And here was another thing he could not resolve. More injuries that he could not turn back time to repair, more hurt that followed her like a shadow, like a shroud.
Yet how could he express any of this?
At a loss, he took hold of her wrist, as gently as he could, and kissed her finger. Her expression froze in shock. They had been in this position once before, in her dressing room, but it felt different here, now. Charged in a new way.
He had no anticipation of her asking for more. But by God, he wanted her to feel something other than her father’s rejection.
Her eyes flared. Quicksilver. Mercury. She was poison, and he had taken her into his veins.
Already, he’d had too much of her. He craved the occasional softness she revealed in her quieter moments, and the rigidity of her spine when facing something unpleasant or that hurt her. He had the unreasonable urge to cradle her in his hands and protect her from all evil.
From her father.
Would tasting her be a cure or a condemnation?
“Hugh,” she whispered.
“I will buy your father’s house for you.” He dropped her hand and studied her face, trying to decipher her expression. “You will have everything you want, Chris. Anything I can provide. That was my vow to you when we married, and I intend to keep it in any way I can.”
Her gaze searched his face. “I have only one request, Hugh.”
Damn it all. Damn it all to hell.
“You and I both know how unpleasant it is to be shunned by the world,” she said, speaking too quickly. “All I ask is that she has one place of safety to return to. You have made a safe place for me, and you are prepared to shield me from hurt where possible. Let me do that for her.”
He wanted to tell her that he did these things because she was his wife.
But the reality had become that he did these things because of her. For her. Because he wanted her happiness. Somehow, over the course of the past few weeks, her happiness had become vital to his.
“Very well,” he said. “If that’s what you want, then let it be. I will allow her to visit—but only her, Chris. Not the husband.”
An intake of breath told him that she had not expected him to capitulate so very quickly. And yet what else could he say—he had his wife standing before him in a ballgown that tempted him beyond reason, her glasses sliding partway down her nose, and her hair resisting all attempts to produce sleek curls.
If this was what it meant to be condemned, then he welcomed it.
“Hugh!” A smile wreathed her face, and he thought it might have been the loveliest thing he had ever seen. “Thank you! Thank you!”
Then she reached up, her hands cupping his cheeks so very gently, and kissed him.
Chapter Twenty
Her mouth wasclumsy, evidently untested; he would not have been surprised to discover she had never kissed anyone else in all her days. But still, her lips were soft against his, and he felt his blood rise at such a sincere demonstration of affection.
No doubt someone had told her that husbands and wives kissed, and she wanted to demonstrate her gratitude.
What he ought to do was return her kiss with polite interest and keep his composure. Receive it in the spirit in which it was given.
Instead, he drew her more firmly against him. She was all sharp lines, his Chris, but he didn’t mind. His hands traveled down her sides until they found the jut of her hipbones. If he had wanted, he might have been able to press and feel her ribs as he slid his palms back up her sides, but he didn’t. He didn’t even palm her breasts, though he wanted very much to.
Her mouth parted on a small gasp. Prepared for rejection, he gathered himself to pull back, but she merely took hold of his shoulders, urging him closer. And so he obeyed, kissing him more deeply, letting her mimic the movements of his mouth. He tested her with a brush of her tongue, and she moaned, low in the back of her throat. His head spun. This was not the kiss hehad envisaged from a reluctant wife; she flicked the hot tip of her tongue across his bottom lip, not shying away from the burn that marred and twisted one corner.
It was as though she were not repulsed by him at all.
The sharp edge of her glasses dug into his cheek, and he reached up to remove them, drawing them away and placing them to one side. He forced himself to be gentle with them so as to not bend the wire frame. No matter his enthusiasm—unseemly enthusiasm for such a simple thing—he would not allow himself to damage something upon which she relied.
He lost all sense of time as he lost himself in her. With every passing second, he could feel the way she gained confidence, and the thought made him ache.
Oh, how he ached.