Page 44 of Truly, Madly, Daring

“Lord, Milly, love. I have missed you,” he said, holding her tighter. “I’ve been cursing myself for a fool all day.”

“Then you were in good company. Could we forgive each other and start over?”

“On one condition,” he said, his voice low.

“Oh?” Emmeline looked up at him, wondering if he would chastise her some more, or make her promise never to scold him so again.

“Kiss me.”

Emmeline sighed happily and had no trouble whatsoever in acceding to his demand.

If Mrs Enderby had harboured any misgivings about the Marquess of Wrexham’s character, it must have reassured her he was little changed after walking in upon him enthusiastically embracing his new wife. Emmeline had been mortified whilst Wrexham, apparently restored to good humour, thought it dreadfully amusing. The lady hurriedly set down the bottle of port and two glasses and rushed out again.

“Well, you’ve done it now, Milly, love. The innkeeper and his wife are at the heart of most village gossip. Word will go around in no time now, and everyone will believe it was a love match. I can’t say I’m sorry, either. I’ve no doubt the speculation among the ton will be less than complimentary to either of us otherwise.”

Emmeline huffed, unable to reply as the flustered innkeeper’s wife returned with a maid in tow, carrying their dinner. Avoiding the woman’s eye, Emmeline concentrated on arranging herself on the bench beside her husband and waited for the serving staff to leave.

“Is there gossip?” she asked once they were alone again.

“Not yet, according to Humboldt. Obviously, your family will have kept it quiet, as would my father, in the hope he could have the thing annulled with no fuss. That will change once he discovers it’s too late.”

“What do you mean?”

His expression became grave, and he reached out a hand. Emmeline took it, assuming that was what he wished, and he covered it with his other hand, holding it in his lap.

“Milly, love. The duke is a contemptible excuse for a human being. I’m afraid he will not hold back. I have no doubt he’ll spread gossip that I’m a simpleton, out of my wits, and you’ve taken advantage of me. I would not put it past him to paint you as an adventuress who married me for my wealth and title.”

“Yes, and everyone will believe it, I don’t doubt,” Emmeline said, suddenly nauseated by the thought of everyone gossiping about her and what she’d done.

It wasn’t a surprise, of course, she had known she would create a great scandal, but she had not really considered that everyone would believe her to be a fortune hunter, or at least a title hunter. Everyone knew her father was one of the richest men in the country and her dowry was considerable. But they’d believe she wanted to be a marchioness, without question.

Wrexham squeezed her hand. “No one who knows you will believe it for a moment,” he said, his voice soothing.

Emmeline smiled ruefully, knowing he was doing his best to calm her. “You thought it,” she pointed out, though with no malice, for she knew why he’d believed it, and that said more about his own insecurities than it did about her.

“I did,” he admitted. “Though it never rang true. From the start I knew you were special, pet. It didn’t take long to discover I was luckier than any man had a right to be.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. Emmeline sighed, leaning into him.

“I’m glad, and I’m so glad I married you.”

He turned towards her, his thumb stroking over her palm in the most distracting manner. “Do you mean it?”

Emmeline bit back the desire to chastise him for asking, aware that his confidence was a fragile thing. Yet he did not like being babied, and he seemed to enjoy her rather sharp tongue.

“Wrexham, I am not in the habit of telling lies. If I say something, I mean it. You are quite conceited enough without me getting into the habit of flattering you for no good reason. You’ll become quite unbearable if I do.”

He grinned at her, such a pleased, boyish expression that her heart lurched, and she felt the ridiculous urge to sob.

“Well, that told me,” he said, sounding amused. “And just so you know, I’m awfully glad I married you, too.”

Unable to answer, for her throat was too tight, Emmeline got over the difficulty by kissing him until she felt hot and flustered instead of sentimental and weepy.

“Now, then. Will you allow me to cut the meat for you, or are you going to get all huffy about it?” she asked, returning to her no-nonsense voice before things got out of hand.

Wrexham’s revelation about marital relations being possible in carriages and gardens and baths had put all sorts of wicked notions into her head, and her husband did ridiculous things to her equilibrium.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he remarked, his voice mild before adding, somewhat diffidently: “You don’t mind?”