Marriage Under Siege by Anne O'Brien Page A

hands on hips, to survey her with a frown.
Whatever the problem, she was clearly terrified. Acting on instinct, he seized
the coverlet and stripped it away. 'Honoria...'
    A whimper issued from the
bed. If it was not all so distressing, he would have laughed at this extreme
reaction to his lovemaking. But there was nothing amusing here; he could
neither force her nor ignore her distress and walk away.
    He leaned over the bed,
picked her up in his strong arms as if she weighed nothing, wrapped her in the
coverlet with deft movements as if she were a child, and
carried her to the settle by the fire. She was too surprised to protest other
than a squeak of shock. He placed her there while he stirred the flames and
recovered his own robe. Then he returned and sat beside her, sensing the
tiniest of movements as she would have pulled away
from him. She was watching him, aware of his every movement, every gesture,
eyes dry and strained. He knew that
if she had been able, she would have fled the room.
    He ran his hands through
his hair in frustration, a gesture that she had come to recognise. She flinched
again. 'This is no good!'
    Without warning he scooped
her up again and settled her on his lap, imprisoning her within the circle of
his arms as, with gentle fingers, he pushed her head down to rest upon his
shoulder.
    'There.' He stroked her
hair a little. 'There is nothing to concern you now. I shall not do anything
you do not wish.'
    Silence settled, except for
the crackle of the fire, as he continued to smooth his hand over her hair. He
was aware of her fingers clutching at the satin collar of his robe in a
vice-like grip, but he made no comment. Simply sat and held and waited.
Gradually her breathing calmed and she relaxed, sufficient for her to release
her grasp and rest against him.
    'Now.' He kept his voice
low. 'Talk to me, Honoria. Will you tell me why you are so distressed? Do you
trust me enough to tell me?'
    She said nothing, but he
felt the merest nod of her head against his throat.
    'Did my cousin...did Edward
rape you?'
    'No.' The answer was
immediate. It came as a wail of anguish.
    'Then what happened? Things
can never be so bad that they cannot be put right. Talk to me, Honoria.'
    Without thought he turned
his face against her hair in an unconscious caress and pressed his lips to her
temple in the softest of kisses. Yet it was her undoing. All the tears, all the
anxieties and self-doubt, the horror, the sleepless nights, dammed up over the
past weeks, overflowed and washed through her in response to that one innocent
gesture of kindness. Her breath caught again and again and she could do
nothing to prevent the harsh sobs that shook her frame, tears streaming down
her face. In the end she gave up trying to control them and simply wept.
    All he could do was hold
her. She was beyond any comforting words—and he did not know what to say to
ease such emotion. So he held her. He murmured foolish words for their sound
rather than their content and continued to stroke her hair, her arms, her back,
whilst the emotion tore her in two. His heart ached for her. Who would have
believed that her outward composure could hide such pain and anguish?
    Minutes ticked by.
Gradually her sobs lessened. A hiccup, a sniffle. She lay exhausted and drained
against his chest and he was content to allow it to be so for a little while.
When he was finally sure that her tears were gone, he used the corner of the
coverlet to wipe her eyes. She resisted at first, turning her face against his
shoulder, intent on hiding the worst of the ravages from his scrutiny. What
would he think of her? But he would not allow it and, with a hand under her
chin, lifted her face to the light.
    'Talk to me, Honoria.'
    But she did not know where
to begin.
    'Then I will ask the
questions and you try to answer. Let us see how far we can get.' He had no
intention of allowing her to hide from him. 'You said that Edward did not force
you.' A flash of warning, of