A week with this amiable, blindly obedient stranger left him acutely uncomfortable. After two weeks, he was wretched. Yet he had nothing to complain about. Nothing, that is, that his pride would let him complain about. He could not say she was plaguing him to death when she never so much as hinted at disagreement or displeasure. He could not say she was cold and unresponsive in bed, when she behaved as willingly and lustily as she had from the start. He could not complain that she was unkind, when any hundred outside observers would have unanimously agreed that her behavior was nothing short
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this definitely reminds me of My American Duchess by Eloisa James, although I really didn’t like that book much
