Page 51 of The Mister I Married

With a forced smile, Alex bid his father farewell then whistled for the dogs and quit the room.

He inhaled deeply as he stepped out into the crisp Berkshire air, his boots sinking into the plush cushion of lawn in a familiar and soothing way. Gracie and Prescott ran ahead, and he let them set the course, happy to follow while his thoughts rolled about in his head.

His father was afraid for him, he knew. Afraid that Emmy would do what Alex’s mother had done—slip away into the night and leave a broken-hearted family behind her.

He understood why his father was worried. Emmy did not love him, just as his mother had not loved his father, and this meant—to his father, at least—that Emmy could leave them, just as his mother had done.

Considering all the man had been through, it was not an unreasonable worry.

Alex, however, did not share his father’s concerns. He knew, deep in his gut, that Emmy would never do what his mother had done.

First of all, his wife was not a romantic woman, so the likelihood of her falling into a passionate affair with one of their servants then absconding with him in the night was rather low.

Secondly, he had seen ample evidence of her giving nature, her loyalty, and her sense of responsibility to family. She would not abandon him, for she was simply too decent, too good, to cause him that pain. Even if she never grew to love him.

Slipping his hands in his pockets, he gazed out at the grassy field ahead and watched while Gracie and Prescott explored before turning his gaze on the vista stretching wide, though he was too pensive to appreciate its beauty.

He sighed. He knew in his heart that his father’s worry was unfounded, but that did not mean he was without his own concerns about his marriage.

Emmy might never grow to love him—indeed, it seemed unlikely that she would—but he was fairly certain he was already halfway to loving her.

In all honesty, it had probably been inevitable from the start. She was an extraordinary person, after all, and he adored her. Had from almost the very beginning.

But it wasn’t loving her that worried him.

He was not afraid of love, not even the one-sided kind. He would be glad to give his heart to her, to support her, and raise children with her. He did not need her to love him in return.

It would please him if she did, of course, but it wasn’t a necessity. He would not love her more if she loved him, and neither would he love her any less if she did not. That was not the way love worked. Not for him, anyway.

No, he wasn’t worried about loving her. He was worried he wouldn’t be able to hide it.

Drawing in a deep breath, he blew it out slowly, as if emptying his lungs would expel the tension from his body. He bent down, collecting a stick from the ground, and then he threw it as far as he could and watched as Prescott and Gracie raced across the field after it.

Truth be told, it did not come naturally to him to hide his feelings. He could be taciturn and reserved with people he did not know, but with his family, the people he cared about, he gave his affection freely.

He believed that love should be shown—but only to those who welcomed it.

And he was fairly certain Emmy would not welcome his love.

She hadn’t even wanted a husband. Yes, she had proposed to him, but if she’d had her choice, she would still be in London, unwed and unencumbered. Their marriage was transactional, a legally binding business arrangement based on trust and understanding. It was not based on love, and he had no reason—no right—to expect that would change.

He could not make demands of Emmy that he had no right to make, so if he did come to love her—when he came to love her—he would do all he could to keep it to himself. Emmy need never know.