And thus he too had to remain silent. He couldn’t speak to her of one because that could only result in her learning of the other. He had no doubt that if he told her now that he had been the man who raped her, he would lose her. And he feared she would lose herself, even more than she was now lost to what she was and who she was.
He closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth and softness of her body. He stroked her thick hair, feeling the soft waves spring in his hand, as if alive.
When he awoke some hours later, she was gone. He wasn’t the least bit surprised. He could easily picture her embarrassment upon waking in his bed. Nor was he overly surprised to find her pacing outside his bedroom door, waiting for him to emerge, dressed in her breeches for their daily fencing lesson. Neither of them mentioned her wild flight to his room the previous night.
There were changes Julien saw in Kate that day. She hurled herself into physical activity, extending their fencing lesson until finally Julien dropped his foil, seeing her face white with fatigue. In their riding in the afternoon, she pushed Gabriella to a frenetic pace, until again Julien was forced to pull her up so that her horse would not drop under her with exhaustion.
She tried to maintain a flow of light, inconsequential chatter that evening, as if to prove to herself that all was well with her. But she couldn’t hide the haunted look that veiled her eyes whenever she slowed her frantic pace. Late that evening, after she had lost an imaginary two hundred pounds to him at piquet, he led her unwillingly to her room.
“I don’t really want, that is, I’m truly not tired yet, Julien. I really don’t think I can sleep.”
He himself was ready to drop, but he didn’t say anything about that. He looked down at her and smiled gently. “If you find you can’t sleep, come to my room and we’ll talk until you’re drowsy. All right?”
She turned her face away quickly, and he could feel her weighing her trust in him against her fear of being alone.
“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you wish, my dear. Why don’t you think about it? I’ll be in my bedchamber. Whatever you decide, I’ll be there for you.” He gently pushed her into her room, not wishing to press her for an answer.
He had just eased his tired body into his bed when there was a light tap on his door and she slipped silently into his room. She stopped and stood in awkward silence, her fingers plucking nervously at her nightgown.
“Come, sweetheart.” He patted the place beside him. “I don’t want you to take a chill. Come and get into bed. We’ll have a nice talk or whatever you wish.”
She walked slowly, hesitating every few steps, and with a visible effort climbed into bed beside him. She was trembling. He made no attempt to take her into his arms; he only pulled the covers over them and lay on his back beside her. After a long moment of strained silence, she said, “I don’t wish you to think, that is, you must think it odd that—”
He could feel her embarrassment, and so he cut off her pitiful explanation. “What I think is that you wore me to a bone today. Come, my dear, let’s go to sleep.”
He stretched out his arms and touched her shoulders, his movements slow and unthreatening. She tensed for only a moment and then allowed him to pull her against his chest.
During the next weeks, Kate felt as if she were slowly suffocating from her guilt and shame. Julien’s unflagging kindness during the days and his gentle understanding each night made her all the more miserable. She could allow no excuses for herself. That her unknown captor had forcibly drugged her and ruthlessly bound her gave her no justification, no forgiveness for herself, because she had experienced pleasure at his hands and his mouth— oh, God, yes, his mouth, burning her, sending her outside herself, but making himself part of her even as she thought she’d surely die of the pleasure. Though he’d then forced her, she still thought herself guilty of betraying her husband. Her guilt ate at her relentlessly, and only her fear of losing Julien allowed her to keep her secret to herself.
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