Amelia waited for the rest of the explanation. Perhaps there was an injury she didn’t know about. But when he didn’t continue, she said, tentatively, “Is it only your legs that were injured?”
His brows rose. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Yes, but...” She wasn’t sure how to continue. No one had ever taught her how to have these conversations. Then she remembered what her mother had told her about the early years of her parents’ marriage. They had argued and not spoken and turned inward. If nothing else, she did not want to bottle up her thoughts and feelings. She would say them, and she could die of mortification later. “You don’t need your legs to bed me,” she said quickly. “You only need, er—your manhood.” At his look of incredulity, she hastily continued. “But I have very little experience. Perhaps there is something I don’t understand.”
Nicholas turned his head and looked at her directly. “You’re right,” he said. “You don’t have as much experience, and I shouldn’t have assumed you would understand. I shouldn’t have been so humiliated that I wouldn’t be honest with you. I’ve hurt you.” He reached out and stroked her cheek lightly. “I’m sorry for that.”
She grasped his hand. This was why she was so attracted to him. He was so kind and understanding. She just had to push past the thorny exterior to reach the soft interior she adored. “Please don’t ever feel humiliated around me,” she said. “We should always be honest with each other.”
The way he looked at her was like an explorer might gaze at a new species. “It’s not so easy for me to be vulnerable,” he said.
Amelia took his hand and held it, holding her breath so as not to spoil the moment with too many words. He would tell her the problem, as he saw it, or he would not. She couldn’t force it out of him.
“I do need my legs to bed you,” he said. “Most positions require a man to use his legs for balance and control.”
She only knew of one position, and she could see how Wickersham had used his legs for that purpose. But she had also grown up in the country, surrounded by domesticated animals. They didn’t copulate with the male and female lying down and face to face.
“Aren’t there other positions?” she asked. “Like farm animals?”
He swallowed hard. She saw his throat working. Was he angry? Embarrassed at her frankness? Aroused? She hoped he was aroused. His hand on hers tightened. “There are other positions.” His voice was rough and low. It sent a shiver of need through her, but she resisted pulling him close and kissing him. “That’s not the only concern.”
She raised her brows, waiting for him to go on.
“My injury is...” He swallowed again as though he were trying to clear a lump from his throat. “It’s ugly. Disgusting. If you saw the state of my legs, it would turn your stomach.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” she said matter-of-factly. “I cared for my dying grandmother and my paralyzed father for years. I’m not one of your Society misses who never so much as emptied a chamber pot. I’ve emptied hundreds and tended infections, bed sores—”
“I’m your husband, not your patient,” he interrupted.
She saw her mistake then. He didn’t want to be seen as an invalid. He wanted her to see him as a man and a desirable one.
“I hear the coach approaching. We should douse these candles and go out and meet it.” He released her hand and lifted the snuffer, putting out several candles in quick succession. The room was thrown into shadow, the only light left was that flickering from the vestibule. Amelia grasped his arm before he could walk away. She had to say something, do something, to show him she desired him, no matter his injury or she would lose him again, and this time he might retreat out of reach.
He paused, allowing her to hold him, but he didn’t turn to look at her.
“My mother told me that our flaws and imperfections can be as endearing as the parts of each other we fancy. There’s so much that is perfect about you,” she said, hoping he was listening. Hoping her words were penetrating his wall. He had such a stoic look on his face, his expression hard and unyielding. “Your eyes,” she said. “Your eyes are like the summer sky, and every time you look at me with them, I want to melt into you. I feel warm all through.”
Slowly, he slid his gaze to hers, and she was thankful that it was dark, and she couldn’t see how blue his eyes were.
“Your hair too. It’s such a beautiful shade of gold. I’ve imagined running my fingers through it.”
She saw a flicker of interest in her words.
“That’s not all I’ve imagined,” she said. “Your lips. I’ve imagined kissing them so many times. I love the way you kiss. I love the line of your jaw and the glint of stubble on it in the sunlight. I’d like to kiss your cheekbones. A man shouldn’t have cheekbones like you do. It’s not fair.” She paused to breathe. “Do you want to know what else I’ve imagined?”
“Yes.” His voice was low and velvet.
“Undressing you,” she said, moving closer to him. “Taking your coat off slowly, then your waistcoat, and pulling your shirt over your head until your chest was bare, and I could run my hands over those broad shoulders and down to that narrow waist. Then I’d unfasten your trousers and slip my hands over your buttocks.”
With a jolt, he pulled her hard against him, her breasts pressed against his chest. “And what would you do when my trousers fell to the floor, and you saw the state of my legs? You’d pull away in disgust.”
This was at the heart of his resistance then. The fear of rejection. How could he really think that she cared what his legs looked like? But fear wasn’t always rational. She knew that from experience. She’d always had a fear of spiders. Every time she saw one, she panicked and couldn’t seem to stop herself from screaming. She was a thousand times bigger than a spider, and most were harmless. Yet she had an irrational fear of them. She wasn’t afraid of beetles or ants or flies. Only spiders. If she spotted one in a room and wasn’t able to see it removed, she wouldn’t enter that room for days.
Amelia put her arms around Nicholas’s neck and tugged his head down. “Let me tell you what I would do when your trousers were around your ankles. Come closer so I can whisper it.”
He lowered his head until his ear was next to her mouth, and she allowed her lips to graze his ear, felt him shiver as she breathed lightly against him. “I would start at your ankles and kiss every scar, every imperfection, every bit of your legs.”
“No,” he said.
“Yes.” She didn’t allow him to pull away—not that he tried very hard. “I’d work my way up to your thighs, and I’d kiss them too. You’d be hard by then, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.” He groaned. She could feel that he was hard now.
“I’d kiss that hardness too. I’d lick you and er—”
“Take me into your mouth,” he suggested.
Was that what he wanted? “Yes. That too. Anything you liked. Everything you like.” She bit his ear lightly, and he groaned again. “Until you feel as much pleasure as you gave me yesterday.”