Page 98 of His Wife, the Spy
“Just a moment.” Charlotte’s cheerful answer belied her shaking fingers as she grasped Annabel’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered before stepping past and around the corner.
Annabel and Ellen followed after the girls’ voices faded, and walked in silent solidarity toward their husbands, who were waiting near the Ramsbury box.
Though she was in no mood for social conversation, Annabel managed a brief interchange with Lord Carmichael. All the while, she was conscious of Jasper’s fingers on her waist and his steady gaze.
Once they were alone, he escorted her back to their seats, nodding to Frederick as they passed his post at the door.
“What has happened?” he whispered once they were settled. “You look angrier than I’ve seen you in a while.” He snorted a laugh. “At least in the last two days.”
She tapped his knee with her fan. “You can be a very vexing man.”
“I wasn’t vexing in the retiring room.” He took her hand and waited for her to meet his eyes. “Are you frightened?”
“No.” She was never frightened for herself when she was with him, yet she was terrified of life without him. Since her marriage, her days had been full of laughter, warmth that had nothing to do with fireplaces, and color that was more than furnishings and the dressmaker’s. Even London had been brighter. With the exception of the last week, she didn’t know how long it had been since she’d seen a cloudy day.
“Why didn’t you just tell me about Claudette?” she asked.
“Because you were in no mood to believe me.” He watched the activity on the floor below them as he shrugged. “You needed to discover it for yourself.”
Annabel wanted to protest, to tell him he was wrong, that she was not as judgmental as he believed her to be. But the truth was, he was right—to a point. She had always believed the worst of him and then been proven wrong.
She thought she’d married a debauched, drunk womanizer who might be a traitor to his queen. Instead, her husband was a rather bookish, sober gentleman who was fighting a war against corruption within his own ranks.
“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”
“Bah.” He brushed aside her guilt with his free hand. “I have very few to hurt. Just ask any woman in any random ballroom.”
She did not believe him for a second. “Jasper.”
“You wounded my pride more than anything.” He finally glanced her way and squeezed her fingers. “You do not need to carry guilt for that. It’s a stumbling block that’s led me into my own rash behavior.”
“Like not telling me you ripped your wound open?” She raised an eyebrow as she met his stare. “Claudette asked if you were worseagain. Why didn’t Stapleton send for me?”
She could see Kit leaving her clueless about her husband’s health, but she’d thought the butler liked her.
Jasper’s grimace made her gasp. “You sat there arguing with me while you were bleeding and didn’t say anything?” she said. “You let meleave the house…” That realization was almost worse than finding him outside Claudette’s door. Claudette, whose husband had died while they had been separated. Who hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. “Why?”
“I was angry,” he said. “I wanted you to choose to stay and listen to me.”
Annabel fought his tight hold. “Do you realize what could have happened to you? That I would have been halfway across the city with no idea that you were…” She corralled her thoughtsbefore they ran away with her tongue. “You should have told me, Jasper.”
“I should have, yes. But if you had stayed with me, Rachel would be betrothed to some liver-spotted man three times her age. It all worked out in the end.”
Her sister would be ecstatically happy, but her husband would have bled to death without her. “That is not a fair trade.”
The orchestra signaled the end of intermission.
“Neither of us are saints.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “That seems to be something else we have in common.”
The list grew longer with every day. “Not to mention our fierce tempers.”
“That, too.” His gaze held hers, and his smile crinkled the corners of his deep blue eyes. “In the grand scheme, this is nothing but a rock in the road. We cannot let it distract us from what is most important.”
The gaslights sputtered as they dimmed until the stage was the only focus.
“My mother always insisted the theatre was scandalous.” Annabel scanned the stage and the crowd. “I wonder why she thought that.”
He adjusted his chair, coming close enough that their knees touched. “Sex.”
