Page 57 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
Chapter Nineteen
Her lips were warm, tasting of wine and marzipan. Neil thought wildly that he hoped she hadn’t eaten the marzipanbeforeshe drank the wine, as the sweetness of the marzipan would make the wine unbearably sour.
His hand curled around the side of her neck, fingertips brushing against her unbelievably soft skin, contrasting with the sharp edges of expensive lace. He was vaguely aware that the gown was one of the ones his mother had bought in preparation for Patrina’s arrival, so that the new Marchioness would arrive and find herself in possession of a wardrobe fit for her position.
The thought of his mother drew his thoughts unstoppably to his family, to the party, to hishealth, and the fact that he was growing dizzy and light-headed already.
What am I doing?
Sucking in a breath, Neil jolted backwards, eyes wide.
Patrina stared up at him, her fingers drifting up towards her lips, as if she could not believe what had just happened. Whathehad just done.
I had no right,Neil thought dizzily.I ought not to have kissed her. Hasn’t she suffered enough?
It was plain to him now that he never should have married. If he was concerned over the estate, he should have considered trying to break the entailment, to separate the title of Marquess from the money and land which was connected to it. Of course, that would destroy the Morendale estate, but it would allow him to bequeath things separately to his mother, sister, and to Harry, preventing Clayton from getting his hands on the entire fortune.
That was another foolish dream, however. Such an achievement would be a legal juggernaut, taking years toaccomplish, and fought by Aunt Thomasin and Cousin Clayton at every step of the way. That would be if itwerepossible at all – the powers that be did not wish to allow members of the ton to recklessly ruin their estates and titles for any reason whatsoever.
Neil gave himself a little shake, banishing such foolish notions. Marriage had been a bad idea – unfair to Patrina and unrealistic for himself – but it could hardly be undone now.
“I am sorry,” he blurted out. They were the first words that came to mind. Patrina’s eyes widened as he spoke, but whether from shock or from relief he could not tell.
She swallowed hard, and the silence landed heavily between them.
“It’s quite all right,” she said, voice wobbling just a little. “I am not offended.”
He flashed a brittle smile. “You are very good to me, Patrina. I could not have asked for a better wife. Thank you, for everything that you have done.”
She frowned, not smiling at the compliment. “Neil, you are not yourself.”
“Yes, I am not. I should never have kissed you.”
“Neil…”
“No, I am sorry. This is too much. I… you… you don’t deserve this. Neither of us do.”
She flinched back a little at that. “Neither of us… what do you mean by that? Neil?”
He shook his head, turning away. “It means nothing. I am sorry.”
He pushed past her, heading for the shadowy staircase at the very edge of the balcony. The stone steps led down into the garden beyond, dark and thrown with shadows.
I need to think. I need to clear my head. I need to… oh, heavens. I need to undo all of this.
Neil was not entirely surprised to hear the patter of Patrina’s dancing slippers, following him down the steps. The guests were not meant to be going into the gardens, of course, and so beyond a few torches lighting up the wide path which circled the house, the garden was entirely dark. He crossed the path at once, striding over the damp lawn.
“Neil, wait!”
He stopped, despite himself, and turned to face Patrina. She had followed him onto the lawn, and he could see wetness from the grass creeping up the hem of her skirts.
“I do care for you, you know,” Patrina said, her voice a nervous whisper. “And I think… I think that you care for me, too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Neil squeezed his eyes shut. “I was wrong to marry you,” he said at last, voice strangled. “I had not understood just how progressive my sickness has become. I… I was a fool. If I had consulted Mr. Blackburn, then…”
“Mr. Blackburn has no interest in truly healing you,” Patrina interrupted, colour flaring in her cheeks. “He manages your symptoms – and not well, at that – and that is all. I do not like him, Neil. I do not trust him.”
“My father trusted him, and since I will have the same fate as him, I should listen to what he has to say,” Neil answered. Suddenly, he felt more tired than before. Bone tired.
