Page 123 of Marry in Scarlet
Those wretched settlements. She’d thought back then that it was how she wanted things, but now she’d changed. She’d done what she’d thought impossible—fallen in love with the duke. But she wasn’t going to go back on her promises.
He said he’d want conjugal visits. She would respect that—and if she dreamed about him every night, well, wouldn’t that be almost as good as having him in her bed?
No. She knew the difference now. And it wasn’t just his lovemaking she’d miss.
Or the look in his eyes when he was thinking about taking her to bed. Or the way his voice would deepen and turn to warm, dark chocolate. And melt her from the inside out.
It was also the low-murmured conversations they had in the dark, about nothing much, just the day’s events and stray thoughts and plans. He listened, really listened.
And she’d miss waking up in the night and feeling his big warm body lying spooned around her on chilly nights, or sprawled in relaxed abandon just a fingertip away. And the scent of him, not just his cologne, or his fresh-pressed linen, but the intoxicating man smell of him, like nobody else, unique and himself.
The duke. Others saw his pride, his arrogance, his cold control—the man she’d imagined he was when she first met him. But now she knew the real man beneath the stern facade, the man who cold-bloodedly entrapped her and proceeded to seduce her—and not just in the bedchamber.
He was a man who took his responsibilities seriously, who valued honor and honesty, who would put off a much desired honeymoon in Venice to search for a small lost boy he hardly knew. And then take in that boy and his illegitimate half brother as his own responsibilities. And teach them how to be men.
A man who would take a half-wild, prickly, suspicious, difficult, contrary, lanky, flat-chested, boyish female, put up with her wild starts and even try to understand them—and then marry her and cherish her as nobody ever in her life had cherished her.
She dashed the tears from her eyes. She wouldnotbecome a watering pot. All his life, his mother had tried to manipulate him with emotion. George would not do the same. She would honor the agreement she’d so foolishly made. Calmly, reasonably and without fuss.
And if he wanted her out of his way, living in the country as they’d agreed, while he did whatever he did in London—and she would not even mind if he wanted to see those dreadful women who pursued him so shamelessly—well, yes, she did mind, she wanted to wring their scrawny, bejeweled necks!—but she would try not to show it. She would try to be dignified, as a duchess should. At least while he was watching.
She would remain in the country with the boys. It wouldn’t be a hardship—she loved the countryside.
And if she missed him, as she would—terribly—well, who was it who’d made that stupid condition in the first place? What was that saying?Be careful what you wish for.
This was what he’d wanted, what they’d agreed to, after all. And though it would half kill her to let him go, she would do it. Because she loved him, and wanted him to have everything he wanted. And she refused to be a millstone around his neck.
They made love several times that night, and it was wonderful and terrible, bittersweet and achingly moving. They didn’t talk much. George had no words; she was afraid if she tried to say anything, it would all spill out in a terrible emotional flood, and she’d be no better than his mother, trying to make him stay when he wanted to leave.
And he was never terribly chatty in bed.
But, oh, every touch, every caress... She did her best to save them up in her mind, to keep for later and revisit when he was gone, but each time he took her to the edge... and over... and her awareness splintered into glorious rainbow-colored shards.
***
Hart’s bags were packed, and the carriage was waiting. They’d made love at dawn, and it had left him feeling empty, completely shattered.
But she, she seemed calm and organized and dignified. She’d arranged food and drink for the journey, as if he were a child being sent off to school. The boys, solemn and serious and looking unhappy and bewildered, shook his hand like little men, and then she sent them back inside.
He was gutted by the ease with which she was preparing to wave him off, out of her life. But he had no leg to stand on. He was the blasted fool who’d signed the blasted settlement documents agreeing to her blasted conditions.
He hated those conditions now.
But he’d trapped her into marriage in the first place, and he owed it to her now to give her the freedom she desired. At least he’d insisted on conjugal visits. But, oh, how would he ever bear long months without her? Or weeks. And not just in bed.
He’d always believed he was a naturally solitary fellow. She’d changed all that.
She’d even taught him to enjoy the company of two rambunctious little boys.
George was the sun around who they all rotated, the source of all warmth and life.
But Hart had always prided himself on his control and he wasn’t about to crumble now and make a fool of himself. And entrap her into the kind of marriage she had explained quite clearly that she didn’t want.
He kissed her good-bye, and if it was a little desperate and needy and he could hardly make himself let go of her, well, that couldn’t be helped. It was nothing to what he really felt.
He climbed into the carriage, took a deep breath and rapped on the roof. With a jerk the carriage set off. Hart didn’t look out the window. He hated good-byes, didn’t want to see her standing there, waving, her lovely gray eyes bright with unshed tears...
Bright with unshed tears?
