The Double Wager by Mary Balogh Page B

dressing gown.
    He stopped inside the door and folded his arms across his chest. “I am lost for an answer, Henry,” he said calmly after a moment. “It is our wedding night, you know.”
    Henry stood her ground. “But what do you want?” she asked.
    That gleam was in his eyes again, she noticed. “The answer is really very simple now that I have had time to think of it,” he said. “You, my love.”
    Henry did not know what to answer; so she just stood and waited. Eversleigh let his arms fall to his sides and walked toward her until he stood only inches away. “You could not possibly be shy, could you, Henry?” he asked quietly. “Come, there is no need. You must trust me.”
    He slid his hands very gently along the sides of her breasts and under her arms and drew her against him. Henry looked up into his face in wide-eyed alarm. His lips came down softly on hers. Henry stood rigid. Other people had kissed her on the lips: her father, the twins, several people on this very day after the wedding, and always it had lasted a mere second. It was the sort of ordeal that had to be endured in this world. But this kiss did not end after a second. After several seconds, in fact, she felt one hand slide down her body to hold her behind the hips and bring her full against the length of her husband, while the other hand moved up into her hair and cupped the back of her head. His head tilted to one side, and his mouth opened over hers. She felt his tongue slowly trace the line of her lips from one comer of her mouth to the other.
    Henry panicked. She pushed wildly against his chest and darted across the room until the bed was between them. She clung to a bedpost and glared indignantly at him.
    “Don’t!” she said. “What are you trying to do?”
    Eversleigh’s eyes had opened wide for one unguarded moment. By now they were hooded again. He crossed his arms once more. “You are playing havoc with my selfesteem, Henry,” he said with a sigh. “I was trying to make love to my wife.”
    “I don’t like doing that,” she said decisively. “Please go away!”
    He sighed again and seated himself on the edge of the bed. “Henry,” he asked, “has anyone—any woman— explained to you what marriage is all about?”
    “There is nothing to know,” she said. “I have taken your name and I have promised to honor and obey you. Marian wanted to talk to me this morning, but I told her she really need not bother. She had to go away in the end.”
    “Your mother died when you were quite young, did she not, my love?” he asked.
    “Yes. I was seven when the twins were born.” 
    “And you have lived at Roedean ever since?”
    “Until a few weeks ago, yes.”
    “So really you know nothing of marriage, do you?”
    Henry looked doubtful. “I know you will want heirs, your Grace,” she said. “And I shall be quite willing to perform that duty.”
    “Shall you?” He watched her for a long moment. “Do you know how, er, heirs are born, Henry?”
    “Oh, yes,” she replied eagerly. “I watched Majorca have a foal once. She was one of Papa’s horses. I was not supposed to be there, but Giles and I had given Miss Manford the slip. The groom told us that human babies are born the same way. They come out ...” She flushed and stopped as she made eye contact with her husband. “Well, you know,” she finished lamely.
    “Yes, I know, my love,” he said softly. “But do you know how the heir—or the foal—is created, Henry?”
    She flushed a deeper red. She did not know, though the question had bothered her for several years. She found it such a frightening question, in fact, that she had always resolutely blocked it from her consciousness.
    “I thought not,” he said when she did not answer. He got to his feet and walked around the bed toward her. She shrank against the bedpost. “No, don’t be afraid, Henry,” he said. “I am not about to start kissing you again, since you seem to find the exercise so