Ruined by Moonlight (3 page)

“Exactly my point.”

He muttered something under his breath she didn’t quite catch, and perhaps it was just as well, for it involved a word she’d never heard before. He reclined, tall and lean, his long legs extended, attired casually this afternoon in a dark coat, buff breeches, and polished boots, his white shirt open at the throat. The informal attire suited him, and since she’d pried him out of his study with some difficulty to make him join her for this conversation,
the lack of a cravat was not his fault. She found she liked him like this, his dark blond hair a bit tousled because he habitually ran his fingers through it when he was concentrating—an endearing mannerism to her mind—so he didn’t look quite so…unapproachable.

Sometimes he was so guarded she had no idea how to break in.

Covertly, she studied him. His features were familiar: high cheekbones, chin a bit square, straight nose, eyes striking with their gold-green color under arched brows just the slightest shade darker than his hair…There was no question he was a very attractive man. Alicia knew when the very eligible Lord Heathton had noticed her she’d been the envy of most of the eligible ladies of the beau monde.

However, the marriage was not quite working out as she expected. Her handsome husband was the farthest thing from romantic and it rankled. Until now she’d said nothing, waiting for the intimacy to grow between them. But it hadn’t, and if she didn’t do something, she had come to the conclusion, it never would.

Therefore the ultimatum. This was up to her. If left to him, they would live out their lives this way. It was a leap of faith, but, then again, they needed to leap together. If she fell she’d been on the precipice since the day they’d said their vows anyway.

He bit out, “Though I think this is all ridiculous, please go ahead and be more specific. What exactly is it you want from me?”

The question alone was a coup, and Alicia did her best to not look triumphant in any way. She carefully set aside her cup. “It is very simple. I think if we are going to share a night together, before that we should share something significant that does not involve…”

When she trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence, Benjamin did it for her in a sardonic tone. “Sexual relations?”

Yes, that was precisely what she meant, but his voice held a dangerous edge and so she simply nodded rather than responding directly.

“Forget the tea. I need a brandy.” He rose and stalked—that was the only way she could describe it—across the informal parlor and picked up a crystal decanter to pour some of the amber liquid into a snifter. Then with his back still to her, he took a hearty swallow before he turned around. His gaze was direct and challenging. “You do know you can’t do this without my permission. I have conjugal rights and if I wish to exercise them you are not supposed to refuse me.”

That, of course, was her real weapon in this small battle she’d chosen to engage. He would never force her.

Never.

Ever.

That conviction gave her confidence.

And at least some measure of power in a world where women had very little. His autocratic statement was no doubt due to the blow to his male pride, so she didn’t take offense. She might not know him as well as she’d like to even after months of marriage, but that he was caught by surprise was obvious, and she wasn’t above pressing that advantage given the nature of the cause.

“I think, my lord,” she said with a quiet smile, “we can come to terms without drastic measures being taken on either side. I am not asking for much. For instance, would you like to go on a stroll through the gardens?”

For years he’d played a secret role in helping the Crown untangle untidy messes here and there, but damned if he knew what had just happened.

Benjamin Wallace fought the urge to just storm out of the room, but that seemed ill advised considering his lovely wife was currently holding him hostage by threatening to banish him from her bedroom.

He’d been—in a word—ambushed.
Unthinkable.

A part of him was furious because he’d done his best, ever since the day he’d sat down and coolly arranged the marriage with her father, to have exactly the kind of relationship with his wife that he’d always envisioned once he sacrificed his bachelorhood to duty.

He wished to live his life, and she was free, within limits, of course, to live hers. She appeared on his arm at certain functions, oversaw the menus and other aspects of the household, and though it hadn’t happened yet, she would bear his children. All very civilized, all very much in his control, and nicely ordered.

He’d never expected to be blackmailed.

It was unsettling to realize a small part of him, a completely foreign facet he didn’t recognize, was intrigued at this sudden show of independence. Alicia had always been biddable enough, acquiescing to his decisions without argument, always the gracious hostess and dutiful wife. In bed it was much the same. She allowed him to touch her as he wished and never refused him unless it was an inconvenient time of the month. And when he left her for his own chamber she never failed to sweetly bid him good night.

However, if he was painfully honest with himself, her submissiveness gave him an uncertainty about whether she even enjoyed his attentions. He hadn’t realized it
bothered him until now, when he found himself gazing at her from across the room, his mind only remotely registering the question she’d just asked him.

She was very attractive. That went without saying, for he had selected carefully once he’d decided it was time to marry, and, truthfully, Alicia had caught his eye right away. Graceful, with a delicate femininity that drew him, she had glossy hair so dark it was almost black. At the moment she had her hair caught up in a sleek, simple chignon that complemented her pearly complexion and compelling, huge, dark blue eyes, their color reminiscent of deep water at midnight, cobalt and mysterious. This afternoon she wore a light blue gown that emphasized her dramatic coloring and accentuated the curves he’d explored on those shrouded nights when he’d visited her bed.

The nights when, he could now admit to himself, he felt vaguely like an interloper. As if he were not there by invitation but by permission, granted but not necessarily because his presence was wanted. And yet he hadn’t been aware of it before this moment.

Perhaps she wasn’t the only one dissatisfied with their current arrangement.

Damn all
.

“A walk in the garden?” He cleared his throat and then finished his brandy in a swift, irreverent toss that almost made him cough. “I fail to see what that will accomplish, but fine.”

A vision in pale azure silk, she stood and murmured, “Thank you.”

It rankled to be thanked for such a small thing as taking her for a simple walk. Was he really that…indifferent? It was true he tended to approach most matters in a very
analytical way but he hadn’t done so with his marriage. In his selection of a wife, yes, but the reality of their relationship, no. Or had he? Again he had a flicker of discomfort even as he offered his arm and she laid her hand on it, her head dipping downward in demure composure.

Or perhaps she was just not meeting his eyes on purpose.

And tantalizing him with the glimpse of her nape, which was both beguiling and deliciously feminine. He led her toward the French doors down the hallway off the breakfast room that opened to the terrace, a sense of the ridiculous lingering as they stepped into the afternoon sunshine. “Do you have a particular path in mind?” he asked with as much neutrality as possible, the hint of her perfume mingling with the scent of the blooming flowers.

“To the right. I know it isn’t original but I love the roses. They are classically romantic, I suppose.”

I’ll have to remember that,
Ben thought wryly.
Favorite flower: rose.
Duly filed away so if questioned again about her particular preferences, he would have at least one answer. If he knew her favorite color he could find a rose that hue and perhaps ingratiate himself twice over.

The sun was warm, the breeze a gentle caress, and to his surprise he found he wondered why he never bothered with the gardens except to occasionally admire them from the window of his study.
I’m a busy man,
he excused his abstraction, his boots crunching the gravel as they walked, her long skirts brushing his legs.

“Such a beautiful day,” Alicia commented.

He slowed his stride to match her shorter one. “I agree.”

“It always seems a shame to me how people hurry
through life, throwing away lovely afternoons like this.” She lifted her face toward the sky and smiled.

Benjamin let his gaze slide over her, lingering where the swell of her breasts filled the bodice of her demure gown, at the arch of her slender throat, the glistening pink of her lips. He worked long hours, but, his estates needed managing, his fortune was maintained by careful supervision of his business affairs, and he did have a seat in the House of Lords, which took up a considerable amount of his time. He shrugged. “Obligations are what they are. Not all of us give up lovely afternoons voluntarily.”

“I suppose there could be a certain validity to that argument, my lord.”

“Why is it I have the impression I have just been disagreed with again, but in the most subtle way possible?”

There was a slight mischievous twitch to her mouth. “Perhaps you have been. I think a person must
make
time in life for what is important. And most do, only their vision of importance is often different from that of others. We are all unique, so that isn’t an astonishing conclusion.”

He was fascinated—a bit unwillingly—by that utterly feminine teasing smile. He asked, “And what do
you
think is important?”

She seemed to contemplate the answer, her profile defined in the slanting sunlight, her long lashes slightly lowered. Then she murmured, “I find much of my attention focused on you, my lord.”

Benjamin was silent, not at all certain how to respond to that. Of course, he was her husband, so it made sense she would consider him a central figure in her life, but, truthfully, he’d not made that adjustment. She was his wife
but they didn’t spend all that much time together. He traveled to London frequently and as it was the season, she was in town also, arriving just a few nights before, but not because he had requested her presence. He’d always been under the impression she liked the country and so he’d left her there.

They would spend even less time together if she carried out her threat.

Truly, a man should not have to make concessions to bed his own wife, but he had to admit that a pleasant stroll through a garden was not really asking much.

Leaves fluttered as the breeze brushed past. There was a small pond in the walled garden, lilies on the surface, fish moving in flashes of gold beneath the water. Some enterprising member of the gardening staff had artfully made a small waterfall over some mossy stones, so the cascade made a pleasant sound as it splashed downward.

Alicia stopped, bent, and picked a small white flower he didn’t recognize—but he was hardly a botanist—and, smiling, tucked it into the buttonhole of his jacket. “A gift, my lord, so you can remember the first time we took a walk in a garden together.”

Amused, he caught her slim wrist, circling it gently with his fingers. “Alicia, I believe men are supposed to give women flowers, not the other way around.”

“One of your problems is you have some archaic preconceived notions of how men and women should act toward each other.”

His brows shot up, but she looked so lovely standing there in the warm late-afternoon sunshine, her rich hair shining, a hint of gold on her flawless skin, those long-lashed eyes holding a shimmer of laughter, that he found it impossible to be insulted. “Do I? How so?”

She took him by surprise yet again. “You’ve never kissed me.”

Benjamin gazed down at his wife in bemused consternation. “At the risk of arguing with a lady, I beg to differ. I most certainly have, Alicia, and you know it.”

A blush touched her delicate cheekbones but she held his gaze. “A perfunctory offering at best.”

“You have an interesting approach, madam. Tell me, how do you know if a kiss is perfunctory or not? I was unaware you had any experience before me.”

Damn all if he didn’t feel a twinge of something that might even have been jealousy, which was an irrational emotion he didn’t believe in at all.

His wife said softly, “Do you think a woman, experienced or not, cannot tell if a man puts true emotion into a kiss?”

At that moment, to his chagrin, he knew what she meant. He’d kissed her but usually it was a formality before he took his pleasure, the merest brush of his mouth on hers in the dark as a prelude to their joining. Unprecedented in his adult life, his own face flushed at that all too astute observation.

Had he really been so self-serving?

She went on with charming, hesitant sincerity. “I am not particularly worldly but have no illusions over whether or not there have been other women, before me or maybe even after our marriage. I am your wife so there was no need to seduce me, but surely you have done it before. The flower is for you to remember this afternoon. Perhaps you could gift me a real kiss so I can treasure it always?”

A kiss? His beautiful wife was asking for a real kiss.

She is young,
a voice inside him chided. Idealistic, romantic
in the way women were, and it appeared he’d bungled things badly by assuming she was as satisfied as he was with their arrangement. He had had no idea before this afternoon that she was anything but content with their marriage.

How on earth could he refuse that challenge? His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips were soft and inviting and…

At that inopportune moment someone cleared his throat.

He glanced up to see Yeats hovering partway down the path, the elderly butler’s apologetic expression clearly stating that he might have just overheard part of their exchange. “Yes?”

“Sorry to intrude, milord.”

Poor timing indeed.

Drily, Ben said, “What is it?”