Of Valor & Vice by K.J. Jackson

Author:K.J. Jackson [Jackson, K.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-05-25T16:00:00+00:00

His arm fully asleep, dead weight under Adalia’s sleeping head, Toren’s cheek scrunched as he tried to shift without waking her.

If he didn’t get blood flowing back to his fingers soon, he feared losing the whole limb. She hadn’t left the room after sex, as was usually her way. As he preferred it.

But he couldn’t blame Adalia. The whole day had been exhausting. And the five different inventive ways she had just shown her appreciation to him and his body had only exacerbated her fatigue.

Not that he minded in the slightest. Adalia and her tongue were very good at showing appreciation. So good that he wished there were a few more bones to break in front of her, if what he had just experienced would be his reward.

She shifted, mumbling nonsense in her sleep. A waft of her hair’s honey scent escaped, reaching his nose, and his eyes dipped to the top of her head.

Adalia loved him.

Her own words, whether she had meant to say them or not. He had warned her against it at the beginning, and she had agreed that love need not have a place in their marriage.

They had both agreed.

Little good that did.

Toren had tried to put it out of his mind, her words. She had said to forget she’d spoken the sentiment. But she hadn’t promised she would fall out of love with him. And he had no intention of being unkind to her in order for that to happen.

Yet he didn’t want to encourage her love. He didn’t want to have to bear the expectant look from her if she ever said it again. The hopes he would dash time and again. He couldn’t love her, yet he didn’t want to see her in pain because of his own inadequacies.

Inadequacies? Since when had he considered his lack of feeling an inadequacy?

He had always enjoyed the detachment it gave him from people. It made him smart when it came to his estate and investments. Smart when it came to Parliament. Smart when it came to choosing how to conduct himself.

His lack of feeling was an asset, not an inadequacy. He had to remember that, just as he had always been taught. Just as Mrs. Marchall had insisted. Just as Mr. Octon had demanded. His responsibilities demanded it.

A pain shot into his shoulder, spearing through the dulled muscles. He had to move.

His stomach muscles tightened under her arm flopped along his stomach, and he raised his shoulders from the bed, lifting Adalia with him. Cradling her, he attempted to slide her off his immobile arm onto a pillow.

Her temple almost touching the pillow, she suddenly jolted upright, frantic, tears streaming down her face. He sat up next to her. It took her a long, frantic moment to orientate herself in the low light of the coals glowing in the fireplace.

“Oh. Oh.” Soft murmurs escaped her as she wiped tears from her cheeks. Her eyes went down to his bare upper chest, and her palm ran haphazardly across his skin, brushing wetness away.

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