Page 78 of The Mister I Married

Chapter Twenty-One

“I wish you weren’t leaving!” Tess exclaimed an hour later as she and Emmy embraced in the courtyard. “I shall miss you so much!”

“And I shall miss you,” Emmy said, pulling back so she could meet Tess’s gaze. “I will only be gone a fortnight, though, and when I return we may begin preparations for our next dinner party.”

“Good,” Tess said with a smile. “I shall look forward to that.”

Emmy turned to face Alex, who was saying goodbye to Griff and Olivia while the servants finished loading their luggage into the waiting carriage.

His gaze met hers, and while his eyes weren’t precisely cold, they had certainly lost some of their warmth. Not that she could blame him.

“Well…” She offered him a tentative smile along with her hand. “Goodbye, Alex.”

He hesitated a single heartbeat before wrapping his hand around hers, his grip solid and comforting, just like him. “Goodbye, Emmy.”

She slipped her hand free and turned toward the carriage, her heart galloping, emotion clogged in her throat.

Collect yourself. This is what you want.

“Emmy?” Olivia’s quiet voice greeted her as she stepped into the carriage and sat down across from her brother. “Are you certain about this?”

Settling back against the squabs, she smiled. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Perhaps because your husband clearly doesn’t want you to go,” Griffin said, arching his brows in that annoying, older brother way of his.

“And because I’m not entirely certain you want to go, either,” Olivia said, her worry evident in her bright blue eyes.

“Nonsense,” Emmy replied briskly. “I wouldn’t be sitting here in this carriage if I didn’t want to go.”

Neither Olivia nor Griffin said a word to that, but their expressions conveyed their skepticism perfectly.

“I assure you, this is exactly what I want,” Emmy said as the carriage began its slow and bumpy exit from the courtyard. “I miss London. And it is only for a fortnight, after all. I’m hardly leaving Bristlewood forever.”

“I know, but—”

“Livvy, please,” Emmy interrupted. “We had this discussion already this morning. This is what I want.”

Olivia nodded, though her frown did not disappear. “Very well.”

The carriage rolled from the courtyard and out onto the lane, and Emmy refused to look back, keeping her focus firmly on the view out the window while she worked to make the guilt go away.

This was good. She needed this trip. Life had grown far too cozy at Bristlewood, but some time away would surely put things to rights. She would be able to breathe again in London, wearing her old life, in her old home, far away from Berkshire and Bristlewood and her husband.

Who apparently loved her.

Agitation prickled, dampening her palms.

Alex loved her.

It was precisely what she had hoped to avoid, and yet, his confession had filled her with warmth, with pleasure. How was it possible that the same words that pleased her could also scare the wits out of her?

Poets wrote of love as if it were a gift, a sublime honor, and perhaps it was, for some people. For others, though, it was a burden. A prison. One which led to total ruin.

She could not imagine Alex doing anything to harm her, but she was still his wife. His property. Whether or not he thought of her that way was moot. In the eyes of the law, he owned her body, and if she gave him her heart, he would own all of her.

This escape, brief though it would be, was necessary. She needed this time for herself, for her own peace of mind, to recapture at least some of her control, some of her old self.

Then perhaps, with a little time and distance, she could forget that he’d said he loved her, and in her absence, he could forget it, too.