Page 37 of Marry in Secret
It couldn’t possibly be simple masculine pride stopping Thomas. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d be having to run to her every time he wanted any money—legally it was all his.In fact, legally it was his already. Unless the annulment came through.
She was the one who’d be dependent on him. That was why George refused to consider marriage—she vowed never to be dependent on a man.
Rose hugged her pillow, turning over the events of the day.
Thomas had run to the church—he was panting when he got there.
He claimed it was to stop her from committing bigamy, but his eyes had blazed with light when she first saw him. Before she’d fainted.
Later, they’d been grim and hard.
Something had happened between him and Cal on the way back from the church. They were like two dogs circling each other, stiff-legged and braced for a fight.
He’d handled her family well—even Aunt Agatha—until... until Rose had said she would honor her vows. And then he’d turned her offer down. Why?
To be noble? She pondered that.
Thomas had always been protective. One of the reasons for their hasty marriage was because of the possibility of a baby—he was determined to protect her good name. But what was he trying to protect her from now? Himself?
This mysterious “damage” he’d mentioned? Not physical, he’d said, so presumably he could still father children. She could see he’d lived hard in the last four years, but that was no reason to call off a marriage. It was certainly no reason for her to abandon him. Quite the contrary.
Assuming there wasn’t another woman, Rose could only think of two reasons why Thomas would urge her to take an annulment—male pride, because he’d come down in the world since they’d married, or the one she feared was the real reason: Thomas no longer loved her.
People could change a good deal in four years. He’d changed physically, but that didn’t count. It was how people were inside that mattered. One of the things she’d always loved about Thomas was that he’d seenher, the Rose thatshe was inside. Other people saw the Earl of Ashendon’s daughter, or the heiress, or admired her face or her eyes or some such silly thing that had nothing to do with who she really was.
But Thomas had, from the first, looked past all those superficial things and seen her—flawed, impatient, hot-tempered, restless, vulnerable, impulsive Rose—and loved her anyway. Loved her for the very things others criticized her for. His first words to her in the church had been about her temper, delivered with a smile.
She didn’t think she’d changed very much. Not in the essentials, surely?
But maybe Thomas had changed inside, and didn’t want her anymore. He’d spoken no word of love to her, had barely even touched— Oh! She sat up in bed, her eyes wide open in the dark.
She’d spoken no word of love to him, either. She hadn’t hugged him, hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t told him how happy she was that he was alive, that he’d come back to her.
In the church she’d denied him initially, and then she’d fainted. Then she’d sat like a stuffed dummy while everyone else argued the point. Later she’d defended him to her family, but he hadn’t witnessed that.
And when she and Thomas did finally get to speak in private, had she embraced him then? Had she kissed him and hugged him as she longed to do? No, she’d wept all over him like the veriest ninny, thumping him as if blaming him, blaming him for dying. And for coming back.
Rose punched her pillow. What a fool she’d been! A selfish, thoughtless, witless, self-centered, triple-toffee-coated idiot!
The clock in the hall chimed three. Rose pulled the covers back up around her and lay in bed, making plans.
The rest of the household was still asleep when Rose slipped out of bed three hours later. She washed quickly and dressed, then tiptoed downstairs. Rain was pelting down, and she muttered a curse and took an umbrella fromthe stand in the hall. It would be difficult to find a hackney at this hour of the morning and in this weather.
Tilting the umbrella in the direction of the rain, she set off, telling herself it wasn’t all that far to walk and her jean half-boots were her most comfortable shoes.
***
Thomas woke slowly, consciousness peeling languidly back in layers, like floating to the surface of a deep lake. Rose curled naked in his arms, soft and sweet-smelling in the aftermath of making love, his own body tight and aching, hungry and unsatisfied...
It took him a while to realize it was a dream.
At least this had been a good dream. He dreamed all the time, but the good ones were few and far between. Barely a night passed when he wasn’t jerked from sleep, sweating and shaking. And the fear, even though it was imaginary, took a long time to fade.
He lay on Ollie’schaise longue, listening to the rain pelting steadily against the window. That was what had caused this dream, of course, memories of that cramped little bed in his room in Bath where they’d first made love, while outside the rain had pelted down, battering the windows while they, blissful and enchanted, entered a world of their own making.
Life had seemed so simple then.
But that was the past, and it did no good to yearn for what would never be again. He’d learned that the hard way.
