But she seemed incapable of forming words. All she could do was blubber as he carried her several feet, lowered himself into a chair, and cradled her on his lap, pulling her clothing down here and up there, returning to her a semblance of modesty.

And the tears fell all the harder.

A woman of her station did not cry with such undignified force. She didn’t wrap her fingers around a man’s nape and bury her face against his neck and shower him in tears while he gently stroked her back.

“Did your husband never give you that?”

How did she explain that what Aiden Trewlove delivered had completely undone her? The intimacy of it, the overwhelming ecstasy of it? Shaking her head, she sniffed, fought to regain control, to not recall how unimpassioned and staid her encounters with Lushing had been. Had he desired her at all?

Aiden’s arms closed more tightly around her. “Is that the reason you came here? You were searching for passion?”

She couldn’t confess her true reason for seeking him out, but neither did she want to give him false words. “I’m not certain I was truly aware of everything I was searching for. I’ve never experienced anything so wondrous, all consuming. Should it always be like this?”

“Not always. Some men are hesitant to engage fully in carnal pleasures with their wives. They . . . they’re not comfortable with the more . . . animalistic aspects of our nature.”

The tears slowed to a trickle, leaving her weary and exhausted. “It was rather raw . . . what I felt just now. I hadn’t expected to feel so vulnerable.” A horrible thought occurred to her. “You won’t ever tell—”

“No. You’re safe with me. Whatever passes between us remains between us.”

She took a great shuddering breath. “I miss him.” The words were out before she’d even realized what they would be. The tears spilled forward again. “He was kind.”

“Last night you said you didn’t marry for love, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t love him. Did you?”

She didn’t hesitate to nod. “But it wasn’t a passionate love, not the sort you read about in romantic novels.”

“I don’t read romantic novels.”

She smiled, almost laughed at the tone of his voice, as though he’d been insulted. “I enjoy them immensely. But regardless, our love was not a deep and abiding thing. Perhaps that is the reason other aspects of our relationship lacked passion.”

“You can have passion without love.”

Aiden Trewlove had certainly proved that point a mere few minutes ago. But could one have romantic love without passion? She imagined how much more fulfilling what she’d experienced earlier would be if shared with someone she adored beyond all reason.

“It can’t be easy being a young widow,” he said softly, turning them away from talk of love.