Redemption of a Fallen Woman. Joanna Fulford

I believe. When my business is concluded we might explore it if you wish.’

      ‘I’d like that.’

      To her ears the conversation sounded stilted, but it was better than silence. Nor was he unwilling to follow her lead and thus the conversation remained safely on neutral ground until the meal was done.

      She saw him lean back in his chair, stretching his legs in front of him, to all appearances quite relaxed. He poured a little more wine and sipped it slowly, surveying her steadily. Under that quiet scrutiny she felt more than ever aware of her appearance. In the years since Badajoz her masculine attire had been a useful defence in many ways. When she had dwelt among the guerrilla force she had carried herself with the same show of outward confidence she saw in the men around her, adopted the same faintly arrogant swagger in her stride and looked them straight in the eye when she spoke to them. Such stratagems had served her well, being as they were the antithesis of everything feminine. Now, a part of her regretted the gowns she had left behind in Madrid. To be found so lacking by this English lord was mortifying. How far removed she must be from his notions of ideal womanhood. Perhaps the closest she had come was during those brief hours in Madrid when she had at least looked like a woman. Once or twice she had thought there was admiration in his regard, but it was so fleeting she couldn’t be sure. A Spaniard would have made it plain; Englishmen on the other hand concealed their feelings behind a barrier of cool reserve. Of course, if he thought her attractive that would be downright dangerous. It was like being caught in a cleft stick.

      In fact, she would have been startled to know what was going through the mind of the English lord just then. It had not escaped him that Elena had barely eaten anything this evening or that her unease was almost tangible, and he thought he had a pretty shrewd idea as to the reason. She might put a brave face on things but underneath she was terrified. Her vulnerability had never been more evident. Nor had her beauty which was rendered all the more artless by her present attire.

      For the first time full realisation began to sink in that this lovely and exotic creature was now his wife, that she belonged to him. It created a gamut of emotions, not least of which was guilt. He hadn’t looked at another woman since Belén and nor had he wished to. The society beauties in London had no power to attract him: compared to her they had seemed cold and colourless, lacking the inner fire that she had possessed in such measure. The same fire he glimpsed in Elena. In her it was contained, he might even have said suppressed. It excited his imagination and aroused his curiosity, as that brief chaste kiss had aroused him earlier—an effect that had been quite unexpected. It put paid to all thought of the nun.

      He tossed back the rest of his wine and, pushing the chair back, stood up. Then he held out his hand.

      ‘Come, my lady. It’s time to retire.’

      Somehow Elena got to her feet. Her heart was thumping so hard she felt sure he must hear it. Obediently she placed her hand in his, felt the pressure of his fingers on hers. Their touch seemed to burn now. He led her to the door and thence to the upper floor where their bedchamber was situated. He paused on the threshold to let her precede him, then closed the door behind them. The room was spacious though sparsely furnished, and dominated by the large bed opposite. Elena shivered, her gaze travelling thence to the man standing just feet away. He had always been physically impressive but now he seemed bigger than ever. Moreover, that lithe frame was powerfully muscled. Her strength would be no match at all for his; he could compel her to do whatever he liked. Her mouth dried. She had not even the right to refuse. As her husband his authority was absolute.

      In stomach-churning silence she waited. He looked so calm and self-assured, but then how could he not when circumstances were so clearly stacked in his favour? He surveyed her steadily for a moment.

      ‘It has been a long day and there’s another one ahead of us tomorrow. Let’s get some rest, shall we?’

      She stared at him dumbfounded, torn between disbelief and hope.

      ‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘I think we both need a little time to come to terms with what happened today.’

      The tone was gentle, even kind, but suggestive of more beneath. For perhaps the tenth time that day she wished she could read him better. She watched him shrug off his coat and toss it over the back of a chair. Neck cloth and shirt followed to reveal a hard-muscled torso. She drew a sharp breath, her gaze drawn to the line of dark hair that led her eye to the narrow waist and lean flanks below it. He sat down to remove his boots. Having done so, he reached for the fastenings of his breeches. Confused and uncertain, Elena turned away and reluctantly began to remove her own jacket and boots. Behind her she heard a faint creaking sound as he climbed into bed.