Trying Not to Love You-1

Ross slipped out of bed and picked up his breeches from the floor putting them on as quietly as possible. He didn't want to wake his wife who was sleeping fitfully in their bed. Elizabeth's dark hair cascaded on the pillow and her face, relaxed in repose, revealed nothing of what just transpired between them. Walking stealthily to the door, Ross glanced back at her once more and made his way downstairs. He could not sleep even though making love to his wife should have eased the tension that had built up in him over the course of the evening. In all honesty, he felt more wound up than before. Yes, his body found physical release in the arms of his wife, but nothing more. Elizabeth was always a compliant partner in bed, letting Ross have his way with her whenever he wanted. He knew she thought it her duty but didn't feel that she enjoyed either the act, or for that matter, him during these times. She never resisted and on occasion would let out breathy sighs that signaled she might be feeling the love that Ross tried to show her. However, Elizabeth would never totally let her guard down and return the fervor that Ross bestowed on her. She always held something of herself back. Not just in bed but in every aspect of their lives. Ross knew it was due to her upbringing and the social circle she was born into. Yet once she married him, that elevated status dropped because Ross Poldark was not your typical gentleman.

He left the country a few years before to fight in the American war and came back poor, empty of spirit and decidedly changed. The gentrified life his father had planned for him held no appeal so when he returned to find his father dead and his estate practically in ruins he was grateful that the one constant that kept him going those years, Elizabeth was still waiting for him to marry. And marry they did; quickly and before either of them changed their minds. Ross believed he still loved Elizabeth and in some ways he did. She was everything a young squire from an ancient family would want in a wife. Beautiful, educated, well mannered. What Elizabeth lacked was passion. Not just in lovemaking but in life itself. She found her life as mistress of Nampara tiresome and beneath what a woman of her standards should have to endure. For that Ross was sorry but he was sure that love could overcome such obstacles. Perhaps he was wrong. That thought came to the fore front of his mind tonight as he and Elizabeth dined with his cousin Francis and his new wife Demelza in celebration of their recent wedding.

Ross was fascinated by the woman who was now Mistress Poldark of Trenwith and asked Francis how this came to be. As Francis related the story, over port, it was clear it was just a simple tale of two people coming together. Demelza was the daughter of one the workers in Francis' mine, Grambler. Francis had noticed her over the years and lately, as she grew into womanhood, found it hard to ignore her beauty and vitality. She always had a smile on her face and a kind word for whoever she encountered. Ross saw that tonight. Peering into the music room where the women sat he contemplated each of them. His wife was the epitome of patrician elegance, never a hair out of place or a wrinkle in her gown. On the other side of the coin was Demelza, newly seated in society, with hair the color of fall leaves, in hues of red and gold, falling in unkempt curls over an unassuming dress, the color of which brought out the blue green of her eyes. Yet there was something about Demelza that exuded life. When he had kissed her hand upon their meeting he felt a spark; a jolt of electricity if you will that flooded his body. Being around her, even for a few minutes and Ross was smitten.

Walking into the parlor, Ross tried resurrecting the fire that was on its last embers. Crouching in front of the hearth, he poked at the small flames successfully reviving it. Soon the blaze was full and the colors that glowed in the dark reminded Ross of the young woman he sat across from at dinner.

She's my cousins' wife and yet, he thought, and I can't shake the image of her from my mind. It had taken root and ashamedly, stayed there, even while he was in bed with Elizabeth. His hands were caressing his raven haired wife, but his mind saw a fiery red-head. Pouring a snifter of brandy, Ross sat down on the settle, stretched out his legs and gulped the burning liquid down. This was not good, Ross thought.