Prelude to a Scandal. Delilah Marvelle

you. I know full well what those obligations are, and I can assure you, I am more than capable, not to mention willing, to meet them.”

      He lowered his chin, challenging her with a hard, burning look. “I don’t doubt your capability. Or your willingness. I do, however, doubt your stamina.”

      Her … stamina? What on earth was that supposed to mean? “What are you saying? That it takes a full eight hours of copulation for you to reach completion?”

      He choked and raked both hands through his damp hair. “Your father bloody exposed you to his observations a bit too much. No. For God’s sake, I …” He dropped his hands to his side. But said nothing more.

      She blinked. “What, then?”

      He shook his dark head but still said nothing.

      She stepped toward him, oddly compelled, not to mention genuinely concerned. “I should hope that if there is something that will affect our marriage, you would find the decency to tell me now. Before we marry.”

      “I … yes. You are right in that. You deserve to know beforehand.” He nodded, as if struggling to comprehend his own thoughts. Taking in a deep breath, he let it out and blurted, “Forgive my own tongue for even saying it, but I am obsessed with sex. I think about it all the time.”

      Justine pulled in her chin, startled by the admission, and laughed. “Forgive me, Bradford—and my father would agree with me on this—but what male of any species isn’t obsessed with it?”

      “Justine—” He squeezed his eyes shut, as if wanting her to understand something he simply could not put into words, then eventually reopened them and said in a cool, low tone, “Allow me to better explain this. If I gave in to every lewd thought and every lewd urge that ever possessed me—the way I used to before I ended up with this face—in time you would only learn to despise me and my advances. And I don’t want that. I genuinely wish to lead a normal life by controlling all physical interactions to the best of my abilities.”

      Her brows shot up. Why … he appeared to be forthright.

      He swiped a hand over his face. “If you haven’t noticed, I have no female servants. It was necessary to eliminate any temptation that would have caused me to stray from the self-governed control I’ve adhered to these past eight months. As such, you will have no lady’s maid. I’ve already enlisted an excellent French man for you, who is trained in all matters of female dress and hair. I can assure you, Henri is far more female than any lady’s maid you’ll ever have. My hope is that despite him being male, he will exceed your expectations.”

      Oh. Dear. God. Her lady’s maid was going to be a … man? Whilst she was to be the only female in the entire house? Were Bradford’s urges that uncontrollable?

      Though, yes, she was looking forward to bedding him, she was somewhat concerned about what his definition of stamina really meant. Daily advances she could easily take on. But what if he meant hourly advances for the rest of her life?

      Justine swallowed, trying to fend off the burning heat consuming her face. “Did you plan on disclosing any of this to me?”

      “Yes. On our wedding night.”

      “Lovely. Why do I not feel comforted by that admission?”

      He stared her down. “Rest assured, Justine, I have never forced myself upon a woman and I would never force myself upon you. Your submission would be entirely voluntary.” He continued to intently hold her gaze. “Do you have any further concerns? Because now would be the time to name them.”

      Justine wet her lips and wondered what under heaven and above hell she was about to agree to. But then again … the man was a rake. That was what rakes did. Obsess about copulation and women. Everyone in London knew that. And no one, not even all the upper prudes, seemed all that concerned, aside from the moral aspect of it.

      She eyed him. “I suppose I wouldn’t be so concerned if I knew you weren’t going to demand hourly performances for the rest of my life. Or involve other women.”

      “It is my duty and honor to alleviate those concerns.” He held up his right hand beside his head and set his left on his chest. “I solemnly swear to never demand hourly performances or involve other women in our lives.” He dropped his hands back into place. “There you are. You have no further concerns.”

      Justine couldn’t help but stare at him. “Do you find yourself amusing?”

      He pointed to himself. “Do I look amused? I am being quite serious. Now. I recommend we get you home.”

      Without sparing her another glance, he strode over to the braided bell pull and yanked on it a number of times as if he were worried Jefferson wouldn’t respond. “If all goes well with your father’s release, as I am hoping it will, I expect to see you in church next week at the appointed time. I will see to it all of your wet clothes are laundered and returned before then. Jefferson will fetch those cloaks for you and personally see to it you arrive home. Good night.” He offered a curt nod, departed into the adjoining room and quietly closed the door, leaving her to wait for Jefferson alone.

      She blinked. If only she wasn’t so hopelessly smitten with Bradford. If only she wasn’t smitten with Bradford at all. Oh, how she prayed and hoped to whatever God there was above he would keep all of the promises he had made to her tonight.