Page 101 of Desperate Proposals
“He was a third son.”
“Was he now?” Marcus chuckled. He ran his hand down her arm, but still she did not budge.
“I love you. And now that you have me, you shall never be rid of me.” He paused to chuckle. “Well, aside from when Parliament stands. But perhaps you shall have your way, and Mr. Reed will defeat me in the next general. Then I can remain at Platt Lodge and go to pot, eating nothing but sad cakes day in and day out.”
Marcus tightened his hold upon her and sighed.
She wouldn’t respond in kind; he knew her well enough by now to know that. But it did not matter.
She’d be at his side, always. And Marcus had found that was all he desired. Just her. In his bed, in his heart. A home for him to return to, after all these years spent burning the candle at both ends, working himself senseless with little to show for it.
Evelyn broke free and reached for her lap desk, then stood and clutched it to her chest. Her face was deathly pale; she would not meet his eyes.
“I shall speak with Mrs. Gill,” she said, her voice breathy. “She shall work with Bray to make sure you are well provided for, with refreshment and what have you.”
Marcus’s heart caught.
Did his wife… love him as well?
Before he could fashion the appropriate jest to uncover the truth, she’d swept away, out of the drawing room.
It was no matter. He would pin her later. After he’d lavished her with his attentions. With a reluctant sigh, he picked up the journal once more. He was too far behind in his reading and his correspondence. Far too dedicated to lazing about with his wife,and now that he’d been beckoned back to London he’d have to catch up.
But as much as he tried to focus on the words upon the page, all he could think of was Evelyn at her dressing table.
Chapter Twenty-Six
There was a gnawingin her stomach; an empty, hollow ache. It made her restless, and she twisted about her bedlinens, curling up on her side and placing her hands over her middle. Perhaps she had eaten something disagreeable that evening?
But that was unlikely. Cook had prepared nearly the same thing as last Thursday. Evelyn had taken it upon herself to work closely with Mrs. Gill concerning the management of every aspect of the household, and she knew the produce to be clean and the meat correctly prepared.
No, she was fooling herself. There could only be one reason for this sudden onset of nausea: her husband’s horrifyingly middle-class declaration of his love for her. At least, that was what she’d thought when she scurried up to bed, her heart palpitating and cheeks flushed.
But now, as she lay in wait for him, she realized the truth with a startling clarity.
It was becauseshelovedhim. Desperately, as it turned out.
The revelation pierced her through the heart, then twisted, harrowing her insides with agony at the prospect of himleaving once more. He couldn’t—not now, when she’d only just discovered that her emotional gamut ran wider than serene at one end of the scale and perturbed at the other. Why, here she was now, as maudlin as a stage actress. She was at first mortified at the prospect of being seen as such, but that initial horror soon gave way to a warm glow, as she realized that Marcus saw nothing wrong with that. He simply saw her as Evelyn. Someone strong and steadfast. Someone witty. Someone lovely.
Her eyes became suddenly overwhelmed with that unfamiliar heat, and she squeezed them shut, turning her face into her pillow. There was no holding back the tears this time, and the warmth of them was jarring; she buried her face further, desperate to conceal the evidence of her soft head.
She felt a shock of a panic, and quickly flipped the pillow over, not wanting to feel the wet spots against her cheek.
There came a knock at her door, and she froze.
The door opened, and she heard the familiar sounds of her husband making his way inside. She listened to him depositing his banyan upon a chair and shucking off his velvet slippers—unadorned, for he possessed no crest, which had always seemed strange to her before. Tonight, though, she found it alluring.
Then the bed dipped, and her weight shifted slightly toward the center.
“Oh, you’re awake?” he said in a playful manner.
“Of course I am,” she huffed. “Do I ever fall asleep when I’m to expect you? You know what a poor actress I am besides.”
“That’s not true; you’ve been asleep by nine at least twice in the past week.”
“I’ve been overexerting myself, that’s all.”
Evelyn shut her eyes tighter, even as she felt his hand upon her shoulder. The hateful tears had ceased, but she did not want to risk looking at him with eyes that might still be glassy. His hand slid down her side, under the linens, and paused atop her rump.
