The Earl Claims His Wife by Cathy Maxwell Page B

furious with you,” Gillian said, clutching the bedcovers with her fists lest she set them loose on her husband. “How dare you undress me? How dare you take advantage of me in that shameful manner?”
    Wright set down the razor. He wiped his face with a linen towel. “What do you believe I did?”
    “I believe you took shocking advantage,” Gillian said, her voice shaking with her anger.
    He looked heavenward a moment as if searching for divine guidance. “Gillian, I woke to find you slumped over in that chair to the point your chin all but touched your knees. That’s not the way to sleep, especially when you are that exhausted.”
    “I did not ask for help from you,” she replied stiffly.
    Wright swore to the heavens. He came to the foot of the bed. “We’re not strangers, Gillian. And I meant no harm. I helped you to bed. You are my wife. I took a vow before God to honor and protect you. No matter what you think of our marriage, I always managed to see to your needs.”
    “Financially,” she shot back, still disgruntled.
    “Yes, financially.” He made an impatient sound as if wondering what else she wanted from him.
    “Well, last night, I went a step further. I saw you in that chair and realized that if you slept all night in that position, your back and neck would ache. We have four more hours travel to London. I can’t imagine the trip would be any easier if you hurt.”
    He had a point.
    “The fire was dying,” he continued. “The room was cold and I worried about your comfort. Is that such a bad thing? I helped you into bed to be kind, Gillian, and for no other reason than that.”
    “But you took off my dress.”
    Wright closed his eyes as if their argument pained him. “I did. I also took off your shoes and stockings. I didn’t know if you had another dress you planned to wear this morning or if you were wearing this one.” He waved to the dress carefully laid out on the chair. “It would have been hopelessly wrinkled if I’d put you to bed in it. As for the shoes and stockings—” He frowned. “I thought you’d be more comfortable with your shoes off.”
    Gillian rubbed the toes of her feet together beneath the covers. He was right. “It’s just so intimate,”
    she murmured.
    “They are feet, Gillian. Nothing more. I have them, too.”
    Wright took a step around toward her side of the bed. “I know we have a complicated history between us. I know I haven’t been a good husband. I didn’t want to be a husband when we married.
    But I’m different now. Circumstances have changed me. I’m trying to make amends—and don’t tell me it is too late. I’m no fool, Gillian. You haven’t known the Spaniard that long, and even if you did, you still have feelings for me. You wouldn’t be so outraged at our close quarters or feel threatened by a simple kiss if you didn’t.”
    He was right.
    “What I’m asking,” he continued, “is for a second chance. Yes, I’ve tried to maneuver matters to my advantage. But last night, I only sought your comfort. I put you under the covers and I slept on top. I wanted to protect you, Gillian. That’s what husbands do.”
    That’s what husbands do .
    Tears welled in her eyes. How often had she longed for someone who cared enough for her to see to the little things? The small kindnesses that let a woman know her husband cared?
    She lowered her head to wipe away those damning tears before he saw them. “I’m sorry,” she whispered around the tightening in her throat. “I may have overreacted. It’s just that…” She let her voice trail off, knowing whatever she said could be taken in the wrong vein.
    “It’s just that you don’t trust me. I understand that, Gillian. I wouldn’t trust me either based upon matters between us in the past. But I’m here now. I want this marriage. I want you for my wife. It’s up to you to decide what you want.”
    “And if I don’t want you?” she asked in a small voice, humbled by his straightforward