"I just can." He rose to pace the spare wood floors. "They'll preach and read lectures and make her kneel on cold marble and other such creative punishments, but they won't tie her. They didn't tie Jane, and they won't tie Tessa."
"Their daughter suffered such punishments, too? No wonder she married the first man to offer for her, even though he was only a headmaster. Her parents were very angry over it, you know."
He didn't know. To his shame, he hadn't kept up with Jane at all since he'd left the Bickhams. "So is she friendly with her parents now?"
"They hardly speak." She wouldn't let him change the subject. "But when she lived with them, they had no cause to tie her up— she had nowhere to go if she ran away. Your niece, on the other hand, has you to run to, so— "
"That's not why they tied me, Madeline," he said in a voice so wrought with emotion she could hardly make out the words.
"What?"
"They didn't tie me to prevent my running away." He let out a frustrated oath. "They tied me because of…how I am. What I am."
The shame on his face filled her with unnamed dread. "What do you mean?"
Refusing to look at her, he leaned against the mantel to stretch out his arm atop it. "Do you know what the sin of onanism is?"
She blinked. "Masturbation, you mean?"
His startled gaze shot to her. "Yes, that would be the naturalist's term. And what do
you
know of it, anyway?"
A blush touched her cheeks. "One of Papa's patients gave him a copy of
Onania; or the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution.
I overheard Mama and Papa discussing it, so I…read it in secret."
A bitter laugh escaped him. He focused his gaze on his hand as it curled into a fist. "Well, then you know what I'm speaking of, since my uncle had the same book. I committed the sin of onanism several times a day, beginning when I was nine and only lessening when I could sate my desires in other ways."
The Bickhams had tied him to the bed to keep him from pleasuring himself? Oh, her poor sweet dear!
How could they have humiliated him so cruelly? She'd also read the other book Papa had mentioned, one by a doctor who'd debated what the first writer said. There seemed no agreement on the matter.
Besides, he'd been only a boy! As she stood up, she chose her words carefully. "You must have been a precocious child."
"Precocious?" His gaze shot to her, dark with anger and shame. "That's what you call a child who can read Latin and recite Shakespeare at three, not one so consumed by his desires that he can't keep his hands off his own penis."
"Anthony," she said in a soothing voice, approaching him with the caution she might show a wounded fox caught in a trap, "other children do— "
"At nine? So persistently that no amount of lectures and cold baths and nights spent in futile prayer can keep them from touching themselves? How many children are so hungry for it that they must be tied to a bed to keep from…"
He trailed off with a curse, but when he started to push past her, she gripped his hand to pull him to her side. "Now see here— everyone explores their bodies, don't they? I can't see what's wrong with it, no matter what the Bickhams said."
"What's wrong is the frequency and intensity of my urges." His eyes met hers, shadowed by uncertainty. "I still have very strong desires, Madeline. Sometimes I fear I won't be able to control them if I ever loose them completely."
Squeezing her hand compulsively, he gazed past her out the window. "I almost wish the writer of that damned book had been right about how pleasuring oneself weakened your 'healthy' urges once you grew to a man."
"Don't say that! There's nothing wrong with your urges. Papa called that book sheer quackery, and he's right. Only your ignorant relations would read it to a child." She laced her fingers with his. "Besides, if pleasuring oneself is evil, then why do animals do it? Horses, for example. I heard about it from the stableboys."
"Are horses so desperate for it they nearly kill themselves trying to get free?"
"You were desperate for it
because
they tied you down. It made you focus on it even more. That's not why you tried to get free; anyone would." She kissed his hand, her heart twisting inside her for what he'd suffered. "You were just a boy, my darling. What boy wants to spend his nights tied to a bed?"
Silent tears slid down his cheeks that he rubbed away with a furious gesture. "I hated it so much," he whispered. "Some nights…I just wanted to die."
"Of course you did." Her own tears fell freely.
"I lay there alone in the dark, wondering what creatures might crawl up my leg." He spoke as if from far away, every word rousing an answering ache inside her. "To distract myself, I'd think of the last pretty maid I'd seen and my cock would stiffen and I couldn't stop it, and I would wish to God I weren't so very wicked— "
"You weren't wicked!" She pulled him into her embrace. "You were a young boy in a strange house, who didn't understand why his body betrayed him, who only wanted someone to care about him. That house
was
unspeakable. You should never have been sent there."
He buried his face in her neck, his body shaking so violently she had to stroke him to soothe his emotions. "My father never knew what they did."
"But he did find out you were being tied down at night after Papa told him."
He shuddered. "That would explain why Father brought me home." Lifting his face to her, he choked out, "But he behaved so oddly upon my return, as if he couldn't bear the sight of me."
"He was probably too plagued by guilt to face you." She smoothed a lock of hair from his flushed brow. "He had sent you where he thought you'd be safe, and then he learned that you were anything but. He probably blamed himself. Did he talk to you about it?"
"Only once. Right after I came home, he asked if I wanted to tell him anything about living at my uncle's. I said nothing…I was afraid to tell him." He dropped his gaze. "I was afraid he'd find out how debased his son was."
"You are
not
debased! You had a natural desire that ignorant people tried to stifle— that's all." Something dawned on her. "Is that why you haven't told the courts what happened to you at their hands? Because you're ashamed?"
"Because I knew the courts would merely consider it further evidence of my bad character." His voice dripped sarcasm. "My aunt and uncle would claim that they'd been trying to save my soul, and that their lack of success only proves how wicked I am. I daresay the courts would believe them."
"They shouldn't!"
His usual dry self began to return. "You were the one who pointed out that I've wasted my life in the reckless pursuit of pleasure, remember? You were right, too."
She blushed to hear her own words thrown back at her. "I merely didn't understand why you chose that path. I still don't. You say you have strong urges, but surely now that you're grown you can control them— "
"That's
how
I control them." He swept his hand to encompass his bachelor's domain, moving away from the mantel to stand before a closed door that probably led to the bedchamber. "With short encounters, different women, brief but frequent liaisons." He added, almost to himself, "Anything to give me release and hold the dark nights at bay."
"Why not do that with a wife?"
He shook his head. "Gently bred females aren't prepared for the likes of me, sweetheart. I've always been afraid to overly tax one woman. I'm still afraid that during the long years of a marriage I might not be able to maintain my control."
Clearly, he meant that to be a warning. She caught her breath, fighting to make her words casual. "You mean you might be tempted to take a mistress, like other married men of your rank?"
"No, not that," he said with all the fervor she could have asked for. "My parents were faithful to each other; they had a wonderful marriage. I want no less for myself. But that means inflicting my unruly urges on a wife, and no woman should have to suffer that simply because I can't face the dark nights alone. If I hadn't taken your innocence, I would never…"
When he trailed off, she suddenly understood. He'd buried his boyhood fears in the soft flesh of women, but only under strict circumstances, terrified that if he didn't watch himself, he would loose the monster his aunt had convinced him he was. And he'd known marriage wasn't conducive to watching oneself all the time.
He went on in a subdued tone. "That's why you needn't worry I'm making a sacrifice by marrying you. You'll be the one enduring my insatiable appetites."
"Drat it, you're
not
the half-crazed fiend you make yourself out to be. Look how easily you controlled your 'appetites' that day at Mr. Godwin's. If you were incapable of restraining yourself, you would have attacked Lady Tarley the minute she brandished those breasts of hers."
His eyes darkened. "I damned near lost control with
you
in your classroom."
"But you didn't." She gave him a tender smile as she walked up to him. "And I've never felt truly afraid with you. Never."
Sudden yearning leaped in his features. "Then marry me." He cupped her face in his hands. "I need you. I've never needed anyone so much. Marry me."
Her throat felt tight and raw. "I will, I swear. Once you've got Tessa away from your horrible relations."
He let out a low oath. "That could take months, and anything could happen to your father in that time. I can handle both."
"I won't take the chance." Not after hearing what
he'd
endured. He might think the Bickhams had only been cruel to him because of his "debased" character, but she wasn't so sure. And how could she be happy in a marriage built upon his niece's suffering?
Releasing her, he leaned back against the door to cross his arms over his chest. "You mean, you won't trust me with anything so weighty as my niece's future and your father's life." His eyes held an unreadable emotion. "That's why you kept me in the dark from the time we met, why I had to drag the truth out of you…or stumble over it by accident. Because you knew you couldn't trust me."
"That's not true! I trusted you with my innocence, didn't I?"
He uttered a harsh laugh. "No, you didn't— you sacrificed it to me, trying to keep me in the dark. Not that I blame you— God knows I haven't done much in my life to inspire trust. But let's at least have the truth between us now. Tessa is merely an excuse for not yoking yourself for life to a man like me, whom you're probably not even sure you can trust to keep his prick in his trousers."
The bleak accusation tore at her. He seemed to really believe what he was saying— that she considered him unworthy to be her husband. And he probably thought he was. He'd spent an entire life railing at the Bickhams, while secretly believing they were right about him, that he was a monster inside.
That's why he donned his devil-may-care façade— to hide the "debasement" within him. As long as she refused to marry him, he would continue to believe it.
Not if she could help it. Since she refused to let him risk his niece's future, she'd have to prove him wrong by other means. Even if it meant taking a chance with her heart.
"You're wrong about me," she said softly. "I want us to delay our marriage until your niece's situation is settled, but until then, I mean to be yours in body and soul, no matter how reckless that may be."
As he stared at her with such powerful longing it made her chest hurt, she added, "I trust you implicitly, Anthony. How could I not trust the man I love?"
He blinked rapidly, then glanced away. "You mustn't say that. About…loving me."
Her heart caught in her throat. "Why not?"
"Because it's already hard enough for me to control myself around you. If I thought that you really loved me— "
"Oh, but I do." Ignoring his protective stance, she moved close enough to catch his head in her hands and force his gaze back to her. "And I'm not afraid of you. You aren't this beast you seem to think yourself."
Taking her by surprise, he grabbed her by the arms and then pivoted to shove her back against the door so hard it knocked the wind out of her. "You don't know what I am," he growled as he loomed close. "You've never seen me out of control, never seen me as myself. Even when taking your innocence, I showed a restraint that required every ounce of my will. But if you keep saying— "
"That I love you? I can't help myself, you know." She felt small and helpless with the bulk of his body against hers, yet any fear it gave her was fleeting. "I do love you. Caution me if you will, but it won't change anything."
"You don't understand." As his heated gaze raked her, his fingers dug into her shoulders, sending a thrill chasing over her flesh. "With other women, it's easy to be careful— they only rouse my body. But with you…"
His voice grew ragged. "You rouse my mind, my senses, my soul. I spend my nights dreaming of you, and my days aching to be with you. When we're together, it's too much to bear, and when we're not, it's the only thing I want."