Of course she didn’t. He sighed. “Most wives don’t do”—he waved a pathetic hand in the air—“that.”

He face instantly flushed. “Oh,” she said, her voice achingly hollow. “You must think—I didn’t know—I’m so—”

“Stop, please,” he begged, grasping her hand. He did not think he could bear it if she actually apologized. “You did nothing wrong. I promise. Quite the opposite,” he said before he thought to censor himself.

She scrambled off the bed, but not before he saw the confusion on her face.

“It’s just . . . it’s quite a lot . . . so early in our marriage . . .” He let his words trail off. It was the only thing to do. He had no idea how to complete the sentence. Good God, he was an ass.

“This is all too much,” he said, hoping she did not hear the slight pause before he added, “for you.”

He jerked himself to his feet, cursing as he hastily refastened his breeches. What kind of man was he? He’d taken the worst sort of advantage. For the love of God, he still had his bloody boots on.

He looked at her. Her lips were parted, still swollen from his kisses. But the desire was gone from her eyes, replaced by something he could not quite name.

Something he did not want to identify.

He raked his hand through his hair. “I think I should go.”

“You didn’t eat,” she said. Her voice sounded flat. He hated that.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She nodded, but he was fairly certain neither of them knew why. “Please,” he whispered, allowing himself one last touch. His fingers gently caressed her brow, then paused to cup her cheek in his hand. “Please know one thing. You have done nothing wrong.”

She did not speak. She just stared at him with those huge blue eyes, not even looking confused. Just . . .

Resigned. And that was even worse.

“It’s not you,” he said. “It’s me.” He had a feeling he was making this worse with every word, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He swallowed, waiting again for her to say something, but she did not.

“Good night,” he said softly. He bowed with his head and left the room. Never in his life had he felt so awful doing the right thing.

Two days later

RICHARD WAS SITTING in his study, nursing a second glass of brandy, when he saw a carriage coming up the drive, its windows glinting in the late-afternoon sun.

His sisters?

He’d sent word to his aunt that Fleur and Marie-Claire could not be permitted to stay the full two weeks, but still, he wasn’t expecting them today.