“Not truly!” she cried, ready to tear out her hair in frustration.

Gray snorted. “As truly as marriage can be without sex. I intend to correct that lack.”

“Is that why you came back? To fuck your wife?”

“I came back because you wrote to me. Every Friday the post would come and there would be a letter, written with soft pink parchment and scented of flowers.”

“You sent them back, every one of them. Unopened.”

“The contents were not important, Pel. I knew what you did and where you went without your recounts. It was the thought that mattered. I had hoped you would desist, and leave me to my misery-”

“Instead you brought the misery to me,” she snapped, pacing the length of the small room to ease the feeling of confinement. “It was my obligation to write to you.”

“Yes!” he cried, triumphant. “Your obligation as my wife, which in turn forced me to remember that I had a like obligation to you. So I returned to quell the rumors, to support you, to correct the wrong I did you by leaving.”

“That does not require sex!”

“Lower your voice,” he warned, grabbing her arm and tugging her closer. He cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger finding her erect nipple, and rolling it until she whimpered in helpless pleasure. “This requires sex. Look how aroused you are. Even in your fury and distress, I would wager you are wet between the thighs for me. Why should I take someone else, when it is you I want?”

“I have someone.”

“You persist in saying that, but he is not enough, obviously, or you would not want me.”

Guilt flooded her that her body should be so eager for him. She never entertained the idea of another man while attached to one. Months passed between her lovers, because she mourned the loss of each one, even though she was the party who said good-bye.

“You are wrong.” She yanked her arm from his grip, her breast burning where he had touched her. “I do not want you.”