She squeezed his hand, then slowly pulled it away. “It wasn’t all horrid. It started out quite wonderfully actually, right until, well, you know.”

“Until what? Until I penetrated you?”

Dorothea groaned. “I really cannot have this discussion with you.”

“’Tis my fault. I should have taken you slow and easy, but you were so passionate, so giving. I lost my head.” He accompanied his apology with a boyish grin, designed to melt even the coldest heart. But Dorothea did not smile. She averted her eyes.

“I know it is different for a man. I understand that you were only being true to your nature. Rest assured, I will fulfill my wifely duties with all the passion I can muster.”

He made a gruff, impatient sound. “No matter how abhorrent they are to you?”

“I did not say that,” she insisted, crossing her arms against her breasts.

The gesture called his attention to her ample bosom. He recalled the luscious shade of her dusty rose nipples contrasting with the milky smoothness of creamy round breasts. The sight and taste of them had driven him to near madness, and the memory was more than enough to bring him swiftly to arousal again.

With effort he lifted his gaze from her luscious body. And then he saw it. The vulnerability on her beautiful face, the uncertainty and wariness shadowed in her eyes. It made him feel like an utter cad.

She had trusted him to treat her gently and he had failed her. Unintentional, but that did not make it any better. His passion and desire had made him selfish. It was hardly the way to treat a wife, and certainly not what she deserved.

She appeared to recover her composure, then attempted a smile. It failed. “It wasn’t that awful,” she whispered. “That is to say, well, at least the most painful part ended quickly.”

She released a long, slow breath, then straightened her shoulders, like a soldier determined to go into battle despite his fear.

Carter felt his gut clench. He had never been so wounded by a remark in his entire life. He knew how to pleasure a woman. How to make her pant with anticipation, move her entire body with restless desire, shout at the top of her lungs when she reached her climax.

“I can assure you, madam, that I have not taken you as my wife solely for the purpose of appeasing my rabid, unnatural hunger for sex.”

“I assumed that was what a mistress was for, poor thing.”

His head jerked up. His former mistresses were hardly poor things. Due to his generosity they were financially independent women, and he had never once heard a complaint from any of them regarding his sexual prowess. “We agreed before our marriage to honor our vows of fidelity. I will not take a mistress, nor do I want one. I want you.”

Her breath hitched. “Truly?”

“Yes. As my wife, only you can produce an heir.”

The hopeful expression faded from her lovely face at his final words. Instantly he realized he should not have admitted the last. Telling a woman he wanted her to bear his children was not a helpful approach to this problem. Besides, he truly did not want another woman. He wanted Dorothea.

“I know my duty, sir,” she said coldly. “I will not shirk it. There will be an heir, as you require.”

Carter sighed loudly, raking his outstretched fingers through his hair. “Saints preserve us all, I will not have my wife consider bedding me a duty. It will be a joy and a pleasure for both of us.”

She shrugged as if she had no earthly idea how to make that happen.

“You enjoy my kisses,” he said, almost more to himself than her. “My touch does not appear to revolt you.”

“I never said that it did. Carter, please, last night was not a complete disaster. I enjoyed it, well, all except for the very last bit. And I can school myself to endure that part of the act. It was over quickly enough.” She tilted her head to one side, her expression thoughtful. “Though perhaps the problem has more to do with size. Apparently I am small and you are rather, um, rather large. Maybe if we joined our bodies while your…while you…while it was much smaller it would bring me less discomfort?”

Carter sputtered. Another man might have been angry. She had insulted his skills as a lover as well as his lack of endurance. Over quickly, indeed! The one thing she had accomplished was compliment the size of his equipment, but that was unintentional. Enter her while he was small? Surely he had not just heard her spew such nonsense.

Carter had always prided himself on being a considerate lover, patient and lustful. Not since he was an untried lad had it been necessary for him to exert a great deal of effort in seducing a female. A few charming words, a sultry smile, a passionate kiss and they were in his bed, eager and willing. And they left it satisfied, often purring their contentment.

It would be so with his wife. Carter’s helplessness escalated, but he knew he could not unleash his frustration on her. She was blameless. He had misread the situation utterly, he had bungled it all badly and put a fear of copulation into Dorothea in the process. What an idiot. He knew he would have to dispense with the fear if he ever wanted an eager, passionate wife in his bed.

His path was clear. He would have to woo, to romance, to seduce his bride. He owed it to himself, but more importantly, he owed it to her.

Chapter Twelve

The day after her wedding was turning out to be far more complicated, and emotional, than Dorothea ever anticipated. After a thoroughly embarrassing conversation with her husband, which ended with his abrupt departure, Dorothea was once again left to her own devices.

She had offended him with her comments about their wedding night. Offended, angered, and possibly wounded him. Well, wounded his pride. His feelings she barely understood, but his pride was obvious.

The harmony of their relationship was now strained and she worried it would not be easily restored. Married but one day and already facing a crisis. This was not what she had imagined when she agreed to be his wife.

A shuffling noise at the drawing room doorway startled her, and Dorothea wondered if Carter had returned. She turned, struggling to swallow, half hoping, half dreading his appearance. But instead it was Mrs. Simpson who stood hesitantly in the doorway, inquiring if this was a good time to consult her ladyship on the daily menus for the rest of the week.

Thinking it terribly bad manners to take out her peculiar mood on the hapless housekeeper, Dorothea dutifully agreed. She read through the splendid meals Cook had temptingly created for their pleasure, murmuring her approval in what she hoped was an authoritative manner. This was an unfamiliar task, made all the more challenging since she had no notion of what foods her husband preferred. But she trusted that his staff would be aware of his lordship’s likes and dislikes.

Mrs. Simpson’s grin of approval when she finished eased some of Dorothea’s nerves. She might have gotten off on the wrong foot with her husband, yet miraculously she had managed to make a favorable impression on the staff.

“Please convey my thanks to Cook for devising such an ambitious menu,” Dorothea told the housekeeper as Mrs. Simpson handed over the menus. “And compliment her on the lovely dinner she served us last evening. Lord Atwood and I enjoyed every bite.”

Another nod and smile of approval was soon forthcoming. Mrs. Simpson turned to leave, but paused a moment before departing. “Would you like to see the rest of the house today, my lady? I am at your disposal.”

“Why not?” Dorothea replied, decided it was as good a way as any to spend her day. Perhaps it might even distract her mind from her matrimonial dilemma and chase away some of her gloomy thoughts.

They started on the top floor of the mansion. The domestic quarters were clean, neat, and in good repair. Though they were simple and plain, Dorothea was impressed by the quality of furnishings, linen, and blankets given to the staff, along with the ample piles of fuel for their fireplaces.

The third floor contained two distinct wings of bedchambers. The east wing was reserved for family members, including the suites for the lord and lady of the manor. Thankfully Mrs. Simpson strolled by those closed doors and negligently waved her hand in their general direction, knowing full well that Dorothea had been inside both sets of rooms.

Dorothea clenched her thumb and forefinger on the bridge of her nose tightly to hold back her reaction as she scuttled past those doors. Highly doubting she could have entered Carter’s rooms, seen that bed, and kept her emotions level, she asked several pointed questions about the furnishings in the opulent suite reserved for the duke as they entered those chambers.

“It has by far the prettiest view of the gardens,” Mrs. Simpson declared. She pulled back the heavy gold velvet draperies to emphasize her point. “’Tis such a shame that the duke so seldom visits the estate. Why, it’s going on five years since we have last seen him.”

“I imagine he has other estates to attend,” Dorothea replied.

“To be sure. But none so fine as Ravenswood,” Mrs. Simpson said proudly.

They continued on to the west wing of the third floor, which also boasted an abundance of elegant, comfortable bedchambers. These were the rooms chosen for close friends and houseguests during house parties, Mrs. Simpson explained, and thus always kept at the ready.

“Is there a great deal of entertaining done here?” Dorothea asked.

“There was, back when the duchess was alive. We are all hoping with Lord Atwood married, the house will once again ring with laughter and good cheer. The staff does not mind the extra work involved and appreciates the opportunity to showcase their skills and dedication.”