Page 37 of Truly, Madly, Daring

Emmeline moved towards him, taking his hand. “I don’t mind in the least. The truth is that I have waited all day for the time I might have you all to myself.”

Wrexham bowed his head, his eyebrows drawing together. “Emmeline. You don’t need to do that.”

“Do what?” she asked, confused.

He shrugged, reaching up a hand to squeeze the back of his neck. “Be… I don’t know… caring, wifely. I don’t know how else to put it,” he said, suddenly tense.

“I don’t have to care for you?” she repeated, uncertain what he meant. “I don’t understand.”

“Just… don’t pretend,” he said, his expression fierce. “This morning was wonderful, a gift I had not expected you to give, but I’d rather not—”

“You think I was playacting?” she said, dumbstruck. “To what end?”

“I don’t know,” he said in frustration. “It just seems so—”

“So what?” “Too good to be true!” he exclaimed. “I have been reliving this morning in my mind all day and longing to be alone with you, but I don’t want to act the fool, Emmeline. I feel foolish often enough without that. Don’t you make a fool of me too.”

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips, for if she didn’t, she might be tempted to throw things at him. “And don’t tell me you’re blind, for that doesn’t make you a blithering idiot. Pretending indeed. As if I could! You think I was pretending when I—”

Emmeline snapped her mouth shut, blushing as she realised there was no power on earth that would make her describe the little explosion and her noisy reaction to it out loud.

Wrexham cocked his head. “When you what?”

“You know very well what, you dreadful man. Honestly, just when I was feeling in charity with you for your care of me, you must open your mouth and spoil it. Mama was right, men are perfectly ridiculous over the most peculiar things.”

“It was not a ridiculous thing to think,” he persisted. “I know you married me for status and wealth, I had no expectation of anything more than that. To discover you being so… so…. It’s disconcerting, is all. And, as wonderful as it is, I don’t want to read too much into it.”

Emmeline made a sound of frustrated fury, which made his eyebrows go up.

“Did you just growl?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” she said, cross with him for spoiling the mood, furious with the world for having hurt him so deeply he did not trust anyone, angry with herself for not having realised how badly his confidence had been shaken, and on the verge of tears for him because he could not believe she had been in earnest.

Yet, she did not think he would believe her reassurances if she wept and hugged him and swore to him it was true. He might still believe her to be playacting if she denied she had married him for status and wealth and had done it instead for her own sake, because she was a besotted fool who could deny him nothing.

“How fierce you are, pet,” he said, smiling a little.

There was such affection in the expression she almost gave in and ran to him, hoping he would take her in his arms again and become her wicked pirate once more.

“Don’t speak to me,” she said instead.

He frowned. “You’re angry with me.”

“How perspicacious you are tonight, my lord,” she said tartly. “Or perhaps I am merely an excellent actress practising her skills. I open at Drury Lane the week after next, you know.”

“Emmeline,” he began, his voice conciliatory.

“Don’t you Emmeline me,” she said, her temper rising. “You insult me and yourself and then expect me to act as if you’ve said nothing of note. I have spent all day longing to be alone with you and now I wish you to Timbuktu, you great oaf.”

“Well, I didn’t think—”

“Ah, the first sensible thing you’ve said since Humboldt left the room. Indeed, you did not think. If you had, you might have thought about suggesting to your new wife that she was the kind of woman who could give herself over to you as fully as she did in your bed this morning and then accept claims that she was merely playacting with equanimity.”

“I did not mean it that way!” he protested, his colour rising. “You cannot blame me for being sceptical in the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” she demanded, folding her arms.

“Oh, come now,” he said, and she could hear the anger in his voice now. “Don’t play games. You know very well. It was hardly a romantic offer of marriage, now was it?”