Dunham

Chapter 31

31

Casa de Covarrubias

Mayfair, London

"We have much to discuss," Rafael said as they lay together, sweaty and panting, their limbs tangled up in each other's. 'Twas familiar and normal, Rafael's body against hers, warm and strong. His big, smooth hand caressed her neck, then swept down her shoulder to her arm, then her hip, then cupped her arse.

Celia's anger with him, ever present but usually dull, was also normal. But now, all Rafael's other shortcomings were made even more infuriating by the fact that he was not Judas. It was the first time, in fact, Rafael had ever compared unfavorably to any other man Celia had ever tupped, including her husband. In short, Rafael did not kiss, taste, sound, or fuck like Judas, and he certainly didn't—

"Why have you not touched my breasts?" she demanded.

He blinked, immediately confused and irritated. "Why? They have no feeling. I would rather you feel where I touch you."

Her mouth tightened. "Touch my breast, Rafael," she said. He heaved a longsuffering sigh and cupped the right one, but, as usual, she could not feel his fingers through the scars. "Suck my nipple."

"No. Now you're just being ridiculous."

Celia balled her fist where it lay against her thigh. "Why is it ridiculous to want my lover to pay attention to my whole body?"

He stared at her as if she were a familiar face to which he could not put a name. "What is this new thing, Brat? You were not so particular on our voyage."

"On our voyage, I was lonely and you were convenient," she snapped without thought, and rolled out of bed to swiftly light candles all 'round the bedchamber.

"Convenient?!"

She said nothing until she had finished lighting every candle in the room, making it quite bright, then she spread her arms wide and turned slowly. "Look, Rafael. Look at me. Me. These scars. What do you see?"

His gaze flicked up and down her body, then settled on her mound.

"Oh!" she shrieked and whirled to find the wrap he had purchased for her.

Mmmm, I am going to make these feel again if 'tis the last thing I do.

'Tis a waste of time, Judas. Pay attention to my arse and limbs.

Allow me to pay your scars—and you—proper homage, Madam, to worship at the altar of your power.

"What has possessed you?" he barked, now throwing off the bedclothes and rounding the bed toward her. He grasped her arms and shook her. "You are different."

"It was our voyage," she sneered, shrugging his hands away. "I came to realize that you do not want to look at me or touch me as you used to when my skin was without flaw, but you had that figurehead made and can look at it when you are too disgusted."

"Oh, the figurehead," he drawled smugly. "Yes, let us discuss the figurehead."

"No, let's discuss what I came here to discuss, which is this business with Bancroft. I will assume, somehow, the court has granted him custody of me."

"Sí." Rafael watched her speculatively and said abruptly, "How long has it been since you ate?"

"Hours," she muttered, more than willing to be distracted by food. She did not know whether she was more angry or hungry, but she needed time to think and she could not accomplish that with Rafael in her ear. "Harriet watches my waist for me, lest it grow too thick."