Read Cry for Passion for Free Online Page B
Authors: Robin Schone
an idyll trysting place.”
“That may be, sir,” Rose said with a calmness she did not feel, forcing her arms to stay at her sides instead of independently hugging her chest, “but since both my parents and my husband have this address, the trysts would be subject to untimely interruptions.”
“Yet here I am.” Slowly he lifted heavy lids; the blackness of his pupils swallowed the purple-blue of his irises. “And there’s no one to interrupt us.”
Rose did not glance away from the dark sexuality that glittered inside his eyes. Of one thing she was certain: “I am not the woman you desire, Mr. Lodoun.”
The hiss of gas was deafening in the ensuing silence.
“If you want to end your marriage,” he abruptly said, purple-blue irises shrinking the blackness of his pupils, “all you need do is prove that your husband is unable to give you children.”
She forgot the dark excitement that had for one infinitesimal moment called to her. She forgot her swollen breasts that pulsed in time with her bruised toes.
Rose forgot everything but the husband she would not further betray.
“No,” she said with conviction.
“Then you must not want a divorce,” Jack Lodoun impersonally deduced.
But she did: just not at that price.
“My husband has been punished enough.” Rose stepped around the heavy trunk that separated them, and advanced into the circle of light. “I will not publicly humiliate him.”
“You don’t think a divorce will humiliate him?”
He deliberately did not understand.
“A family is all my husband has ever wanted.” Clearly she enunciated each word, forcing upon him the strength of her resolve. “I will not have men judging him because he cannot father children.”
“Don’t you?” Jack Lodoun returned.
Rose held his gaze. “No.”
The truth.
Lashes flickering downward, he stared for long seconds at her left hand.
The white flesh circling her finger—the only physical evidence that remained of her twelve-year-long marriage—pulsed.
Abruptly his lashes lifted; purple-blue eyes snared her gaze. “How do you know he can’t give you children?”
It was the barrister who now questioned her, and not the man who had appraised her breasts.
Rose took a deep breath, ignoring the rise of flesh that irrevocably proclaimed her femininity. “I told you Jonathon had the mumps.”
Only six hours earlier, she had told him so. It seemed as if six years had lapsed since she had followed Jack Lodoun outside the courthouse.
“But mumps don’t always make a man sterile.” He pinned her with his frank appraisal. “Did you share his bed after he recovered?”
“We have separate chambers,” Rose evaded.
But Jack Lodoun would not be evaded. “You denied him his conjugal rights?”
“My marital life is none of your business, Mr. Lodoun.”
“It will be Parliament’s business, Mrs. Clarring, should I petition them for a private act,” he replied, gaze unwavering. “Do you or have you ever denied your husband his conjugal rights?”
Her throat tightened. “No.”
“Do you or have you ever used preventive checks?”
“No.”
No matter that The Globe printed otherwise.
“Does your husband?”
The cold lapping Rose’s toes traveled up through her body. “My husband has never used a preventive check.”
“Did mumps render him impotent?”
This private invasion was far worse than had been a public examination.
Rose forced herself to answer. “No.”
“Was he able to sustain an erection?”
An empty ache spread through her lower abdomen. “Yes.”
“Did he ejaculate inside you?” Jack Lodoun probed.
A rush of warmth spread deep inside her lower abdomen, the memory of the sperm her husband had spurted inside her.
Rose dryly swallowed. “Yes.”
“And you have not once conceived?”
“No.”
No matter that she had cried each night, praying to God that she do so.
“When is the last time he ejaculated inside you?”
Rose would not look away from those
“That may be, sir,” Rose said with a calmness she did not feel, forcing her arms to stay at her sides instead of independently hugging her chest, “but since both my parents and my husband have this address, the trysts would be subject to untimely interruptions.”
“Yet here I am.” Slowly he lifted heavy lids; the blackness of his pupils swallowed the purple-blue of his irises. “And there’s no one to interrupt us.”
Rose did not glance away from the dark sexuality that glittered inside his eyes. Of one thing she was certain: “I am not the woman you desire, Mr. Lodoun.”
The hiss of gas was deafening in the ensuing silence.
“If you want to end your marriage,” he abruptly said, purple-blue irises shrinking the blackness of his pupils, “all you need do is prove that your husband is unable to give you children.”
She forgot the dark excitement that had for one infinitesimal moment called to her. She forgot her swollen breasts that pulsed in time with her bruised toes.
Rose forgot everything but the husband she would not further betray.
“No,” she said with conviction.
“Then you must not want a divorce,” Jack Lodoun impersonally deduced.
But she did: just not at that price.
“My husband has been punished enough.” Rose stepped around the heavy trunk that separated them, and advanced into the circle of light. “I will not publicly humiliate him.”
“You don’t think a divorce will humiliate him?”
He deliberately did not understand.
“A family is all my husband has ever wanted.” Clearly she enunciated each word, forcing upon him the strength of her resolve. “I will not have men judging him because he cannot father children.”
“Don’t you?” Jack Lodoun returned.
Rose held his gaze. “No.”
The truth.
Lashes flickering downward, he stared for long seconds at her left hand.
The white flesh circling her finger—the only physical evidence that remained of her twelve-year-long marriage—pulsed.
Abruptly his lashes lifted; purple-blue eyes snared her gaze. “How do you know he can’t give you children?”
It was the barrister who now questioned her, and not the man who had appraised her breasts.
Rose took a deep breath, ignoring the rise of flesh that irrevocably proclaimed her femininity. “I told you Jonathon had the mumps.”
Only six hours earlier, she had told him so. It seemed as if six years had lapsed since she had followed Jack Lodoun outside the courthouse.
“But mumps don’t always make a man sterile.” He pinned her with his frank appraisal. “Did you share his bed after he recovered?”
“We have separate chambers,” Rose evaded.
But Jack Lodoun would not be evaded. “You denied him his conjugal rights?”
“My marital life is none of your business, Mr. Lodoun.”
“It will be Parliament’s business, Mrs. Clarring, should I petition them for a private act,” he replied, gaze unwavering. “Do you or have you ever denied your husband his conjugal rights?”
Her throat tightened. “No.”
“Do you or have you ever used preventive checks?”
“No.”
No matter that The Globe printed otherwise.
“Does your husband?”
The cold lapping Rose’s toes traveled up through her body. “My husband has never used a preventive check.”
“Did mumps render him impotent?”
This private invasion was far worse than had been a public examination.
Rose forced herself to answer. “No.”
“Was he able to sustain an erection?”
An empty ache spread through her lower abdomen. “Yes.”
“Did he ejaculate inside you?” Jack Lodoun probed.
A rush of warmth spread deep inside her lower abdomen, the memory of the sperm her husband had spurted inside her.
Rose dryly swallowed. “Yes.”
“And you have not once conceived?”
“No.”
No matter that she had cried each night, praying to God that she do so.
“When is the last time he ejaculated inside you?”
Rose would not look away from those