“Why did you do that?” she whispered.

He gave her a lazy smile. “Didn’t you like it?”

“Yes, but . . .” She blinked rapidly, clearly at a loss for words.

He settled beside her, kissing her ear. “Was it enjoyable?”

Her chest rose and fell several times before she answered, “It was, but you—”

“I found it very enjoyable,” he cut in. And he did, even if he was now frustrated as hell.

“But you . . . you . . .” She touched the waist of his breeches. He did not know if her passion had left her beyond words or if she was simply too embarrassed to speak of their intimacies.

“Shhhh.” He put a finger to her lips. He didn’t want to talk about it.

He didn’t even want to think about it.

He held her until she fell asleep. And then he slipped from the bed and staggered back to his own room.

He could not fall asleep in her bed. He did not trust himself to awaken in her arms.

Chapter Sixteen

IRIS AWAKENED A bit before supper, just as she always did—slowly and with apathetic eyelids. She felt marvelously languorous, her limbs heavy with sleep and something more . . . something sensual and lovely. She found herself rubbing her feet against the sheets, wondering if they had ever felt so silky. The air was sweet, like fresh flowers and something else, something earthy and lush. She breathed in deeply, her lungs filling as she rolled onto her side and burrowed her face into her pillow. She did not think she had ever slept so well. She felt—

Her eyes snapped open.

Richard.

She glanced about the room, her head twitching back and forth. Where was he?

Clutching the sheet to her naked body, Iris sat up, turning her attention to the other side of the bed. What time was it? When had he left?

She stared at the other pillow. What did she think she was going to see? An imprint of his face?

What had they done? He had . . .

She had . . .

But he definitely hadn’t . . .

She closed her eyes in agony. She didn’t know what was going on. She didn’t understand.

He could not have consummated the union. He hadn’t even removed his breeches. She might be ignorant when it came to the marriage bed, but she knew that much.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it had been much too long since her last meal. Good heavens, she was hungry. What time was it? Had she missed supper?

She glanced over at her window, trying to figure out how late it was. Someone had pulled the heavy velvet curtains shut. Probably Richard, she thought, since the corner was caught on itself. A housemaid would never leave them askew like that.

It was dark out, but perhaps not yet pitch-black, and—oh, bother. She might as well just get up and look.