flinch when he brought his legs up along hers.
“There are those who believe my half brother, Harlan, could be the result of my youngest uncle’s attempt to console my father’s third wife,” Noah went on, “though I don’t credit that rumor, myself. My uncle has consoled many a widow, though, and the resulting progeny are considered the deceased’s posthumous miracles. I’ve forbidden him to attend any more funerals, unless the grieving widow is past childbearing age.”
Thea peered at Noah over her shoulder, and he used the moment to finish stealing a march across the bed.
“Are you serious, Anselm?”
“I was single-handedly upholding the standards of common sense among the menfolk in my family, and then you came along—I thought you an eminently sensible choice, I’ll have you know—and upended my good opinion of myself entirely. I do not appreciate it.”
Noah did not know exactly what to do about it, either.
“I am sorry.” Thea subsided, facing away from him. “I am truly, truly sorry.”
Noah believed she was sorry to be found out, but he wasn’t a saint, and practicalities demanded consideration.
“We will not be intimate until you’ve had your courses, Thea. You will understand my reasoning, given that there’s a ducal succession to consider. Unlike my father or my uncle, I believe children should be raised wherever possible by those responsible for their creation.”
“As do I.”
Noah had sensed that about her, sensed she’d be an involved parent, not a woman who pretended her own nursery was located in another shire.
“Please assure me you haven’t any children, Duchess.”
A moment of banked dread passed as Thea drew the covers up, tugging hard until they came free of Noah’s hip.
“I have no children, Your Grace. For Nonie, I would surrender all of my worldly freedom, my independence, and my dreams of a less pragmatic union. I
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