Alaina didn’t move or open her eyes for a long while, unable to believe he’d left her in peace after his earlier threat. She struggled to reconcile the angry man with the one who’d left her untouched. She hadn’t misheard his earlier threat, that was for certain. So why, when he had her alone and at his mercy, had he refrained? For that matter, why had he visited her with something akin to tenderness?
She’d been so solid in her convictions and now…the flutter low in her belly was most unwelcome, as was the cascade of unbidden memories unlocked and freed from the shadowed recesses of her memory. There had been a time when a girl fancied herself falling in love with a man who’d liked to tuck her hair behind her ear and trace the curve of her cheek as if she were the most precious creation.
It was a long while until Alaina’s mind slowed enough to allow sleep to finally claim her.
Chapter Four
Sterling awoke earlythe following day and dressed in buff breeches, a dove-gray waistcoat, and a hunter-green coat of the finest tailoring. He’d also insisted his new valet affix his cravat with nothing more than a simple knot—he was so very tired of the fussy fashions of the courts on the Continent, and he relished the simplicity and ease his life in London would now offer. His trunks had arrived from the docks the evening before, and his valet did an impeccable job of unpacking and organizing, following Sterling’s strict instructions that anything gaudy and absurd was to be immediately disposed of. He cared not if the items were donated for repurposing or made into rags, as long as he needn’t see them ever again. He was finished with dressing to perform.
Pleased, Sterling then sat down to an informal breakfast of eggs and sausage, toast, jam, and tea in the morning room. Not a pea in sight, thank Heaven. After taking a moment to savor the array laid out before him, he paused and then asked the maid who had appeared with another serving spoon, “Is there any coffee?” The poor girl apologized profusely for the deficiency, but Sterling kindly reassured her that they couldn’t have known he preferred it in the mornings since he’d developed a taste for it during his travels. Coffee was far more common in the myriad countries he’d visited; few held tea in such high esteem as the Brits. She bobbed a curtsy and rushed from the room with a promise to return as quickly as possible after the beans were procured and brewed. It was likely that they’d dip next door or across the square and beg some off another household to make due until the next time the kitchens could purchase their own store. Either way, Sterling appreciated the efficiency.
Taking a bite of the perfectly cooked eggs, he picked up the ironed paper and found that he was uncommonly pleased with how, for the first time in years, he could behave without censure. He could eat when he wanted, dress how he cared to, and do whatever he wished. He was able to act, speak, and move without dozens of eyes upon him. He no longer had to exist behind a façade. He was once more the master of his own future, his own man. An aura of peace settled around him, making his heart feel lighter. The buzzing in his skull lowered to a gentle hum—more background noise than insistent pressure.
He’d missed the warm closeness of this particular room in Morton House, and its familiar vista outside the window overlooking the park. It was comforting to return to England and see how not everything had been left irreparably damaged by his absence.
The maid eventually returned with coffee in a silver pot and Sterling savored the steaming black brew. It wasn’t quite as rich or strong as he was used to, but it was enjoyable, nonetheless. In all, it was a satisfying start to his first full day home.
When he’d eaten his fill, Sterling gathered up the newspaper and folded it beneath his arm, intending to finish reading it at his leisure in the library. He’d once enjoyed the warm morning light in that room regularly and he was determined to savor it once again. The day appeared pleasant, and it would be interesting to watch the characters in the street outside—though it would still be hours yet before thetonbegan making calls.
He wondered how long it would be before word of his return spread. Doubtless, the front table would soon creak beneath the weight of calling cards and invitations from old friends, acquaintances, and curiosity-seekers alike. A plethora of estate business needed attending to as well, but it would keep a few more hours while he continued pondering his day and the wonder of his new freedoms. He thought he deserved this much respite after doing nothing but work and put his neck on the line for eight years.
Until he collided with his wife as he exited the morning room.
Sterling immediately dropped his newspaper and steadied Alaina with his hands wrapped around her slim upper arms. Her wide blue eyes told him she was genuinely surprised by his appearance…as if she’d briefly forgotten his existence and was caught entirely off-guard by him all over again.
For his part, he was set on his heels by her intoxicating scent. Violets. Soap. Warm womanly flesh. It was all he could do not to haul her against him so he could drown in it. The fragrance was, at once, familiar and refreshing.
Instead of following his fanciful urge and bathing in her scent, his eyes swept her up and down, from her jaunty, wide-brimmed black hat pinned to her starkly contrasting golden curls to the long sweep of her gilt lashes, the raspberry sweetness of her wide lips, her lithe frame garbed in a high-waisted gown of plum and simple black beaded accents along the low neckline. She had yet to button her spencer, so he was afforded a delicious glimpse of her smooth, pale décolletage. Being so close to her—only a breath away from the sweet curve of her cheek—enticed him to recall the prior evening.
She’d been so stiff and determined while attempting to feign sleep in her bed; though she was a poor actress, his wife.
He’d never had any intention of following through on his threat…in fact, he’d gone to her hoping to apologize, have a civil discussion, and come to a reconciliation for that evening. When he’d seen the lengths to which she’d gone to ward him off, however, he’d felt nothing but simmering anger…at himself.
It was painfully evident that he’d done a horrific amount of damage to his marriage and—no matter how Alaina infuriated him—the blame was solely his.
She slipped from his grasp and took several steps back down the hallway, turning her attention to the task of tugging her kid gloves onto her graceful fingers. A beaded black reticule dangled from one of her wrists.
“You are going out?” His tone made it more of a statement than an inquiry.
“It would appear so,” Alaina murmured as she focused on the satin-covered buttons of her pelisse.
“So early? And without breaking your fast?”
She still refused to meet his eyes and, instead, plucked an invisible piece of lint from her sleeve. “I am a married woman, and I availed myself of my right to break my fast in my rooms.”
Sterling barely suppressed a sigh of annoyance at her flat tone. “Did you not think to inform me you would be leaving this morning?” he asked while carefully modulating his voice.
Alaina finally met his eye, the blue fire again springing to life there. “I never required permission before. And you did not seem overly concerned about what I did and when I did it while you were away on the Continent.”
Sterling’s fists clenched reflexively.
“I understand,” he began, schooling himself to tamp down the frustration welling inside his chest, “but now that I am in residence, it would be courteous to at least advise me of your comings and goings.” She said nothing, so he plodded on. “Perhaps I would like to join you…” he added more gently than he thought himself capable. “I should like to know you, Alaina.”
His wife remained silent, but she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Whether it was because she was considering his words or biting back a scathing retort, he could not be sure. Judging by what he’d experienced thus far, he wondered if it wasn’t the latter.
“It is the least we can do to try to be civil.” He hazarded a step closer to his wife. “I believe our lives would be better served if we aimed for civility.”
Out of thecorner of her eye, Alaina saw Sterling’s hand begin to lift, but it quickly dropped back to his side.
