“The thing is, when you touch me, the sensations are”—her blush deepened—“they affect me strongly, but I also think that you would behave much the same with any suitable woman.”

“I wouldn’t.” He’d chosen her out of all the women in London. Did she not understand that? Did she think that he’d compromised her by accident?

“But you know so little about me—it’s really my body, not me you’re making love to.” She glanced at him and added, “That might sound a little foolish, but it’s how I feel.”

It sounded a lot foolish to Hart, but if that’s what she felt, well, you couldn’t argue with a woman’s feelings, no matter how illogical they were.

“What do you expect me to do?” he asked in an expressionless voice.

“I want us to get to know each other better.” She emphasized the us.

Hart stared unseeing out of the window. The carriage swayed and bounced along. The horses’ hooves sounded briskly, rhythmically on the hard surface of the turnpike road. Getting to know each other. The whole thing was ridiculous. In a short few days they’d be married. Nobody knew their spouse before marriage. And some not even afterward . . .

He heaved a sigh and turned back to her. “Very well, let us start, then. Earlier you said you would belong to your children—you said ‘them,’ plural. You intend to have more than one child, then?”

She nodded. “God willing.” She glanced out at the passing scenery for a moment, then added, “It is lonely being an only child. I would like my children to have brothers and sisters.”

He watched her watching the scenery—or pretending to. The thought crossed his mind that her apparent indifference was often a disguise, masking some deeper sentiment. “You were an only child.”

She nodded.

“Did you not have friends?”

She shook her head. “Mostly my friends were animals—my dog, my horse, wild creatures. We lived a good distance from the village, and the local children . . .” She sent him a straight glance. “It was believed by the villagers that I was some lord’s by-blow, and children raised by ignorant parents are not kind to unwanted bastards.”

He frowned. “But you weren’t a bastard.”

She hunched a shoulder, feigning indifference. “Truth or gossip—which do you think is tastier? People didn’t exactly ask to see my mother’s marriage lines. It’s easier—and more interesting—to believe the worst.”

Hart thought about the rumors about her that had circulated after their betrothal was announced. Was that why she’d handled the nastiness so well? She’d grown up with it.

“What about school? Surely you found some kindred spirits there.”

“I never went to school.”