Page 74 of Marry in Haste
“The girls?”
“I cannot trust them to Aunt Dottie’s care; you know that.”
She bit her lip. “Of course. It is after all, why you married me.”
Denial trembled on the tip of his tongue, which was nonsense—itwaswhy he’d married her—but he was aware it wasn’t quite fair to give her a honeymoon of only two days before her chaperone duties commenced. The fact that she didn’t complain, as most brides would, galled him somewhat.
“I have much to do here.” He gestured to the pile of paperwork on the desk. “Later this afternoon I will be riding out to make a brief inspection of the estate.”
“Oh, may I—” She broke off as a knock sounded at the door.
The housekeeper entered, and whatever his wife had been going to say remained unsaid. “You rang, sir?”
“Yes, Mrs. Moffat, Lady Ashendon would like a tour of the house.” He turned to his wife and bowed slightly. “I will see you at dinner.”
Emm inclined her head. “Is there any part of the house, any rooms or furniture or, or anything decorative that you are particularly attached to, my lord?”
He glanced up, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“In case I want to make a few changes. It is your home, after all, and I wouldn’t wish to make any changes that would upset you.”
“I haven’t lived in this house since I was a boy,” he said indifferently. “You havecarte blancheto make whatever changes to the household you desire, madam.”
***
Madam.He was putting her in her place.Lady Ashendon would like a tour of the house.He hadn’t even asked her if she wanted one. She felt dismissed, like a maidservant.
But she didn’t have the energy or the will to argue.
The interview with her husband had stirred up a past she’d done her best to put behind her. And the emotions that went with it.
For the first part of the tour, most of what the housekeeper told her went right over Emm’s head. She kept thinking of things she’d said, and regretted. And things she wished she’d said, and hadn’t.
Never mind the things she’d done and wished she hadn’t.
She’d taken one look at Sam and fallen recklessly, blindly, desperately in love. And he—or so he’d claimed—felt the same about her.
Even knowing it was wrong, that their love was hopeless—or maybe because itwashopeless, star-crossed and impossible—she’d been determined not to have aRomeo and Julietending.
So when Sam had pushed her, begged her, tumbled her down in the hay and thrust his hands under her skirts—shocking and wildly thrilling as it was—she’d let him. Physically it had been painful and a little disappointing, but the closeness, the thrilling intimacy of his hands on her breasts and under her skirts, the half-panicked, half-shocked sensation as he’d pushed himself into her and pumped hard for a few short moments, then collapsed with a loud, satisfied groan...
Foolish, ignorant, dreamy young girl that she was, she’d believed it was true love.
But for Sam, it was simply an opportunity.
It was a lesson she would never forget.
Pointless to be ashamed or to apologize or make excuses at this late date. What was done was done. She was an adult now, a different person from that young girl. She could continue to wallow in the disaster of her past and endlessly punish herself for it, or she could forgive the naïve girl she’d been and accept that she was flawed and imperfect.
And learn from her mistakes.
The only reason I will ever marry is for love.Oh, the irony of that youthful impassioned statement. The opposite of what she’d actually done.
But it was better this way—a practical, unsentimental arrangement, with clear, down-to-earth expectations and no messy emotions.
She would have to be vigilant about that. The feelings her husband had engendered last night when he’d coupled with her... But they were not emotions. They were physical sensations, and no doubt she would get used to them and not confuse them with anything else.
The way she was with Sam, she would have done anything for him—had, in fact, let him do whatever he wanted. She hadn’t actually been ready to give herself to a man, but he hadn’t asked—he’d just taken. And she, lost in the dizzy, rapturous state she’d imagined was love—she’d allowed it. She would have allowed him anything.
