"What do you think?" she asked breathlessly.
"You've got a few urges of your own. Do you understand what that means?"
He wanted her to admit that women had the same lustful cravings as men and that he'd been right all along.
"Yes, I understand what it means."
Her shoulders slumped. She pushed away from him and tried to walk away. He grabbed her from behind, wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her still, then leaned down and demanded she explain.
"Tell me what you just learned," he ordered, impatiently waiting for her answer so he could do a fair amount of male gloating.
"I'm a trollop. There, are you happy now? Belle's going to get weary of waiting for you."
"She'll keep on drinking until I get there."
"She sounds delightful."
"She is," he replied. "You aren't a trollop."
She pushed away from him and then turned around to confront him. Her hands settled on her hips. "I'm usually not," she corrected. "But you make me want to do things I normally wouldn't think about doing. When you touch me, I… well, I'm only a trollop around you. I therefore suggest we stay away from each other. Please leave now before I disgrace myself again."
She looked like she wanted to cry. He felt guilty because he'd teased her. He was also feeling inordinately pleased with her. The compliment she'd given him, deliberate or not, made him want to smile. She got rattled when he touched her. A man couldn't ask for more than that.
He felt he should say something to calm her. He was her husband, after all, and it was the least he could do. Husbands should try to soothe their wives when they were upset, shouldn't they? What difference did it make that they were only going to be married for a little while?
"You're my wife. It's all right to be a trollop with me."
She caught herself before she snorted. Her expression showed her vexation, however. "But you'd rather be hanged than married, remember?"
Lord, she was a sight when she was riled up. Her eyes blazed with anger and the look on her face would have made a weak man immediately contrite. He wasn't weak, he reminded himself. "You've got that right," he replied.
She threaded her fingers through her hair in obvious agitation. "Do leave, sir."
He thought that was a fine idea. He walked over to the door, reached for the knob, then stopped. His right hand went to his vest pocket to make certain he had his key, then to the other pocket when the first was empty.
He turned around again and walked over to his wardrobe. Taylor watched his every move. She was trying to get her emotions under control. Honest to heaven, she didn't understand her own mind anymore, she decided. Mr. Ross hadn't done anything to cause her to get this upset. Yet she still wanted to weep.
He found the key in the pocket of the jacket he'd worn earlier in the day. Lucas closed the wardrobe, then turned to look at Taylor.
"Belle fed me when I was a boy… after my mother died. They were close friends."
He wasn't certain why he offered the explanation. He guessed it was because he didn't want her to worry. He also didn't want her to think he was an ogre.
Taylor was fairly overcome with relief. Belle wasn't a cow. She was a friend of the family.
He'd been honest with her, and so she decided it was now her turn. "I was jealous," she blurted out. "You were right about that."
He was pleased by her confession. From the strain he heard in her voice, he knew the admission had been difficult for her. Because she looked so solemn, he didn't smile. He gave her an abrupt nod before he turned away.
She didn't want him to leave on a sour note. Perhaps, she considered, if she engaged him in a pleasant conversation, even if it only lasted a minute or two, his mood would improve. She didn't want her husband to greet his mother's friend with a scowl on his face. Belle might jump to the conclusion Lucas wasn't a happily married man.
Oh, God, she really was losing her mind. It didn't seem to matter much to her at the moment. Lucas was going to leave smiling, even if it killed her. Taylor hunted for a topic to talk about, and just as he was pulling the door open, she settled on one she knew he was sure to like.
"I can't make up my mind if I should petition for an annulment or a divorce."
"You already mentioned getting an annulment," he reminded her.
"I did? I don't remember. I believe a divorce is probably easier to obtain."
"Why?"
"There seem to be more reasons acceptable to the court," she explained. She was pleased he was listening. "I considered most of them, too," she boasted. "I've memorized them all, you see, but I couldn't settle on a specific…"
He smiled. "You memorized the reasons you could give for a divorce?"
She nodded. She was pleased to see his frown was completely gone. "There's desertion, but of course I couldn't use that as a reason. We haven't lived together long enough," she added. She was warming to her topic now. Her voice echoed with enthusiasm when she continued. "Then I thought about drunkenness, and I immediately discarded the reason. I've never seen you take a drink while we've been together. I even thought about charging you with extreme and repeated cruelty, but that would be a complete lie and it didn't sit well with me at all. You have your reputation to consider, and while mine isn't the least important to me, I do have my pride. I would never be married to a man who beat me and I therefore wouldn't like to lie and say I was."
"Men don't waste time on something as foolish as pride the way women do," he remarked.
"Many do," she argued.
"I don't."
Perhaps if he hadn't sounded so arrogant, she would have told him the true reason she was going to give. But that male ego of his was really getting out of hand. It had become a red flag in front of her eyes.
So he didn't have a problem with pride. We'll see about that, she thought to herself.
"You don't like to lie?"
"No, I don't," she replied. "You sound surprised."
"I am. An honest woman," he explained with a grin. "That is a surprise."
She refused to be insulted. "You haven't known many good women, have you, sir?"
He shrugged. "Finish what you started," he ordered. "Don't waste my time with what you might have done. Tell me what reason you'll give for the annulment."
"Yes, of course," she replied. She added what she hoped was a sweet smile and walked over to the door. She gently nudged him on his way, all the while explaining the intricate differences between petitioning the court for an annulment and a divorce. When she was finished, she bid him good night and leaned against the doorway. She watched him walk down the hallway. She wondered how long it would take for his curiosity to get the better of him.
Lucas was halfway down the corridor before he realized she still hadn't told him what reason she was going to use for the annulment. He turned around, walked half the distance back to the door so he wouldn't have to raise his voice, and then said, "If I'm not a drunk or a deserter or a lout who beats his wife, what am I?" he asked her with a good deal of exasperation in his voice.
Taylor sweetened her smile and started to shut the door. In a voice filled with cheerfulness, she told him. "You're impotent."
Chapter 8
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.
–William Shakespeare,
She ruined his evening.
All Lucas could think about was Taylor's outrageous remark. The hell he was impotent. By God he'd go to his grave laughing before he let her put that foul reason down on a petition for everyone in the court to read.
He must have fumed for over an hour before he settled down and thought the matter through. He replayed the conversation in his mind at least a dozen times, all the while picturing the sparkle that had come into her eyes, and when he was finished with his analysis, he came to the conclusion she'd been bluffing. Pride. The word popped into his head all at once. The boast he'd made came next. Men weren't plagued with worries about pride the way women were. Hadn't he said that or something similar? And hadn't the glint come into her eyes then? Oh, yes, she'd been bluffing all right. She'd been teaching him a lesson, too.