He flung himself away from her, landing on his back on the bed with a defeated groan. “You need to go. Now!”

She sat up and looked down at him, flipping her loose plait back over her shoulder. His long, lean body was sprawled amid the jumbled sheets like a splendid sacrificial offering. He flung his arm over his eyes as though needing to shield himself from the sight of her.

His manhood was still swollen, suffering and angry-red from neglect.

Enough of this.

“I am going to touch you.” Ignoring his objections, she lifted her hand toward him. Until a thought seized her and she froze. “I don’t repulse you, do I?” She bit her lip in consternation. She could not imagine touching him, subjecting him to her touch, if he found her repulsive. She could not bring herself to inflict that—herself—upon him.

His arm lifted from his eyes to stare at her in wonder. “God, no.”

She exhaled. “Good.” Her hand resumed its descent. She was almost to his abdomen. The skin there looked soft. Firm and soft.

Suddenly his hand shot out to seize her wrist. “Nora.”

Her gaze locked on his, but it wasn’t his hand that stopped her and held her in check. It was his intense gaze and the sudden doubt filling her.

He needed this like a starving man needed food, but he was unwilling. Not physically, but in every other way. Could she touch him knowing that?

Heavens. She hated that she had done this to him, that something she had created had done this to him—reduced him to this state. She felt wretched . . . as wretched as he looked twisting in agony upon the bed.

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “This is all my fault.”

“I asked for it.” He nodded once in brave acceptance.

“But I knew what it could do to a person.” She paused and shook her head. “I just didn’t want to believe it could happen again.”

His fingers around her wrist started to shake, as though his control was slipping, a rope unraveling from its mast. “I won’t ruin you. You need to go.”

“Is that what worries you?” She glanced back down to his manhood. It was still erect, pulsing before her very eyes, matching the swift beat of her pounding heart.

How long had he been like this? How long could he continue in this condition? It must be unbearable.

“What if you won’t compromise me? What if I merely take care of your . . . er, situation?”

Merely? Nothing about this was merely.

Since Charlotte’s marriage, Nora had seen fit to educate herself on matters of intimacy. She had always embraced knowledge on any subject, and she did not like knowing there was a gap in her range of knowledge, so she had researched to fill that chasm.