Her step faltered and her shoulders knotted.
Of course she knew there was no need to undress completely to accomplish the marriage act, but he might want that. A great many men loved seeing a woman without clothes—they’d even pay to see a naked woman or photographs of a naked woman—and she had no reason to think her husband would be different. She would just have to insist on darkness or never bare herself completely to him. At least not until she was great with his child and the marks could be credited to a new pregnancy.
The idea of being naked for him washed through her, doing strange things to her insides. Her stomach fluttered, and she swallowed repeatedly.
She fled toward the stairs. She was a coward and a cheat, and would not only have to perpetuate a lie, but would have to make sure he never saw her naked.
* * *
John wasn’t certain what to make of his wife. She was clearly scared of what was to come in bed, but wanted to get it over with. He, on the other hand, wanted her so badly he ached with need. Yet to make her his wife when she was afraid seemed a horrible misstep. The entire tone of their marriage could hang in the balance.
He didn’t want a spouse who was fearful or distrustful of him.
She was so beautiful, her skin luminous in the lamplight. He was afraid the moment he touched her, he’d be unable to hold back. He had to keep his desire from getting out of hand. If he could make her comfortable, ease her fears, not lose his head...
He was so ready to take her, he wasn’t certain he could go slowly enough to seduce his frightened bride. Perspiration coated his skin.
He had to. He knew his way around a woman’s body and her pleasure, but he’d never felt so much was at stake before.
He retreated behind his desk, put the day’s proceeds in the safe and spun the tumblers to lock it. If he took her slowly and deliberately enough, he could initiate her into the joys of the conjugal bed.
Perhaps brides were always afraid. He didn’t know enough of what was normal for a genteel woman. He’d never been with an inexperienced woman.
His feet against the stairs seemed loud. He remembered how the sound of the shopkeeper’s approach had made him tighten in dread. John had often been beaten—in the beginning for not knowing how to do something and in the end for doing it too well.
Did his approach sound just as ominous to his wife? He’d seen enough of how his master had cowed his wife, too. He didn’t want to inspire that kind of fear. He never wanted to terrorize anyone the way the shopkeeper had.
Only one lamp burned in the flat. He set the lantern he’d used downstairs on the table next to the lamp. Selina’s dark eyes followed him from the bed, where she sat propped against the pillows. It was a relaxed position, but her hands were tightly clenched on the covers. She jerked them into her lap, as if his observation made her aware of what she was doing. His hope that she might be a little eager fell to the floor.
Needing every clue he could get about her level of fear, he wanted to tell her not to hide her reactions, but that would likely only make her more guarded.
While he undressed, he should talk to her. His mind blanked. His throat clogged. No, he had to project calm to soothe her. And the last thing he needed was to let her see how fervent he was. Reaching for the button of the collar that had grown tight, he managed to say, “Thank goodness you’re finally here.”
That was the sort of thing he should have said hours ago. But all the things he’d rehearsed in his head had been thrown out with the unusual arrival of the stagecoach with injured men. Now everything he’d planned to say seemed ill timed, and he couldn’t find good replacements. He could prattle about nothing to his customers all day long, but he was having difficulty speaking to his wife. His shirt buttons grew large and the holes impossibly small.
She pressed her lips together. Then said in a thin voice, “I am glad the journey is over.”
Not that she was glad to be here—she was twisting her wedding band—or be his wife, but perhaps that she wasn’t being rattled about in a stagecoach any longer.
“You will put out the lamps before you come to bed, won’t you?” Her eyes met his for a second before darting down.
He froze with his shirt half off. Did she find it difficult to look upon him? Wanting darkness when she was dreading what was to come didn’t make sense, unless she thought to hide her distress from him.
He searched for the right answer, an answer that would soothe her concerns, but not trap him in a promise he didn’t want to keep. He’d done that once already, and once was enough.
He needed to see her, needed to measure the fear in her eyes, needed to see if passion flared in her face. As he made love to her he had to know if he was reaching her in any way. “I will blow them out before we sleep.”
She drew her knees up and leaned toward them. “Could you blow them out before you come to bed?”
“No.” He wasn’t going to blindly knock around in the dark and risk making her more scared.
Her lower lip quivered before she tucked her chin against her knees.
He searched for a way to calm her fears. “We should talk awhile.”
She gave him a wide-eyed, incredulous look.
He deserved it. His conversation thus far had been less than stellar. Nor could she think him capable of decent conversation from their correspondence. Each letter he’d written had to be the dullest string of words in all creation. When he’d put pen to paper he’d managed to eke out a few sentences about the weather, the height of the river, how many customers he’d served on a given day and what he’d ordered for the store.
Still, Selina had continued to write to him when others who had answered his advertisement had not, so he’d proposed when he thought it likely she’d accept. Hell, he’d known the mill’s closing made her desperate, so he’d proposed and hoped if she were writing other men his offer would make it to her first. If she needed a husband, he had a shot.
He would have to figure out something to talk about. On the other hand, he couldn’t strip to his skin if he planned to sit and talk, but he’d already unbuttoned his trousers. He slipped them off and placed them on the wooden frame that already held his Sunday-best jacket.
In his thin summer drawers and short-sleeved undershirt, he moved to the washstand and poured water into the bowl. In spite of the feather storm in his gut, he wanted to act normal—or as a married man should around his wife. Whatever that looked like...
Married people shared the day-to-day aspects of their lives—or so he’d been told. But to bring up the hours she’d spent cleaning only made him regret making her leave the store. The only subject he could think of was probably the worst thing to bring up as a prelude to a seduction. Although maybe she was on edge because of what had happened to the stage on the way into town. Maybe it wasn’t fear of intimacy, but a delayed reaction to the event. “You haven’t said much about the stagecoach robbery. Were you very frightened?”
“In the moment I was more worried about Anna. I didn’t have time to be scared.” Selina wrapped her arms around her legs. Her gaze landed on him, then darted away. Her cheeks blossomed.
Did she have any idea how beautiful she was? He struggled to focus on her demeanor, instead of wondering how soft her skin would feel, if her fingers would be as cool as they had been during their wedding ceremony. A burst of wanting stormed through him. To feel those slender fingers on his skin would be heaven. “It was over quickly?”
“There was just a lot of shooting,