Page 13 of The Baron Takes a Wife

He let out a breath. “That is a good question. I should like, that is, perhaps indefinitely.” She gripped her hands together in her lap. She could not let fear take over. She knew this day might come. She had always known it.

“I made a promise to you. To Mrs. Raeburn. I will never do anything you do not want.”

“Yes, I remember.”

He suddenly moved to sit by her. Her heart was pounding so loud in her ears it could have been a drum. She jutted out her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

“Elena, a long time ago, you said, ‘Maybe someday. Maybe someday we could have a real marriage.’ I need to know, what did that mean?”

She swallowed, unsure of how to go forward, what to say.

He went on. “Elena, my circumstances have changed. There is a chance I could be a real husband to you. And if it’s possible, I’d like to take that chance. But I’d like to know what you want.”

She longed to look away, but his green gaze held her frozen in place. She felt roiled by a tangle of emotions, an awareness of him she had not felt before, but this awareness was mixed with a bitter memory written across her body, memories of the journey to Üsküdar. She did not know if she could bear being with a man again. And yet…and yet, she knew she wanted to feel pleasure again someday. She had to admit that deep down in her soul, her first experience with Anatole had felt good, even if it was a sin, even with everything that came afterward. And that, to her shame, she had never said no to the men on the road to Üsküdar. But she hadn’t said yes.

“I do not know. I will need some time.”

“Of course.” He paused for a minute, his expression patient, and yet Elena still felt her pulse jump. “Elena, I think we should spend time together. I want you to know me outside of war. I have to say again, just so you absolutely understand, I will never do anything you do not want. I will not enter your chambers unless you grant me permission. And you still have the power. If you wish for an annulment, ” he said the word quietly, “then I will respect your wishes.”

“I do not yet know what to decide. I need some time to think and become acquainted with you again. Because right now, you feel like a stranger.” Her words came out suddenly before she could think them through. She looked up at him, afraid he was angry, but his gaze became inexplicably warm.

“Well.” He gave a long, slow smile. “That I think I can fix.”

****

As she sat at her vanity the following evening, Elena considered how her husband had never seen her in such a dress. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she noted she would have filled the gown out much better when she was younger. Before the war, she had been rather plump, but hunger had changed her, and though she had gained some weight back, she was much thinner than she used to be. She missed her fuller figure and the looser clothing of home, but her body seemed to have been permanently changed by the war in so many ways. She stared at herself in the mirror for a second, at her bare shoulders, the low dip of the neckline. The dresses she wore outside Balaclava had been borrowed from Mrs. Raeburn, as she had to sell her beautiful embroidery for food when she arrived in Üsküdar. Strangely, this grand gown felt borrowed as well.

Borrowed clothes do not keep you warm. She remembered her grandmother’s saying, though she never quite understood what she meant until now. Elena took a moment and studied her hair, which had been pinned so the curls spilled down her back. Fortunately, her hair took to curls rather well, and she liked how it highlighted the gold in her brown hair. Almost elegant, she thought. Imagine that, a girl from a village in Dobruja, now an elegant lady of the English ton.

If only she did not have that ugly scar. But she knew she deserved it. Like a mark of Cain, it kept her vanity in check and reminded her of her foolishness. Still, she wished her hair could be styled to cover her temple fully, but that was not the current fashion. She rose and put on her gloves.

“You have outdone yourself, Simmons.” She beamed at the other woman as she regarded her hair.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, my lady, you almost look like an English lady.”

Elena did not know how to respond to that, so she continued to smile.

Descending the grand stairs, she caught sight of her husband and registered that her earlier assessment was not entirely accurate. He was not just pleasant to look at. He was very handsome in his formal attire, with the gray of his waistcoat somehow setting off the green of his eyes. She had never seen him clean-shaven with his hair brushed back, as he had looked weary from travel when he arrived. Elena may have had the same effect on him, as she heard his breath catch when she reached him. She was simultaneously flattered and alarmed by this realization, so she covered her tumult with a deep curtsy. Elena was thankful she had learned so much while Irene was preparing for her season. She hoped she would not embarrass either of them.

“My lord.”

Her husband apparently recovered because he caught her eye, bowed, and broke into a brilliant smile. She would never have married him if she had known he had such a smile. She hoped he did not notice the hairs on her arm stand on end. What did the English call that? Gooseflesh? What a strange phrase…

“My lady.”

He took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckle. She forced herself to keep her hand steady.

“Ready to face the ton?” he asked conspiratorially.

“I’m ready not to embarrass you or Irene.” She retrieved her hand, grateful he did not notice the slight tremor that ran through her at that kiss.

“I know you won’t, my lady. You couldn’t, you know. I couldn’t care less about the ton other than to benefit Irene. And that they keep purchasing our sherry and wines.” He smirked. “Yours is one of the few opinions I value.”

She was temporarily stunned. She looked into his eyes, going back and forth between them as if trying to catch them in a lie. She had not known she was important to him. They had developed a great friendship in Balaclava, but she thought it was mostly pity for her circumstance and hopelessness in his own that had moved him to marry her. Perhaps that was not all there was. But his words sounded like they could have come from Anatole, who had seduced her with his handsomeness, his flippant wit, and how he had ingratiated himself with everyone in the village. But as she looked into her husband’s eyes, she saw no easy lie but something she could not name. Was it yearning? She had agreed to marry him because she believed him incapable of desire, of desiring her. But did he feel desire for her now? She had assumed he wanted to procreate to have an heir, but his eyes told a different story. Thank goodness she could be a good actress. She retreated into the persona she would be that evening, the good English wife.

“You are too generous, my lord.”

He looked confused by her response and shift in demeanor, but fortunately, Irene interrupted their conversation by coming down the stairs. They both turned to look at her at the top of the staircase. Irene wore white silk trimmed with pink rosettes that should have washed out her pale skin but instead gave her an unearthly glow.