Two weeks of living at Trevadden, and she was still tentative at night, no matter how vibrant she had been during the day about this thing or that. She was never vulnerable until he saw her within the walls of her chambers. Yet she welcomed him still.

Invited him.

Expected him.

They had not been together every night, but there had certainly been several instances in the past fortnight. She was shy, uncertain, but not retreating. She was responsive, sweetly so, and was growing still more encouraging.

He could not help but be exceedingly attentive each time. He had made it a point to never force himself or claim authority, always letting her decide when she wished and if she wished. It was too much in the man’s favor as it was; there was no need to steal the entire experience. He might be annoyed by her at every moment of the waking hours, but at night, when they were like that…

He could only have the utmost respect and care.

And in doing so, he felt more comfortable himself.

And somehow uncomfortable, too.

Vulnerable. Exposed. Even awkward.

And yet… connected.

That first night, the one she had insisted upon, he had seen the fear and nerves and apprehension in her eyes, especially once the nature and reality of the situation became clear, and it had guided his actions and treatment of her. She had given him permission to continue, and so he had, praying he would not ruin the experience for her.

He had seen all too well how selfish men could be where women are concerned, and he refused to succumb to such depths. He was not a saint, but he would not sin against a woman either.

Particularly not his wife.

If any of these intimate interactions made her uneasy, gave her pain, kept her from enjoyment, he would consider it a gross failure on his part. It was far too significant a thing to have only one party benefit, and if they were ever to have children, he would wish them to be conceived from pleasure, not from duty.

Adelaide did not express her feelings on the subject aloud, so he could not be entirely certain of her experiences, but when they were abed…

His wife had a gentle touch despite her towering strength of character and a particular smile that never failed to move him. They never spoke of the bedroom outside of it, nor allowed much by way of familiarity, but there was something intangible in their time together there that he was beginning to like very much.

Which made her morning tirades all the more aggravating.

And, in part, hilarious.

It was as though she had to compensate for the sweet creature of the night by turning gorgon with the sunrise.