All About Passion

But she wanted to avoid any unnecessary encounter with Gyles. If he didn’t want her in his life, so be it—she was too proud to beg. Since the evening he’d elected to spend his after-dinner hours separate from her, she’d ensured she made no demands on his time beyond the absolutely necessary.

He still came to her bed and her arms every night, but that was different. Neither she nor he would allow what occurred between them outside her bedchamber to interfere with what lay between them inside it.

On that, at least, they were as one.

She hadn’t been back to the Dower House. While she would have liked to indulge in the comfort and support of her mother-in-law and aunt-in-law, the first question they would ask was how she was getting on, meaning getting on with her husband.

She didn’t know how to answer, couldn’t conceive how to explain or make sense of it. His rejection—how else was she to interpret it?—had been a blow, yet, stubbornly, she refused to give up hope. Not while he continued to come to her every night—not while, during the day, she would catch him watching her, a frown, not one of displeasure but of uncertainty, in his grey eyes.

No—she hadn’t lost hope, but she’d learned not to prod.