Alaina willed her cheeks not to flame. For all Lady Sommerfeld and the rest of Society knew, Alaina was well and truly Sterling’s wife—and had been for many years. She shouldn’t be embarrassed by her friend’s observation.
She did her best to play it off with a tilt of her head. “He is either mad or insanely determined to get back into my good graces, neither of which I believe I can fend off forever.”
“Is it really such a bad thing if you give in?” her friend offered.
“You sound like Lady Juliette,” Alaina scoffed.
“If more than one source provides the same information, then it stands to reason there may be some genuine merit to the information.”
“And now you sound like a scientist.”
Lady Sommerfeld chuckled warmly and set down her tea to slide over and take up the cushion beside Alaina. She gently removed Alaina’s cup from her hands and placed it on the table as well before clasping her long, elegant fingers around Alaina’s.
“Youhavealready lost eight years together…why continue to waste more time on old wrongs and stubbornness…especially when he seems to be doing his best to make things right?” She and Juliette were two of the only people who knew about Sterling’s efforts these past few weeks, and Meredith was correct, their suggestions to her echoed one another, and that made them difficult to ignore.
“I despise it when you make so much sense.”
Lady Sommerfeld’s fingers squeezed hers.
*
Though he gaveit a valiant try, Sterling was unable to sleep again that night, plagued by a persistent, violent arousal. Each time he closed his eyes, he could only picture Alaina’s body, her smile, her lips, her flashing eyes, her graceful hands on his…
No.
Stop, dammit.
He wasn’t a lad who needed to frig himself into sleep each night. He had more bloody dignity than that, didn’t he?
Maintaining his patience and holding onto his hope that Alaina would eventually come ’round was slowly killing him. He’d made significant progress in living more civilly with his wife—she’d even allowed him those few kisses and caresses without clawing his face—but that was it. As badly as he wanted to move the process forward and have his wife once and for all, he needed to remember that the past eight years had been different for her than they had been for him. She’d suffered differently. And she couldn’t know the depth of the truth that he’d never stopped caring for her, had held onto her image in his mind and his heart, throughout his absence. He had to give her time.
And if she never decided to allow him to be with her, then he needed to find a way to cope with his situation.
Frustrated and in need of a distraction, Sterling decided to empty the final trunk he had yet to unpack. His valet had attempted several times to empty the offending luggage, but Sterling had refused. It contained some of his important documents, personal papers, and other items he’d deemed vital enough to cart back with him from the Continent. Beneath a pile of books, he uncovered a carved ebony box at the very bottom of the trunk. His heart stuttered and he sat back on his heels. He knew what he would find before he lifted the lid.
Every single letter his wife had ever written to him was tucked safely away, protected and cherished.
The stack was thicker than his palm and surprisingly heavy, well-worn from countless readings.
He experienced no small stab of pain when he recalled his agonizing decision to reply to none of them.
It had been far safer for her that way—better to have any enemies believe his wife was inconsequential and unworthy of his time than one of the most important things in his world.
He knew Alaina’s words as if they were his own. Her letters contained inquiries as to his wellbeing, little accounts of her days, and determination to hold onto the belief that he hadn’t truly abandoned her and would return shortly. He’d been shocked to receive the first letter, forwarded by a neutral contact established by Ramsay. Even back then, Alaina had been feistier and more determined than he’d thought possible. The letters had begun frequently and then gradually tapered off after five years of determined scribbling.
Truth be told, it had deflated his soul when the letters had stopped altogether, but he’d repeatedly told himself it was all for the best. Though the words eventually rang hollow from overuse and provided little comfort, he continued to say them to himself.
Now that he was back home, however, these letters created a very interesting opportunity.
Sterling stood and carried the box back to his bed, settling in for a night of reading.
Chapter Fifteen
The following morning,Alaina rose, dressed, and went down to break her fast a little earlier than usual. There had been something comfortable about her last few meals with Sterling and a part of her looked forward to a repeat that morning. They’d moved past the awkwardness of the early days and adopted something akin to the civility Sterling had pleaded for in the beginning. It felt like quite an accomplishment to look back and see how far they’d come in the weeks since his return. The shift in their dynamic was undeniable. Even if she hadn’t completely forgotten their past, they were far closer to reconciliation than they had been.
She entered the morning room to find only Sterling. No footmen hovered on the edge of the room ready to seat her and prepare her plate. Instead, her husband stood and held his hand out to her. There was a new gentleness in his hazel eyes, an unexpected sincerity that stole her breath. He was dressed simply, but immaculately in a charcoal coat and matching breeches, a well-fitted deep blue waistcoat, and crisp cravat at his throat. The sharp line of his jaw was freshly shaven, and, in all, he was devastatingly handsome.
“Good morning,” he greeted her. There was a velvety curl to his voice that made her stomach flutter.
