Sophie blinked. It had all made perfect sense, before. “But … but in the last month you weren’t home five nights out of seven.” She gulped, remembering all the tears she had shed at home alone. “I know about your mistress,” Sophie said painfully. “The black-haired woman.

“I’m not blaming you,” she added hastily. “I knew what it would be like when I married you. I just didn’t understand how much it would hurt.”

Patrick’s arms tightened so roughly that she gasped and was silent. “That’s not true,” he said fiercely, tipping up her chin and looking into her eyes. “As God is my witness, I haven’t wanted to be with another woman since I kissed you at the Cumberland ball.” Sophie stared at him, stunned. “I haven’t slept with any woman other than you since that night. There is no black-haired woman in my life. I haven’t even looked at another woman, for Christ’s sake! All I’ve thought about is you, and your body. Oh, Sophie, you’ve ruined me for a rake’s life, don’t you see that?”

Sophie didn’t say a word. She was too emotionally exhausted to take in the enormity of what he was saying. But she grabbed at one strand.

“Does this mean that you’ll still, that you still want to—”

“God yes!” Patrick’s voice was harsh with suppressed emotion. His grasp tightened convulsively.

Sophie didn’t say anything. She just put her head against his shoulder. She was still confused, but one idea was clear in her mind: Patrick still desired her. That was what he had just said. And that meant that when her body was completely mended he would come to her bed again and they could make love and perhaps, perhaps have another baby. Her body involuntarily relaxed, melting against his body as nerves and muscles which had been strung as tightly as violin strings began to ease.

“You really mean it?” Her voice was muffled against Patrick’s shirt. “You really want to make love to me? You’re not bored?”

“Bored! In God’s name, Sophie, where did you get that idea?”

“I thought you had a mistress. You stayed out night after night, Patrick.” His eyes dropped before her clear gaze.

“I was torturing myself,” he admitted shortly. Patrick couldn’t bring himself to raise the issue of Sophie’s Thursday jaunts. Even as his stomach twisted with jealousy, he fought the idea of hearing her talk about her feelings for Braddon. He couldn’t bear it, and he was almost certain that she had never betrayed him sexually. What was the point of making his wife admit she cared for another man? Sophie was honorable, and she hadn’t betrayed him—so what right had he to demand her love as well? Especially given the way he’d seduced her into marriage.