Page 35 of A Duchess Untouched

Cathy and Madeline exchanged long looks. Selina could tell a whole conversation had passed between the two of them, and it made her heart drop.

“Selina,” Cathy began, leaning forward. “Did your husband… Did Matthew bed you?”

“Well, he… He took me to bed afterward, if that is what you mean.”

“That is not what she means, Selina,” Lady Marlow supplied.

Selina’s chest ached at the patience in Cathy’s expression. Her grandmother was looking at her with pity as well. It was at that moment that she confirmed that whatever she and her husband did was not yet consummation.

He touched me.

He made me see stars behind my eyes.

I begged with my whimpers and my body, and yet…

She realized that she had no idea what consummation truly entailed. All she knew was that control had to be lost or given up, and it felt as if both she and Matthew had shed the walls they often kept around them.

“But he held me against him. He touched me and…” she stammered, her face burning hot. “Is that not what bedding entails?”

Cathy closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Madeline’s hands flew to her cheeks as she sighed softly. There was truly more, and the truth came crashing over Selina.

Something bigger than what they had done together was supposed to happen between a man and his wife to consummate their marriage. It meant that their marriage was still hanging by a thread, not real. Not yet. It could still be annulled. The truth was horrifying.

Thoughts of Matthew’s hard length returned to her. She had felt it prodding through his breeches. She just knew then that she had to do something about it.

He kept his breeches on. He had not truly lost all control. Only I did.

Shame came over her. The victory she thought she had won evaporated like a dream. She felt the irony that she had not even slept the night before. She further shrank in her chair, wishing that Napoleon would come to comfort her.

“Oh, dear God,” Lady Marlow groaned. “I should have had this conversation with you before you were married, Selina! It just seemed like you would likely be the easiest to instruct in terms of such matters.”

“We did not know that Matthew would leave her before even consummation,” Cathy reminded their grandmother.

“I thought you had at least taught her, Cathy!” Lady Marlow snapped. “As the eldest, it should have been your duty to explain the marriage bed to your youngest sister before she walked the aisle and got married.”

“Grandmama, I did not want to intimidate her!” Cathy cried. “She was merely eighteen years old. At that age, I did not know what to expect either. And remember, Matthew left mere hours after the ceremony. It did not feel right to be filling her head with details that might not even happen that night. She was intimidated enough as she was.”

“Well, then. Look at what such delicate sensibilities have accomplished,” Lady Marlow stated. “Our girl believes a hand under her nightgown can produce an heir! That sounds like an argument for annulment.”

“Stop it. I beg you both,” Selina whimpered.

“It is all right, dear Selina,” Madeline said softly. “You were innocent. Is that not what we demand of young ladies?”

“I feel like a fool. What am I to do now? Matthew is leaving, and we do not know if he will even return. He has not bedded me. The Dowager will be insisting on an annulment, and I have no heir to show her. All my charities, my life, Papa, all these things—”

“Nonsense,” Lady Marlow gently chided. “This is not the way we think in this family. Dry your eyes. All is not lost. Think of it this way: you are now in a better position than you were yesterday.”

“How is that possible, Grandmama?” Selina wondered. “I failed.”

“Of course you did not fail,” Lady Marlow said. “Now that he has touched you, he will want to do it again. He already has a crack in his self-control. Mark my words, Selina. He will come back and seek you out himself.”

Chapter 17

“Are you certain we are in the right village, Harrison?”

Even to Matthew’s own ears, his voice sounded rough and hoarse. Days of riding and sleepless nights could do that to anyone, no matter how plain or fancy the carriage was.

He looked outside to see yet another nondescript village miles beyond London. This one looked gray and damp, a reflection of the weather they had been suffering through lately. The name was Oakridge, and it was mostly clusters of thatched cottages and rundown shops. There was a tavern with a crooked sign. Then again, there always was some kind of run-down tavern in such places. Matthew had had the misfortune of visiting them all.