“Which supports my point,” Colton said acerbically. “Who would suggest to her I might like such wanton behavior?”
“I thought you just admitted that you did like it.”
“That’s beside the point, Robbie.”
It was his
very
point, but Robert let it go. Instead he patiently explained, “Even if they look at the sexual relationship differently than we do, it seems natural to me that one of her acquaintances might mention how riveted a man becomes when a beautiful woman sucks his cock. Not the way we would talk about it, of course, but in the more delicate way women converse about such things. I imagine them discussing what pleases us. While we tend to think about what
we
like, women are much more selfless. We insist on it.”
His older brother shot him a disgruntled look. “Which side are you on, anyway?”
Robert was male through and through, but he did recognize the inequity in the sexes as far as power went, in bed and out of it. “Ours. Very firmly,” he asserted. “But let’s be honest. The control belongs to us. Intelligent females know this. Keeping us happy makes their lives easier, especially if they are at our mercy, like our wives.”
“Brianna is
not
at my mercy.” Colton swiveled in his saddle, giving his best display of ducal disdain, eyebrows up, a haughty set to his features. “She’s my wife, not a prisoner or slave.”
Robert couldn’t hide his amusement. “I am sure you give her a generous allowance, but I am just as sure you govern the manner in which she spends it. On the same note, you allow her to accept invitations to various entertainments on the behalf of both of you . . . but I’d wager you reserve the right to approve them and reverse her decisions. She may go out alone, but only if she is accompanied by her maid or some reasonable substitute, so alone is a relative term, correct?”
“I am not some despotic—”
“No,” Robert interrupted, “you aren’t. You are simply a typical husband. We make females very dependent on us, don’t we? What we view as protection could easily be interpreted as smothering dominance.”
After a moment, Colton exhaled a long sigh that rang with exasperation. “Let’s say I concede all that, though Brianna has never complained even once about any of those small rules. . . .”
Robert gave an inelegant snort at the use of the word “small.” For himself, if anyone even attempted to direct him in how he should spend his money or overrode his decision on any matter—even something as trivial as whether to attend a play or go to a soiree—he would be annoyed beyond belief. Then again, he was male, and once he’d reached his majority, he’d had carte blanche in how to live his life. But the status quo among married couples was that husbands always had the last say. Married women had as little autonomy as unmarried women who had to defer to their fathers.
His older brother ignored the derisive sound and went on determinedly, “I still say she is acting strangely.”
“And I say she is merely high-spirited and maybe more adventurous than you at first assumed. Why brood over such a delightful thing as an enthusiastic woman in your bed, even if she is your wife?”
Colton rubbed his jaw with a gloved hand, his eyes narrowed against the sun. “I suppose when put that way, it is ridiculous to spend my time worrying over it, but I admit she caught me very off guard. When I queried her about where she got the notion for her behavior, she was evasive.”
Robert fought the urge to break into a fit of laughter. “Only you, Colt, would pose an interrogation after a particularly satisfying sexual encounter. You do have a tendency to overthink things. You always have.”
“I’m more used to experienced females,” his brother murmured. “This is all new to me and, perhaps you’re right, could be perfectly natural as she becomes more adjusted to the intimacies of being married. However, her closest two friends are Bonham’s new countess and Rebecca Marston. I can’t see Bonham tutoring his wife in such a way, for they’ve been married a month less than Brianna and I. Miss Marston is unmarried, well chaperoned by her protective father, and a very refined young lady. Neither seems a likely candidate for whispering scandalous suggestions into my wife’s ear, and I can’t think of anyone else with whom Brianna would discuss something so personal. I suppose my sister-in-law might have said something, but truly, she’s a respectable matron with three children.”
The mention of the lovely Rebecca with her sea green eyes and gleaming dark hair brought back Robert’s memories of holding her pressed to that wall of hedge, his mouth hovering over hers and the quiver of her shapely body against him. The incident was trivial, nothing but a few moments of polite speech followed by the ensuing rush to evade the persistent Lord Watts, but Robert had found himself thinking back on it more than once in the past few days. It puzzled him he couldn’t just dismiss it.
That damned jasmine perfume, he told himself wryly. It evoked fantasies of exotic gardens, soft, smooth skin, and a singular breathless sigh. . . .
He must truly be jaded to even spare one thought about the completely off-limits Miss Marston.
Marriageable
, he reminded himself and squelched even the faintest hint of amorous interest. Besides, after
that incident,
her father, Sir Benedict, had trouble being even marginally polite to Robert when they occasionally came face-to-face.
“If you want my opinion, drop the whole matter, Colt,” Robert said succinctly, “or you risk making your pretty wife self-conscious. While you are at it, I think I would tell her that as long as she doesn’t overspend, she may handle her pin money as she wishes, and make any other concessions that won’t cause you too much discomfort. Quite obviously she wants to please you. Return the favor.” He nudged his horse with his heel. “Now then, shall we gallop? I’m in the mood to try out Sahir against Thebes. He’s in a fine mettle this morning.”
The music room was quiet, with long ivory velvet draperies drawn across the windows to improve the acoustics and enhance the aura of privacy. A pot of ink and several lined sheets of paper lay on top of the pianoforte, but just a few unsatisfying notes were written on the bars, and the only sound was the occasional creak of the bench as Rebecca shifted position.
Her muse was elusive this morning, she admitted to herself with a sigh. It had been that way for the past few days. Her new routine was discomforting. She entered the room each morning and began the same set of tasks: readying her pen, arranging the sheets so she could scribble down the notes as they filled her head and flowed to her fingers, settling on the bench with her skirts adjusted demurely, her hands poised over the keyboard.
But nothing came. None of the usual joy. Instead of devoting herself to her passion for music, she found a different kind of passion now absorbed her thoughts and it was infernally distracting.
Chin in her palm, one elbow propped, she pensively played F sharp, holding the single note for a moment before lifting her finger. There. At least she could say she’d done something besides sit there and think about the impossible.
And her dreams
were
impossible.
Now she
knew
what it was like to be close to Robert, to smell the clean, male tang of cologne and fresh linen, to feel the brush of his lips against her skin and the strength of his lean body as he pressed her against him. . . .
Well, it made things much, much worse, and she’d known all along her hopeless infatuation with a seasoned libertine who regarded casual conquest as the order of the day was ridiculous. Not to mention her father’s disdain for the man.
A quick knock interrupted her hopeless fantasies of being held in Robert Northfield’s arms. Rebecca prayed it wasn’t the butler or one of the maids come to tell her Lord Watts was calling. “Yes?”
The door swung open and to her relief Brianna came into view, just enough to poke her head around the edge of the door. “I took a chance, Beck, you would be home. I told Hains not to formally announce me and bother you. If you’re working, I’ll call again later if I’m out and about.”
While Rebecca’s parents considered composing music too bluestocking a pastime for her to talk about, of course Arabella and Brianna knew about her passion and understood. In fact, they were her best audience when she had a new piece to share, and they always at least loyally claimed to be impressed and entranced, bless them. Rebecca shook her head. “I am trying to work but failing miserably. Maybe a little visit with a dear friend will inspire me. Come in.”
She should probably take a duchess to the formal drawing room, but this was Brianna. Sure enough, the exalted Duchess of Rolthven looked pleased at the informality and settled in one of the embroidered chairs in a swirl of blue silk skirts. Her pale hair was caught up in a simple chignon; someone of Brianna’s dazzling beauty didn’t need elaborate coiffures. Rebecca often thought Brianna’s modesty made her even more attractive and was why she had caught the eye of one of England’s most eligible bachelors. The Duchess of Rolthven’s air of self-possession gave her an elegant poise for one so young.
Last season all three of them had been remarkable successes. Brianna emerged with her handsome duke, Arabella with her good-natured earl—and then there was Rebecca. She’d turned down proposal after proposal because she had an ill-fated penchant for a reckless rake who she was fairly sure couldn’t even remember her name the other evening.
Maybe she wasn’t much of a success after all.
“I’m going to have a house party.”
Rebecca blinked at the bold announcement. “You are? I thought you loathed house parties.”
Brianna made a face. “I do, normally. That is, all that archery—which I am horrible at anyway—and musicals, and playacting. But even though I detest them, it doesn’t mean everyone does. They are immensely popular, especially in the autumn. I hope Colton will be pleasantly surprised when I explain it is for his birthday, which is in a few weeks. It is deuced hard to find a gift for a man who owns half of Britain, you know. He has everything material anyone could want. I
think
this will please him, though I can’t be sure. We can have it at Rolthven Manor and his grandmother can help me organize it. She’ll be delighted, and really, that huge house could stand to be used a little more. Except for the staff, she fairly rattles around alone in it most of the time.”
“I thought you were just there.”
“For her birthday,” Brianna confirmed. “The estate is convenient to town and we didn’t stay long, just overnight. Robert was there for even a briefer amount of time. He breezed in and then left. Damien couldn’t come at all because he was still in Spain, but he will be back in England next week, I’m told. I am really going to only invite close friends and family, so it won’t be one of those grand affairs I find so tedious, but hopefully just a pleasant diversion.”
Rebecca tried to picture the Duke of Rolthven at a house party, even his own, and failed. It was difficult to imagine him frolicking on the lawn with a bow and arrow or participating in a mock play. He was dignified and reserved and carried his title easily, though once or twice she had seen him smile, usually at his wife, and it lent a warmth to his features that hinted at a different side. Rebecca didn’t know him well enough to judge whether he would be pleased at the prospect of having a fete at his ancestral home, but Brianna seemed enthusiastic, and Rebecca said loyally, “I am sure it will be wonderful.”
“I truly hope so. It’s my aim to make sure Colton doesn’t work so hard all the time.” Brianna’s feathery brows drew together in a small frown. “I am not at all sure he’ll thank me for it, if you want the truth, but I am determined just the same. We have been married for over three months and I still do not know him. I admit things aren’t as I expected.”
Since one day she was going to have to choose a husband—her parents had made it all too clear they thought they’d been patient long enough—Rebecca asked frankly, “What
did
you expect?”
Brianna fingered the material of her gown, a thoughtful expression on her lovely face. “I think his formality and distance seemed normal as he courted me. He is, after all, a little intimidating on first acquaintance. Unfortunately, nothing much has changed since we wed. Oh, he’s generous and polite, almost to a fault. That civility makes my teeth grate at times. I think I envisioned a growing friendship between us, but things aren’t much different. We live in the same house, I have his name, and he visits my bed, but otherwise it seems like we are still living separate lives. I know he spends more time at his club than he ever does with me, and he thinks it is perfectly reasonable for his life to continue as it did before we married. Colton has what I think to be some antiquated ideas on the male/female relationship.”
“They are hardly antiquated,” Rebecca said tartly. “If you mean he believes every woman must act in a certain way, marry by a certain age, and follow the rules set forth by her family and society, then he isn’t alone. That’s a depressingly conventional view of things.”
Brianna straightened her spine and stared at her. “Such vehemence. What’s happened? Have your parents been pressuring you again?”
“That’s an understatement. I am reminded on a daily basis that this is my second season. It would help considerably if any of the men they approved of even remotely appealed to me.” Though she did her best not to sound despondent, Rebecca doubted she pulled it off.