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Or maybe he would never enjoy a woman at all, because she would stand between them with her
demanding and her humiliation and the fact that she had made lust into something shameful.
Beth sat up in bed, the sheets clutched to her breast, aghast. What had happened? One minute he was
kissing her thoroughly while his member claimed her virginity, and the next he was clenched up tight, his
delightful man-part shrunk.
I& I failed you. Tell me how.
He opened the eye she could see, and it was fierce with hatred. I failed.
But I don t think so, Beth persisted. I am definitely not a virgin anymore.
At that, he chewed his lip and sat up, his wavy hair cascading to his shoulders once again. Are& are
you all right?
Yes. Beth did not quite know what to say. She was fairly sure he had not experienced the pleasure that
she had known tonight. Unless she had missed it altogether. But then he would not be so miserable,
would he?
Did, did it hurt? he asked.
A little. But the rest of it was nice, she said earnestly. Very nice. Did you& ?
He shook his head.
We could try again. She hated sounding tentative, but she knew so little.
The result would be the same, he growled. I m afraid you have married a eunuch, my dear. His face
was so closed and hard she hardly recognized it. My apologies.
He did not give her time to reply but pushed out of bed, grabbed his clothing from the floor, and
disappeared into the dressing room. He did not come out again.
Nineteen
P r e v i o u s T o p
N e x t
Beth endured a long and sleepless night, wondering what was best to do about what had happened and
wishing she had someone to advise her. He had called himself a eunuch. But she had met many eunuchs
in Africa, usually black slaves of Muslim owners, and she knew that eunuchs had all or parts of their male
equipment removed by a blade. They did not get erections, even if they were lucky enough to retain the
part that got erections, which most of them weren t. White slaves had only their testicles cut off. But she
had felt his sac last night and it seemed full to bursting. So he was not a eunuch, and he must know that,
too.
Was it a figure of speech? He meant he could not do it anymore, but not necessarily due to a physical
condition. It wasn t that he found her so unattractive that he could not bear to consummate their
marriage. He had wanted to lie with her at first. She was sure of it.
In the deep of the night with the house quiet, she remembered what he had implied about his experience
with Asharti. Even then, Beth had guessed that the vampire woman forced him somehow to sexual acts
he found distasteful. Were the scars of that experience preventing him from taking his pleasure now? Beth
grew more certain as the sky promised dawn. It was Asharti and what she had done to Ian that stood
between them. The Countess said that Asharti had damaged Ian. She thought Beth could help. But how?
The mere fact that she had seen his failure might prevent him caring for her. She would give up that part
of married life wholly, even though it had been wonderful to lie in his arms, if only it would not poison all
their friendship.
A servant roused her quite early in the morning with a cup of chocolate and a scone and the news that the
carriage was waiting and that the maids had packed her trunks for the journey to Portsmouth. She must
have slept in the hour before dawn.
Beth gulped her chocolate, washed herself from the basin, and dressed hastily in the Pomona green
sarcenet traveling costume left out for her. It was decorated with darker green braid, with hunter half
boots and a matching pelisse. He had even provided a matching knit reticule, as well as a fetching
military-style beaver hat with a dashing pheasant s feather.
She hurried down, regretting she was late, though it was so early. Why hadn t the servants woken her
earlier? She might have had a breakfast with him. She might have been able to say& what? What was
there to say?
There was no time to have a word with the Countess, either, for her hostess was not yet risen, though
what Beth would have dared reveal she did not know. She dashed into the breakfast room for tea and
toast, to find Major Ware pacing there.
Major! she exclaimed, startled.
The Major bowed. Mrs. Rufford, a word if you please.
Of course, Beth murmured, and forced herself to quiet. What could the Major want?
The man s pale blue eyes blinked repeatedly. His shoulders were stiff with disapproval. Rufford has
engaged his brother Stanbridge and me to& to ensure that the settlements he drew up are executed in
your favor in case& in case his task does not go& well.
He contacted you? Last night?
Send us word and one of us will hasten to your side and provide you escort home. He has provided
handsomely for you.
You don t think he s coming back, do you?
As he said, there is a chance. There is always a chance. Ware s eyes did not agree. He gathered
himself. I cannot persuade him to leave you in England. How can he be so selfish? I ask you now to stay
behind.
Beth was shaken, but she dared not show it. He wants to take me no more than you want him to do so.
But he cannot do it without me. You have too little faith in him. He will prevail.
I have faith in his courage, the Major said, going pale. He knows what he faces and yet he goes. He
will not run shy.
No, he will not. Neither will 1.1 thank you for your kindness, Major. I must go now. The carriage drew
into the graveled drive just visible outside the breakfast parlor.
The Major sighed and followed as she rose. Her boot heels clicked on the marble of the foyer. He
handed her into the carriage laden with trunks. She had hoped Ian would unburden himself to her during
the long journey to Portsmouth, but she found she was to go alone and he to follow after the sun had set.
That meant they could have spent the day together inside a darkened room if he had wished it. He did
not. Major Ware saluted and the carriage pulled away.
The drivers and outriders took the greatest care of her. But the journey was most miserable. She was
installed at an inn, knowing she would not see her husband until near dawn.
He came. His face had not softened. They were whisked to the ship by a small launch in the hour before
sunrise with hardly a word between them. This time the boat was a cutter in the service of His Majesty,
arranged, apparently, by Major Ware s friends at Whitehall.
Weather s like to be foul this time of year, so it should give us some ripping good wind once we make it
out of the Channel. I ll wager we make more than two hundred miles a
day. The Captain, whose name was, regrettably, Stilton, was a lanky youth who had taken a cutter as
command rather than be put ashore now that the Royal Navy was standing down with Bonaparte s
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