Page 102 of Kathryn

She jolted at his touch but did not stop him.

Once he was done, he folded the cloth neatly and tucked it into his pocket. “Let go of your skirts,” he said when he saw her hands were still bunched into fists.

He gave the material a few twitches to pull it down over her truly magnificent arse and then helped her upright before turning away to give her some privacy, the frenzy of the last few moments falling away and making him realize that he had just fucked his wife in a posting house parlor as if she were a doxy.

And he could not bring himself to regret it, although he was flabbergasted about the reason for his loss of control.

He’d let that fool Ampthill’s idiot behavior turn him into a jealous, ravening beast.

There was a timid tap on the door.

“Hold a moment,” he ordered loudly, turning back to make sure Kathryn was decent. “Ready?”

She nodded, her cheeks still passion-flushed but her expression cool and collected.

“Come in,” he called out.

The innkeeper hovered on the threshold and glanced at the table. “Was the food not to your liking, Your Grace?”

“It was fine. Have my carriage brought round.”

The man dropped a low bow before backing out of the room as if Gerrit was a member of the royal family.

Gerrit turned back to his wife, who was looking at him with an unreadable expression. “What?” he demanded.

“Did you need to be so rude to him?”

Gerrit scowled. “You mistake directness for rudeness. What should I have said to the man? I apologize for not eating your meal because I was far more interested in tupping my wife?”

Streaks of color slashed across her delicate cheekbones, and she opened her mouth.

There was another damned knock on the door before he could hear what she had to say. “What is it now?” he asked loudly enough to be heard through the slab of wood.

The door opened slowly, and Stone peered inside the room. Her gaze slid to the almost untouched food and then back to Gerrit. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I did not mean to interrupt, but Mr. Stevens said you were finished and—”

“Wait outside until I summon you,” Gerrit barked.

“We are leaving,” Kathryn said as if Gerrit had not spoken, and then brushed past him on her way to the door.

Gerrit watched in silence as they hurried from the room and left him standing by himself, still wondering what her answer to his question would have been.

***

Katie glared into the darkness and squeezed the bedcovers, as if she were squeezing Dulverton’s neck. She had not expected her husband to behave differently during dinner. Nor had she expected him to ravish her in the library. No matter how much she might have enjoyed it.

But after their torrid coupling at the Red Lion that afternoon she had expected him to come to her bedchamber and behave normally. Well, not normally, but the way he’d been before she had stupidly told him she wanted only a marriage of convenience from him.

Katie snorted and shook her head. Dulverton must be the thickest man in Britain because he had, yet again, snuffed the candles when he’d strode into her room, lifted her nightgown, climbed on top of her, and done his business in a scant five minutes before bidding her goodnight.

For the first time since the night when she’d told him she did not want his passion, Katie pondered the possibility that Dulverton was not merely being stubborn or thoughtless, but that her request might have hurt his feelings. It was impossible to believe he had any feelings—not to mention tender ones—beneath his granite façade, but what else could explain his behavior?

It was increasingly clear that if they were ever to go back to the way things were before then Katie would have to instigate things.

And apologize.

“Blast and damnation,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her hands actually hurting from abusing the poor blanket. Just thinking about dredging up the subject and apologizing was painful. Surely there was some other way?

Challenge him, both Betje and Mrs. St. Clare had said, or something to that effect.