Free The Widow's Auction by Sabrina Jeffries Page B

his proposal at the governing board. If he’d been in her place, he’d have done the same.
    Unfortunately, it also explained why she worshiped Henry Lamberton. She would never accept another man in Lamberton’s place. And who could blame her? What man could replace a real saint?
    That must be why she’d participated in the auction instead of just looking for a husband–she didn’t want a man to replace Lamberton. Except for one night. And Justin couldn’t be only that to her, not now that he’d seen how truly rare a woman she was.
    â€œI should take you home,” he said.
    He regretted the words when he saw tears leak out from beneath her mask. Bloody hell, he hadn’t wanted to make her cry! Not after all she’d endured.
    â€œI-I see,” she stammered. “Now that you realize how very far beneath you I am–”
    â€œDon’t be absurd.” It hurt that she could even think that of him. “Your origins have nothing to do with it. If anything, they make me respect you more. Indeed, I respect you too much to take advantage of you when you still have only room for your husband in your heart.”
    She blinked at him. “What? You think. . . ” She laughed harshly. “Dear heaven, so that’s what this reluctance is all about.” She stepped nearer, her face full of supplication. “Oh, Justin, didn’t you understand what I was saying? My marriage wasn’t like that at all.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œA love match. Yes, I was grateful to my husband for what he did, but–” With a sigh, she glanced away. “Have you ever heard the myth of Galatea and Pygmalion?”
    He sifted through the years of his Eton education. “Pygmalion was the one who created a statue of a woman so perfect that he fell in love with it, right?”
    She nodded. “He suffered for his love, but Venus took pity on him and turned Galatea into a real woman. Then Pygmalion and Galatea married.”
    His eyes narrowed. “You’re saying that your husband was Pygmalion, and you were Galatea.”
    A bitter smile touched her lips. “Exactly. Except that my Pygmalion hardly ventured beyond adoration of his statue. He had no idea how to be Galatea’s husband. All those lovely things you just did. . . the way you touched me and kissed me? Hen–my husband would never have done any of them.”
    He couldn’t fathom such madness. “Why not?”
    She strode up to him, her eyes glittering beneath the mask. “My husband considered that sort of behavior too wicked for his precious creation. Despite all his talk about peasant blood, once he made me into the image of a perfect wife, he didn’t want to defile that image in any way.”
    Justin stared at her, wanting but hardly daring to believe what she was saying.
    She went on relentlessly. “He couldn’t avoid committing the actual act of love–not if he wanted to sire a son–but he made it. . . ” She halted, no doubt reluctant to speak of the intimacies of her marriage. Then she went on. “He made it as short and perfunctory as possible. There was no enjoyment, no pleasure, none of those heavenly feelings you gave me. Just a few painful thrusts while he apologized for inconveniencing me.”
    â€œBloody hell,” he whispered, the truth slamming into him. There were men with such proper ideas, but he’d never guessed Lamberton would be that sort. How could the man have wasted his hours with her in such a stupid fashion?
    Though Justin hadn’t been much better. When he could have been showing her how wonderful lovemaking between two people could be, he’d been acting like a pompous idiot, ignoring her protests, sure that he knew better.
    What a fool he was. “I’m sorry, Bella, I didn’t realize–”
    â€œAnd I thought that was all there was,” she went on as if she