He nodded decisively. “Urm. Thank you for a lovely evening.” His cheeks bloomed a deep pink, and he squirmed before her.
He laughed nervously, leaned forward—
Was he going to kiss her?
—And stepped around her.
Apparently not.
“Ta-ta, then,” he croaked, and he hurried from the room.
She slowly turned, jaw slack, catching a last glimpse of her husband’s coat before he disappeared completely from view.
What in the blazes?
Her mind spun. Her deflated heart flopped weakly in her breast. Because he was leaving her. On Christmas. And clearly did not want her to go with him.
Thank you for a lovely evening.They spent a night of indescribable pleasure together. An evening where she vowed pieces inside of her were permanently rearranged to make room forhim. That wasn’tlovely. That waslife-altering.
But not for him.
She gnawed on her lip. Had she completely misread, mis-felt, everything that had passed between them last night? She had heard men would declare anything in the heat of the moment. Dear God, had he not meant a word?This can’t be real.Was that purely in reference to the shagging? She had thought he’d been speaking of whatever this new, indescribable feeling was that had surfaced last night. But perhaps he had just been talking about her vagina.
She tried to breathe through the rising panic flooding her, forcing her lungs to find air. This was fine. Everything was fine. Perhaps this was normal. He said he had urgent business.
Much like her father usually said.
Her father always had urgent business.
Her father was always gone.
Her gaze dropped to the ivory skirts she was hopelessly wrinkling with her twisting fingers. She squared her shoulders and brushed off her skirts. Brushed away the wrinkles. Brushed away the nerves and doubt trying to multiply like bunnies in her brain.
Everything was fine.
But God help her. What if she’d just married into the same life she’d had before?
27
Fitz
Fitz’sheadrockedagainstthe squabs of his carriage like his neck muscles had deserted him as the conveyance rolled out of the drive of his family’s country estate. He was to London. To win his wife’s regard. Because it had been clear at breakfast that there were two other men who currently held it.
He slammed his head against the squab.Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did he have to go and fall in love with her? Why did he have to do something so quintessentially Fitz-like and accidentally compromise a woman who desired men like Ironcrest and Dunmore? Men so unlike Fitz that he couldn’t fathom ever attaining their standard of sensuality. Not in his wildest dreams. But he had to try. If he wanted to be in his wife’s wildest dreams. And he did. A searing pain shot through the pathetic slab of muscle in his chest.
His eyes slid shut, and a woman’s visage stared back at him. But it wasn’t his blonde-haired, green-eyed wife. It wasn’t kind. It was dark-brown eyes swimming with disgust. Mocking.
He let the words fall over him, each one a heavy iron link in the chain of inadequacy that hung over him. The words Miss Eloise Browning had hurled at him when he’d found her in a state of undress in his brother’s study. The words that had been so sharp, so scathing, that they’d sliced right through his flesh. Straight to the heart. She’d been spitting mad, infuriated at his brother’s rejection of her advances. She’d spoken, intending to maim, to wound. And she had succeeded.
He’d stood there, incapable of words. For once from shock and wretched pain, rather than nerves.
“I h-had thought,” he wheezed. “We were courting. I was to sp-speak—To p-propose.”
“Marry you?” She scoffed. “You cannot even speak. Why on earth do you think I would accept such an offer? Not that it truly is one, though, is it? You’re a second son who stutters and sweats profusely.” She grimaced, turning up her nose. “You never had anything to offer me other than access to your brother.”
And Fitz had jerked back as if slapped. Because that was what the words had been. He probably should have seen the signs. How she had always seemed excessively friendly with Felix. But he never thought anything of it. Felix wasn’t the least bit interested in her—considering she wasn’t a man. Fitz had completely forgotten the rest of the ton wasn’t aware of—couldn’t be aware of—this fact about his brother, that women would still vie for Felix’s hand. Like the woman Fitz had become completely enamored with. All a ruse. Use the oblivious, bumbling fool to get to the Earl.
She’d never been seen in London again. Felix had made sure of that. Lord, the fury on his brother’s face during that catastrophe. Fitz had actually feared his brother would harm a woman. But Felix was always in control. And what he dealt her was far worse than any physical blow.
