“Before... before I go in there, I need to warn you.” She bit her lip, looking troubled.
He stiffened. “Warn me? About what?”
She took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I might not be a virgin.”
“What?”
“I said, I might not be a virgin.” She hesitated, then added, “I remember you saying once to Rose,Virginity is a requirement for any bride of mine.”
He stared at her dumbfounded. Why had she waited until after the wedding to share this interesting fact with him? It was a little late now to be confessing the sins of her past. Not that it would have made any difference to him. “What do you mean you ‘might not be’? Either you are or you aren’t.”
She scowled. “It’s ridiculous anyway, requiring brides to be virgins. You’re not a virgin, so why should I be?”
He said through gritted teeth, “Are you or are you not?”
“It’s only so that men can make sure any children of a marriage are theirs, but there’s no way to ensure that, except the woman’s own personal honor.”
“A woman’s honor?”
“Yes, a bride can be a virgin on her wedding night but betray her husband with a groom or a footman or another gentleman shortly afterward—and who can be sure of the father? Not even the woman, sometimes. Unless she’s a person of honor.”
“Are you?”
Her eyes flashed with indignation. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that. If I weren’t a woman of honor, I never would have married you.”
“I know that. I meant, are you a virgin?”
“Oh.” There was a short silence. “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
She flushed. “People say—well, Martha used to say, and she wasn’t the only one—that if a girl rode a horse bareback—and astride—she would, um, not be a virgin. That it would um, rupture the, um, maidenhead.” She looked away, her cheeks flaming, lips pressed together. She swallowed convulsively, then turned to face him. “I used to ride bareback and astride all the time. So...”
Relief rushed through him. So she wasn’t about to confess some sordid past. Candlelight flickered and danced across her profile. She looked young and uncertain and vulnerable. And sweet and brave and true.
He took her hand in his. “It doesn’t matter.”
She hesitated. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Whether or not you are physically a virgin now, it will make no difference to our future.”
“Are you sure? Because if I’m not, I don’t want you throwing it up in my face whenever we quarrel.”
He arched a brow. “Will we quarrel?”
“We’re bound to.”
“I see. Well, as long as we make it up in bed, I’ll accept that. And whatever the outcome, I promise I won’t throw your virginity or lack of it in your face. In fact, I’m already bored with the subject. Can we go to bed now?”
She nodded and allowed him to lead her into his bedroom.
George glanced around the duke’s bedchamber. His servants had obviously prepared it. In the soft candlelight, everything gleamed with care and attention. As she’d observed earlier in the day, it was a very masculine room, with heavy carved furniture and curtains and bedcovers of rich dark red brocade, but now vases of flowers sat on the mantelpiece and on top of a chest of drawers. The delicate fragrance of the flowers mingled with the sharp, clean tang of beeswax. The furniture had been newly polished.
His enormous bed seemed bigger than ever. The heavy brocade coverlet was turned back invitingly, revealing fresh white sheets and pillows.
“Your staff has made a special effort.” She was pleased to hear she sounded almost normal, despite the butterflies thundering around her stomach.
He glanced around vaguely. “Have they? I hadn’t noticed. Oh, yes, flowers.” He pulled off his cravat and tossed it aside, then turned back to her. “Would you like me to act as your maid?”
