squire's and the gentleman from Cornwall. Was it fair to withhold that detail?
Sophie and her mother entered the salon. He rose to his feet. Sophie's gaze assessed him with a grave inquiry out of place in her normally blithe attack on life.
What now?
She moved to the far side of the room and sat.
Jane inquired after his day while Sophie stared at him without a smile. How long would she be able to sit still?
Not long. She popped up and moved to a window where she pulled back the edge of a curtain. She didn't participate in the desultory conversation.
Keene assessed her form under the yards of peach material. The dress was hopelessly outdated, although he could see some effort to modernize the capped sleeves. He supposed Farthing objected to the latest fashions as frivolous and too revealing. Sophie wore her dress with a careless disregard. Her shawl was draped negligently over her arms in what she probably didn't know was a most fashionable display.
Finally, dinner was announced and Keene offered her his arm. She tucked a bare hand into the crook of his elbow. Had she forgotten her gloves?
He lagged behind, glancing around to see if she had laid them down in the sitting room.
"What are you doing, Keene? My parents are already ahead."
"Where are your gloves?"
"I didn't wear any." She tugged on his arm as if to pull him forward.
He stopped completely. "What's wrong, Sophie?"
"Mama and I had a long conversation this morning. It has been on my mind since."
"What was the talk about?"
Sophie tilted her head. "Marriage." Her blue eyes narrowed and then dropped away. A hint of color appeared on her cheeks.
What had Jane told her? Keene stared at the backs of Sophie's parents and wondered if with their prudishness, the Farthing's had conveyed to Sophie that the intimacies of marriage were a repulsive business. In this instance he should prefer his bride be totally innocent rather than have misconceptions tainting her spirit.
What exactly did Sophie know of relationships between men and women? For that matter, what of her parents' marriage? There had been no more children. He couldn't recall ever witnessing Farthing touch Jane other than when formalities required it. Even now as they walked down the hallway, Jane's hand on Farthing's arm, a considerable distance gaped between her skirts and Farthing's legs. "I daresay our marriage should be quite different than your parents'."
"Yes, Mama said it would be."
Keene pulled his arm close to his body and smoothed his hand over Sophie's. He didn't want her fretting over her duties or however Jane had explained the intimacies of marriage to her.
She tugged at him.
Yesterday she had exhibited no desire at all to pull away from him. "Did this talk of your mother's frighten you?"
She stopped tugging and lifted her face to stare him directly in the face. "I daresay it did."
Until this visit he hadn't thought she could be frightened. Even now she met his gaze squarely. He moved his hand to her face. "I promise you, I shall see to your pleasure. There is no need to be afraid of my touch."
"Your touch?" She blinked.
"Of making love." He should have said the hell with proprieties and promises and pulled her into his bed last night. "That is what your mother spoke to you about, isn't it?"
"No, not exactly. I'm not afraid of the intimacies of marriage, per se," she said with exasperation. Color flooded her cheeks. "Is that what you think we are speaking about?"
Keene felt a twinge of uncertainty. "What are you afraid of?"
She looked away. "Well not of that precisely. Come along, Papa shall be furious if we are too far behind."
Not being allowed to talk to his bride was annoying. Not having a clue what she was talking about was worse. And her claim of not being afraid didn't match with the trembling she'd done last night in his arms.
But then, he knew from his occasional rescues over the years, Sophie did not admit fear when she had to be in the throes of terror. Instead,
Sophie and her mother entered the salon. He rose to his feet. Sophie's gaze assessed him with a grave inquiry out of place in her normally blithe attack on life.
What now?
She moved to the far side of the room and sat.
Jane inquired after his day while Sophie stared at him without a smile. How long would she be able to sit still?
Not long. She popped up and moved to a window where she pulled back the edge of a curtain. She didn't participate in the desultory conversation.
Keene assessed her form under the yards of peach material. The dress was hopelessly outdated, although he could see some effort to modernize the capped sleeves. He supposed Farthing objected to the latest fashions as frivolous and too revealing. Sophie wore her dress with a careless disregard. Her shawl was draped negligently over her arms in what she probably didn't know was a most fashionable display.
Finally, dinner was announced and Keene offered her his arm. She tucked a bare hand into the crook of his elbow. Had she forgotten her gloves?
He lagged behind, glancing around to see if she had laid them down in the sitting room.
"What are you doing, Keene? My parents are already ahead."
"Where are your gloves?"
"I didn't wear any." She tugged on his arm as if to pull him forward.
He stopped completely. "What's wrong, Sophie?"
"Mama and I had a long conversation this morning. It has been on my mind since."
"What was the talk about?"
Sophie tilted her head. "Marriage." Her blue eyes narrowed and then dropped away. A hint of color appeared on her cheeks.
What had Jane told her? Keene stared at the backs of Sophie's parents and wondered if with their prudishness, the Farthing's had conveyed to Sophie that the intimacies of marriage were a repulsive business. In this instance he should prefer his bride be totally innocent rather than have misconceptions tainting her spirit.
What exactly did Sophie know of relationships between men and women? For that matter, what of her parents' marriage? There had been no more children. He couldn't recall ever witnessing Farthing touch Jane other than when formalities required it. Even now as they walked down the hallway, Jane's hand on Farthing's arm, a considerable distance gaped between her skirts and Farthing's legs. "I daresay our marriage should be quite different than your parents'."
"Yes, Mama said it would be."
Keene pulled his arm close to his body and smoothed his hand over Sophie's. He didn't want her fretting over her duties or however Jane had explained the intimacies of marriage to her.
She tugged at him.
Yesterday she had exhibited no desire at all to pull away from him. "Did this talk of your mother's frighten you?"
She stopped tugging and lifted her face to stare him directly in the face. "I daresay it did."
Until this visit he hadn't thought she could be frightened. Even now she met his gaze squarely. He moved his hand to her face. "I promise you, I shall see to your pleasure. There is no need to be afraid of my touch."
"Your touch?" She blinked.
"Of making love." He should have said the hell with proprieties and promises and pulled her into his bed last night. "That is what your mother spoke to you about, isn't it?"
"No, not exactly. I'm not afraid of the intimacies of marriage, per se," she said with exasperation. Color flooded her cheeks. "Is that what you think we are speaking about?"
Keene felt a twinge of uncertainty. "What are you afraid of?"
She looked away. "Well not of that precisely. Come along, Papa shall be furious if we are too far behind."
Not being allowed to talk to his bride was annoying. Not having a clue what she was talking about was worse. And her claim of not being afraid didn't match with the trembling she'd done last night in his arms.
But then, he knew from his occasional rescues over the years, Sophie did not admit fear when she had to be in the throes of terror. Instead,
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