Trial by Desire - Carhart 02 (2010) by Courtney Milan

Author:Courtney Milan
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Married People, Historical, Husband and Wife, Berkshire (England), Seduction, Wife Abuse - England - History - 19th Century, Fiction, Romance, Adult, Historical Fiction, General, Nobility, Love Stories
ISBN: 9780373774852
Publisher: HQN Books
Published: 2010-09-28T07:00:00+00:00

IT HAD BEEN A FEAT of impossible proportions, what Ned had accomplished, knowing that Kate was holding a secret back from him. He had yet to earn her complete trust and so he’d kept himself from the final consummation, no matter what his body had desired. But he had been in charge. He had been in control—not his body, nor his own foolish wants. It had been proof of the sort he’d longed for.

See? I’m not some boy, to be led about by my desires any longer.

He set the towel down and turned back to Kate. As he did so, all his fine self-congratulations faded. She was laid out on his bed, the thin film of her gown displaying rather than hiding the lines of her body—sweet, enticing curves, all the more appealing because he could still feel the echo of her skin against his hands.

She lay on his bed, the embodiment of everything warm and comforting.

There was a reason he hadn’t lit a fire. Some men might relax their guard, might simply forget about their troubles. Ned, however, had learned that there was always danger. He heard a siren song of home and heart, of comfort and no further need for strife. What she didn’t understand was that he could dash himself on the rocks of complacency as easily as on darker shoals.

He knew. He’d done it before.

She smiled at him. “Ned. Are you going to have someone lay a fire?”

He wasn’t quite sure what he’d hoped to accomplish these last few moments, but he suddenly realized what he’d managed to give her. Satiety without satisfaction; the illusion of closeness, without any actual penetration.

And now, when it was over, she was beginning to realize there was nothing left but the cold. It had won out again. In the mirror above the basin, he saw a little shiver go through her.

“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t sleep with a fire.”

She sat up in bed and stared at him. “Some people go without comforts. Usually it is because they cannot afford them.”

True. He couldn’t afford himself too much comfort—any more than he could give up the regimen of physical exercise he engaged in. Comfort was the enemy. Comfort was complacency. Comfort lulled him into believing that he did not need to worry about the future.

She huffed. “You don’t sleep with a fire? Well, I do.”

Her import was obvious. She wanted to stay the night, wanted to lie down next to him in bed and tempt him all night with the brush of her limbs against his, the scent of lilac on her skin. It would be so easy to succumb to her, to wallow in the warmth of her. It would be easy, right up until the moment when it was not.

But it would be weakness to light a fire just because the air was a little cold. Just as it was weakness to indulge in one’s desire for intercourse, merely because a woman was willing.

She looked at him levelly. “You’re not saying anything.

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