Page 102 of A Convenient Fiction

Of course he wasn’t bored with her. Rather the opposite. They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. Indeed, they’d lingered in bed so long this morning, they’d nearly missed their train.

At half past eight, they’d finally risen and dressed, Alex helping to lace her corset and fasten her gown, and Laura tying his cravat, the whole production punctuated with soft touches and kisses. “We’re going to be late,” he’d finally said, his lips at her neck.

No, he wasn’t bored with her. Not yet.

She glanced out the velvet-curtained window. The French landscape passed by in a blur as the train rattled along the tracks, leaving the city far behind them. “It feels as if it’s all over now that we’re leaving Paris. As if we’ve come to the end of things.”

He took her gloved hand between both of his. “It’s not over.”

“No,” she said softly. “It’s just…I suppose I don’t trust it yet. It’s all still so new to me.”

“It’s new to me, as well.”

She gave a sudden laugh. “Well, that’s not very comforting. You’re meant to be the one with experience in this sort of thing.”

Alex didn’t laugh in return. “It all feels new. Because of you. Because of caring for you as I do. I’m fumbling along in the dark. It’s rather unnerving. Any moment I know I shall make some irreversible mistake.”

“No mistakes are irreversible.”

“Some are.” He toyed with her hand, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You haven’t.”

“You say that now, but…” His brow furrowed. “I don’t expect you ever dreamed of marrying a man like me.”

“I can’t say I ever dreamed of marrying at all. Not as some girls do. Though…I do recall picturing my wedding day.”

“How did you imagine it?”

Her mouth curved in a smile. “The usual trappings. The village church. Mendelssohn and orange blossoms. My friends and family all about me.”

“And the groom?”

“A mystery. I never pictured him. I only knew that I’d recognize him when I saw him. That one day we’d meet, and I’d know he was the one. The gentleman I was destined to marry.”

“George Wright,” Alex said.

Her smile faded. “For a long while I thought it was him. But something was always missing. It never felt completely right. Not until—”

“Until when?”

She gave him a wry look. “Until I met you.”

He returned her gaze, an expression in his eyes hard to read.

“That day at Talbot’s Pond, I felt something for you. You felt it, too. A thread of connection. That’s how you described it the day we walked to the Roman ruin.”

“I did. It was devilish inconvenient.” He paused for a long moment before asking, “What happened between you and George?”

She went still. It wasn’t a secret. Nevertheless, it was an incident she didn’t much fancy revisiting. “Does it matter?”

“Chalk it up to possessiveness. That, or husbandly curiosity. I already heard his side of the story—”

Her gaze jerked to his. “When?”

“In Margate. He didn’t present himself in the best light.”

A spark of anger flickered in her breast. “Nor should he.”