Page 68 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
“Of course. Most ladies go in the evening. Susan wished to introduce me to the manager, Mrs. Knight. She works only in the evenings, as that is the busiest time.” She stripped off her long gloves, holding them in one hand, fingers clenched around the delicate fabric.
“And you didn’t think to tell me where you were going?”
“Quite honestly, no,” she said, and there wasn’t even the slightest hint of guile on her face. “It never occurred to me that you might have cared. You haven’t before.”
Well, no—but he had alwaysknown. Those invitation cards had all been clearly marked with the dates, times, and locations. “I knew you had no engagement this evening,” he said. “And when I did not find you in your room, I was…concerned.”
Her brows drew together. A tension gathered in her jaw, and her eyes flitted toward the drawing room. Toward Celia’s portrait which hung there still. “Did you thinkI—”
“No!” The word burst from him in a fierce denial, and he was surprised to find that it was eventrue. He’d pulled the chair from the drawing room without even glancing at Celia’s portrait there. He’d sat in wrathful silence awaiting his wife, and notoncehad he considered the possibility that Lizzie might have been in the arms of another man.
It was just that he had wanted her, and she had not been where she was meant to be. It had seemed a violation of the natural order, an upset to the sort of marriage they were supposed to have had. One where they spent pleasant evenings together in her bed, and went their separate ways come the dawn.
Which, in hindsight, sounded somewhat…unsavory. At any rate, it certainly sounded like the sort of thing one did not explain to one’s wife, if one wished to retain possession of one’s intimate parts.
“I was...worried,” he said, knowing it had the tenor of a lie—or at least not the whole of the truth. “London isn’t always the safest of cities.”
“I see.” Still, that frozen expression did not wash itself from her face. “Well, you need not concern yourself with me, my lord.”
My lord? Christ, he trulyhadstepped in it. He sighed, shoving himself up from his chair. “Lizzie—”
“If you’ll excuse me. It has been quite a long evening,” she said, frost dripping from her voice as she marched swiftly for the stairs, the skirts of her gown pulling taut with each step. The dangerous glitter of her eyes unnerved him, unsettled him. Despite the placid façade she wore, an undercurrent of menace roiled beneath the surface. It rolled off of her in staggering waves, like an icy ocean tide.
He’d seen her blow hot with fury, but this—thiscoldfrigidity was alarming. “Lizzie,” he said again, and reached for her.
She shook off the hand that landed upon her arm with a hiss of disgust. “Don’tevertouch me,” she said, the gusty rasp of her breath through her clenched teeth a testament to her ire.
Luke felt the shock of that spiteful tone straight down to his toes. “What the devil has come over you?” he asked, retracting the hand that still wanted to reach for her.
“Overme?” The bitter, chilling laugh splintered on her lips. “One might wonder what has come overyou, my lord, that you would go so far to win a wife that it is painfully obvious to all that you did not evenwant.”
Thatwas not true, of course. Hehadwanted her—enough to cheat to win her.
And somehow she had found out.
“Susan told me,” she in that brittle voice, and the slice of that cold smile given in profile would have been better suited to a snake for all the venom contained within it. “How verystupidyou must have thought me. How easily manipulated.”
Notstupid. Only innocent. Trusting. Of course she had never expected a deception of that nature. How could she have done? He had exploited that trust she had placed in him, crushed it in his hands, and it was only now—now, with all of the softness gone from her face, relieved of every last bit of innocence, of naïveté, that he could at last understand how precious that trust had been.
“I never thought you stupid.” The words came out unsteadily, awkwardly. His mind raced, snatching at fragments of thoughts. Just days ago, those fragile bonds between them which he had carefully snipped clean through had felt like a prison; chains meant to bind him. And now he sought for even one that remained which might soften her. But there was so little to recommend him—he had brushed off each delicate overture she had made, callous refusal after callous refusal. “I only wanted to please you,” he said, because he knew well enough hehadmanaged that, at least. “I have my faults, but dallying with innocents is not among them. You are not the sort of woman a man takes to his bed without benefit of marriage.”
By the minute widening of her eyes, inky lashes spiked against her pale skin, he realized that he had implied more than he had meant—that he hadsacrificedhimself upon the altar of marriage only to bed her.
With a mirthless laugh, she turned once more for the stairs. “Gopleaseyourself, my lord,” she invited, and stalked away, wounded pride in every sharp step.
And Luke was left to his own devices, alone in the foyer, his chest aching. For a moment he thought he might be suffering some strange malady, perhaps a remnant of discomfort leftover from his recent gunshot wound. But it couldn’t be. She’d shot his arm—not his heart.
Chapter Twenty Six
Two weeks later, Luke sat in solemn silence at dinner, wondering how so small a table set for four could feel as vast as one fashioned to accommodate as many as twenty.
There had not been a place set for him initially, of course. There never was these days. Neither was there any sort of conversation, or the flinging of food, or anything even remotely approximating merriment. There was only silence, and grim glances slanted at him from beneath narrowed eyelids.
The worst ofthatwas that it was neverLizzieshooting him such contemptuous looks. It was Joanna or Willie, and it was clear enough that they blamed him for the awkwardness of their meals. And worse still, he had no doubt but that they were correct.
From Lizzie, he received nothing more than indifference. She did not protest if he stayed in; she did not protest if he went out. She did not bother him with the minutia of her day or plead for his presence at whichever event Susan had secured her attendance for. She did not upset the household with fits or tantrums, or otherwise display her unhappiness. She didn’t even spend frivolously of his money, or enact retribution in any other ways that might have burdened him.
She had become, in essence, the ideal wife. The one he hadwanted.
