But he was interrupted by Mouse bursting from the covers, leaping atop her hip and barking furiously.
Lord Vale started back, Mouse lost his balance and skidded off her hip, and Melisande groaned as she was jostled by the terrier.
“Has he hurt you?” Lord Vale came toward her, his brows knit, which caused Mouse to bark so hard that all four paws left the bed at once.
“Hush, Mouse,” Melisande moaned.
Lord Vale looked at Mouse with cold blue eyes. Then, in a move so sudden and fast she didn’t have time to protest, he grabbed the dog by its ruff, picked him up off the bed, and tossed him into the dressing room. He shut the door firmly and returned to the bed to frown down at her.
“What is the matter?”
She swallowed, a bit put out that he’d taken Mouse away. “Nothing.”
Her answer caused him to frown more sternly. “Do not lie to me. Your dog has hurt you somehow. Now tell me—”
“It wasn’t Mouse.” She closed her eyes, because she couldn’t look at him and say this. “I have my . . . my courses.”
The room was so quiet, she wondered if he was holding his breath. She opened her eyes.
Lord Vale was staring at her as if she’d metamorphosed into a salted herring. “Your . . . ah . . . quite.”
He glanced about the room as if for inspiration.
Melisande wished she could vanish. Simply disappear into the air.
“Do you . . . ah.” Lord Vale cleared his throat. “Do you require anything?”
“Nothing. Thank you.” She tucked the comforter under her nose.
“Good. Well, then—”
“Actually—”
Her words collided with his. He stopped and looked at her, then gracefully waved a large-knuckled hand for her to speak.
Melisande cleared her throat. “Actually, could you let Mouse out again?”
“Yes, of course.” He strode to the dressing room door and cracked it open.
Mouse immediately da>
Lord Vale arched an eyebrow at Melisande. “Your pardon, but it’s best if we work this out now.”
Once again he moved with startling speed, but this time he reached out and closed his hand about the dog’s muzzle. Mouse must’ve been surprised as well, for he squeaked.
Melisande opened her mouth in instinctive protest, but Vale shot her a glance, and she closed it again. It was his house, and he was her husband, after all.
Still holding Mouse’s muzzle, Lord Vale leaned down and looked the dog in the eye. “No.”
Man and dog stared a moment more, and man gave the dog a firm shake. Then he released him. Mouse sat down against Melisande and licked his muzzle.
Lord Vale’s gaze returned to her. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she murmured.
And he left the room.
Mouse came and pressed his nose against her cheek.
She stroked his head. “Well, you really did deserve that, you know.”
Mouse exhaled gustily and then pawed the edge of the coverlet. She held it up so he could creep beneath and resume his place against her back.
Then she closed her eyes. Men. How was it possible that Vale had had a parade of paramours in the last several years and still didn’t seem to know what to do with his own wife? Even insulated as she was by society, she’d heard whispers each time he’d taken a new mistress or formed a liaison. Each time it was like a tiny bit of glass pressed into the softness of her heart, grinding, grinding, oh so silently, until she no longer noticed when she bled. And now she had him—finally had him—all to herself, and it turned out that he had the sensitivity of . . . an ox.
Melisande turned and thumped her pillow, causing Mouse to grumble as he resettled himself. Oh, this was a great cosmic joke! To have the man of her dreams and find he was made of lead. But he couldn’t be a universally bad lover and have the reputation he had with the ladies of the ton. Some of them had stayed with him for months, and most were sophisticated creatures, the type who could have their pick of paramours. The type who had dozens of men.
She stilled at the thought. Her husband was used to experienced lovers. Perhaps he simply did not know what to do with a wife. Or—terrible thought!—perhaps he intended to keep his passion for a mistress and use his wife merely to mother his children. In that case, he might feel that there was no need to expend extra energy in seeing that she enjoyed the marriage bed.
Melisande scowled into the darkness of her lonely room. If they continued on their present course, she would have a loveless and sexless marriage. The love she could do without—had to do without, if she were to maintain her sanity. She no more wanted Valen ae wante to find out her true feelings for him than she wanted to jump from the roof of a building. But that didn’t mean she had to do without passion as well. If she was very careful, she might seduce her husband into a satisfying marriage bed without him ever discovering her pathetic love for him.
EVERY TIME HE looked at Matthew Horn, he felt guilt, Jasper reflected the next afternoon. They were riding side by side in Hyde Park. Jasper thought of his thin pallet and wondered if Matthew had a secret badge of shame as well. They all seemed to, in one way or another, the ones who had survived. He patted Belle’s neck and pushed the thought aside. Those demons were for the night.
“I forgot to offer felicitations on your marriage the other morning,” Horn said. “I had thought not to see the day.”
“You and many others,” Jasper replied.
Melisande had still not risen when he’d left the house, and he supposed his wife might spend the day abed. He wasn’t very well versed in these feminine matters; he’d known many women, but the subject had not arisen when the ladies in question had been paramours. This marriage business took more work than it first appeared.
“Did you tie a blindfold around the poor lady’s eyes to get her to the altar?” Horn asked.
“She came most willingly, I’ll have you know.” Jasper glanced at the other man. “She wanted a small wedding; otherwise, you would’ve been invited.”
Horn grinned. “Quite all right. Weddings tend to be dull affairs for all but the principals. No offense meant.”