Free In the Barrister's Bed by Tina Gabrielle Page A

level under drawn brows. “Did the duke hurt you?”
    Hurt her? Heavens, no.
    James hadn’t even held her as he kissed her. It had been marvelous, gentle, and thrilling, and the degree to which she had responded stunned her. She could never admit, even to Harriet, that it had been he who had broken their kiss.
    “No, he did not hurt me,” Bella said. “Yet he is trying to manipulate me. He wants me gone from Wyndmoor Manor.”
    “You may be right. But how was the kiss?”
    Harriet could be as tenacious as a terrier when she sought information.
    “It was pleasant,” Bella answered.
    Harriet eyed her as she had when Bella had stolen a sweet from the pantry. “You feared he’d be like Roger? You shouldn’t. Roger was nothing but a sick bastard, he was.”
    Bella’s gut clenched just thinking of her deceased husband’s sexual attentions. Roger had only approached her after he had drunk no less than four tankards of ale. He had been mean without alcohol, but combined with spirits he was downright cruel.
    It was then that he’d demand his marital rights. He’d douse the fireplace, insist she disrobe before him and stand still in the center of their bedchamber. She’d often tremble from the cold and dread, knowing what was to follow. As a young bride, she had been horrified to discover that he needed to inflict pain and fear in order to stimulate himself.
    Bella was prideful by nature, and she had glared up at Roger in hatred. Often his frustration and ire would take control, and he would wrench her arm, push her to the floor before him, and strike her. After the first months of their marriage, he was unable to perform sexually, and he’d viciously berate her, repeatedly ranting that she was inadequate as a woman and not worthy to be his wife. She had prayed his visits to her bedchamber would stop, but to no avail. Her only consolation was he’d not been able to bed her.
    She’d soon heard of whispers from the servants that Roger had whores enter through the kitchen door. Rumors abounded that the women were skilled at dominating Roger, inflicting pain upon him. That he’d paid to be whipped with his own riding crop.
    Bella had been shocked, for Roger had always seemed to thrive on enforcing his power over her, whether by isolating her on the estate grounds or coming to her bedchamber. If only she had known of his sick deviancy, she would have gladly offered to whip him for free.
    Harriet reached out and took Bella’s hands in hers. “What I’m saying, luv, is that there is nothing wrong with you as a woman. I always worried your husband’s sickness and belittling had wounded you more than any physical abuse. Despite the circumstances that brought the duke here, I’m glad he kissed you. A little attention from a handsome man like Blackwood proves my point. Not all men are like Roger.”
    “What about our fight over the manor?” Bella said.
    “One kiss doesn’t mean you’re handing it over to him,” Harriet said.
    Bella kept her features deceptively composed. “I do not trust him.” I do not trust myself with him, she thought. Any more attention from James could put her future plans at perilous risk.
     
     
    James sat at the head of the table in the formal dining room as the footman delivered the first course. The new cook, the servant Bella had hired, had prepared a delicious turtle soup.
    Even after Coates had handed him the note from Bella, James had decided to remain and dine at the manor rather than at the Twin Rams Inn. He needed to stake his claim, both with the servants and the striking woman upstairs.
    Which led James to thinking about Bella Sinclair for the hundredth time that evening. He wondered what she was eating, and if she was dressed in the same pristine nightgown that covered every inch of her body down to her pretty feet that she had worn the first time he had seen her.
    Was she sitting in bed enjoying the same soup or eating cold roast beef instead? And why did he give a damn what