Page 32 of Raked Away in September

“I went to White’s,” Rowan said, his voice sounding so close she was certain his forehead must be resting against the wood on his side. “I had two scotches and a cigar, and I sat in a room full of men who don’t care about anything, pretending I was one of them. But I couldn’t do it, Tamsin. I don’t want to be that man anymore. Please. Just let me talk to you. We can work this out. I know we can.”

The raw vulnerability in his tone didn’t sound like the polished, teasing rake who could easily have gone to his mistress just weeks after his wedding. It sounded like the man who had talked with her in the library, admitting that he had no idea how to be a husband or a father.

But he’d said he wanted to try.

Slowly, as if pulled by an invisible thread, Tamsin stood up. Her bare feet made no sound on the thick Aubusson rug as she crossed the cold floor. She reached the door, her hand hovering over the brass bolt.

“If you are going to lie to me, Rowan,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “I would rather you do it tomorrow. I do not have the strength for it tonight.”

“No lies,” he swore, his voice urgent. “I swear to you, Tamsin. On whatever honor I have left. I meant it when I said I don’t ever want there to be lies between us.”

With a trembling hand, Tamsin slid the bolt back. The heavy brass clicked, a sharp sound in the quiet room.

She stepped back just as the door swung open.

Rowan stood in the frame. He had shed his evening coat, and his white linen shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his cravat gone. His dark hair was damp from the rain, clinging to his forehead, and his obsidian eyes were dark and filled with a desperate, aching intensity. He smelled of cold autumn rain and the faint, bitter scent of scotch.

He met her gaze, and a low, ragged breath escaped him.

“You’re here,” he breathed.

“Where else would I be?” Tamsin asked, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, trying to erect a barrier between them. “I am your wife, Rowan. I am exactly where you left me. As I will be until I die.” Her breath caught at the finality of it. How could she do this for the rest of her life? Sit here and wait for him to come home from seeing his mistresses? How had she ever thought she could handle it?

Rowan flinched, stepping into her room and closing the door behind him. “Tamsin, I don’t want it to be like that between us. We’re partners, remember?”

“I thought so. Until tonight.”

“I did not go to Elena. I swear it. I have not touched her, nor have I wanted to, since the moment I chased after you at Vauxhall.”

“She said you owed her a dance,” Tamsin whispered, looking down at her bare feet because looking at his face made her eyes burn with unshed tears. “She touched your shoulder. She looked at you as if... as if she owned the very air you breathe. And then you left me. You walked out of the room with Ashford, and she disappeared right after. Do you have any idea what those gossips were saying about me? The pitying looks they gave me?”

Rowan was across the room in a second. He didn’t grab her, but he fell to his knees in front of her, his hands coming to rest gently, reverently, on her hips.

“I am so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking with an emotion so raw it shocked her. He looked up at her, his face pale, his eyes bright with a terrifying sincerity. “I am a fool, Tamsin. Ashford wasn’t in Town when we wed, and he probably saw that I was panicking after Elena approached us. He took me away to ask me what had happened. I didn’t think. I didn’t realize how it would look to the room. I left you undefended. I will never forgive myself for that.”

Tamsin stared down at him. An earl, a man who had spent his life being bowed to, was kneeling before her in nothing but his shirtsleeves, his pride entirely discarded.

“You were panicking?” she asked softly, her defenses beginning to fracture, the ice in her chest starting to melt under the heat of his gaze. “Why?”

“I knew you were angry that Elena had spoken to us, and I’m afraid of losing you,” Rowan confessed, his hands sliding up her ribcage, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of her gown. “I’m afraid of how much I want this marriage to be real.”

He reached up, his thumb gently catching a single tear that had escaped her eye, brushing it away from her cheek.

“But tonight, when I was at the club... I realized that I don’t want any part of that life anymore. I don’t want Elena or anyone like her. I only want you. I want to go to sleep with you, and wake up with you, and spend the rest of my miserable, undeserving life trying to make you smile.”

Tamsin let out a shaky, broken breath. The last of her anger evaporated, leaving only a deep, aching tenderness. She sank down, meeting him on the floor, her knees nearly touching his as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“You are a good man, Rowan,” she whispered, her fingers curling into the damp linen of his shirt. “And I’m sorry that I assumed the worst of you. That isn’t fair. I should have trusted you.”

“Trust has to be earned,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto her lips. “And I’m not sure I’ve earned yours.”

“You haven’t done anything to break my trust, either,” she said, realizing it was true. He had been cold to Elena. He’d done his best to let her know his life had changed.

“I want to be yours,” he said. “Only yours. If you will have me.”

“I want you, too,” Tamsin said, leaning forward until only a few inches separated them. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Do you think that someday you might come to care about me?”