“But you were a pirate! Pirates don’t read philosophy. And I thought you hated reading.”

“We were not pirates. We were privateers who attacked pirates. We spent a great deal of time lurking in navigational routes, pretending to be innocent vessels, flying the flag of the kingdom of Sicily, waiting for a bunch of cutthroats to hoist the Jolly Roger, as their flag is called. Most of the time life at sea is rather boring; I chose to occupy that time with reading.”

“But you always hated being bored,” she said.

She looked a bit better. Her eyes weren’t as red, and her mouth was curving in a little smile. When Daisy smiled, she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

With an effort, James reminded himself of his plan. Trevelyan would never lunge across the room and kiss away a smile. She hadn’t taken well to his kiss in the breakfast room. The kiss that had sent him reeling merely seemed to throw her into a panic.

“I had to learn to control myself,” he said. “On board ship, you can dive from the railing and swim beside the ship if you feel restless. That sort of frequent physical exertion was very beneficial to me.”

Her eyes drifted over his chest and she nodded. “I see that.”

“I am not so large,” he said, a little defensively.

“I didn’t mean to imply it. I think we’re talking at cross-purposes, James. I would also like to be friends with my husband. But I know you too well. You do not really want to be merely friends with your wife. You want more.”

“I do want children.”

She nodded. “Yes, and more than that.” She held her body so still that it might have been carved from wood. “You want all that heat and passion, and I cannot do it.”

“Why not?” He involuntarily snapped the question, so he took a breath. “I realize my appearance has changed, but you might become used to it. Or is it because I was not faithful?”

“No.” She had begun pleating and repleating her sheet, which pleased him because it showed some sort of reaction to what he was saying.

“No to infidelity, or no to my horrific appearance? And voice,” he added, remembering how she loved to be sung to. If he sang to her now, it would probably frighten her out of a good night’s sleep.

“Neither. That is, none of the three. You’re as James-like as you ever were, I can see that now.”

He could feel the corner of his mouth curling. Many women had called him beautiful; he preferred James-like. “In that case, why won’t you consider bedding me?”

She gave a little shudder, and to his shock, he realized that what he had seen was a genuine sensation of distaste. Disgust, even.

“I can’t do that again. My feelings partly stem from the shock of what happened with your father. But I would have come to this realization even so,” she said more confidently.

“Come to what realization?”

“I am simply not that sort of person. All those things you asked me to do—not wear drawers under my gowns, leave my hair down although the servants would surely see—those sorts of things are abhorrent to me.” She was being utterly truthful. He could see it in her eyes. “I can’t imagine what came over me to acquiesce in something so distasteful. Although I don’t want you to think that I am being critical of you and your needs. I am not.” She sounded very earnest. “It’s just not for me.”

He cleared his throat. It was a shock to realize that the world could give you guilt of so many kinds, some that pierced the heart, others likely to fade. The fact that he had somehow been party to killing Daisy’s joy in intimacy, the delight with which she had welcomed his touch and found pleasure in their bed . . . that guilt didn’t seem likely to fade, the way his response to his father’s death had.

On the other hand, he was no nineteen-year-old, crippled by his own remorse. He could change her mind. Even if it took him fifty years. He couldn’t do anything about his father, but he could try to mend this.

“I think you’re wrong,” he said, keeping his voice gentle.

“I know myself.” She said it with utter assurance, the confidence of someone who had had no one but herself to rely on for years. “You and I always were opposites in that respect.”

“I am comfortable with my body,” he said.

“You always were.” Her face was drawn and too severe, but for just one moment he caught sight of the dimple in her right cheek again. She had always had only one dimple, as if a pair would be too exuberant. “If your tutors had simply driven you around the stables like a horse that needed breaking, in between Greek lessons, you would have been a happier student.”

“I got in a lot of fights at Eton, and that helped.”

The dimple again. “Piracy, I suppose, was just an extension of the schoolyard and its squabbles.”

“Piracy played to the recklessness that I inherited from my father.”

She nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Unfortunately, danger is not as exciting as it looks. I learned that exercising the mind can be as interesting as exercising the body.”

She nodded.

He chose his next words very carefully. “It seems to me that you responded to the unfortunate end of our marriage by going entirely in the other direction. I threw myself into danger, you surrounded yourself with sterility.”

“Sterility is not a very nice word, but I see what you mean. I am quite happy without demeaning myself on an intimate level,” she explained, again with that air of utter confidence. “That is why we should dissolve our marriage, James. I know you want a woman who will submit to you. And again, I do not mean to be critical. I will never be that woman, and I cannot be that woman. I would hope that neither of us would want the other to be in a perpetually unhappy arrangement.”

“No.” But he found himself in the grip of one of the fiercest emotions of his life: he wanted Daisy back. Not Theo—or rather, because he admired Theo, he wanted parts of Theo. But he didn’t want to be responsible for having snuffed out Daisy’s joy. He couldn’t bear it.

And he needed her. Without her, he might as well walk the plank himself. Not that they ever did that to a man. He’d be the first.

She smiled at him obliviously. “You will find a woman who likes your sort of intimate play. And I may find a man who is more akin to my temperament. Or not.” She shrugged. “I would like to have children, but I am quite happy by myself.”

From what he had seen of her so far, Daisy was probably the most lonely person he’d seen in years. After he had left England, Griffin had become his right arm, his boon companion, his blood brother.

But Daisy had remained alone.

If he agreed to her tomfool plan—not that he ever would, because the mere suggestion made him want to smash his fist into the wall—she would marry Geoffrey Trevelyan or someone of his ilk. Trevelyan was completely uninterested in sensuality. If they ever had children, it would practically be a miracle.

If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he would die before he allowed Daisy to make love to anyone except himself. Ever.

“Is something wrong?”

“I don’t want to marry the sort of woman you’re talking about,” he said bluntly. “And you might think that you want to wed Trevelyan, but you would find bedding him to be incredibly distasteful. Even worse than you seem to imagine bedding me.”