Page 36 of Miss Devon’s Choice

Almost, she thought, he would answer her and speak of his mother, his past.

Then, his expression changed. The lines of his jaw hardened, his dark eyes cooled, and he began to row again in more controlled, precise movements.

“I think it would be best if we discussed something more relevant to our present. Our marriage.”

The change of topic unbalanced her, and the way he spoke each word distinctly, sharply, gave her warning. Rebecca drew herself up and gave one brief nod. “Very well. That will do for now.”

He made a scoffing sound and glanced briefly over his shoulder to check their direction. “You are quite a determined creature, aren’t you? For someone who expressed her lack of ability to act the part of a novel’s heroine, you have their decidedly dramatic characteristics.”

Rebecca breathed in sharply. “If you are attempting to dismiss my feelings by reducing them to dramatics—”

He cut her off with a cool chuckle. “Not at all. Merely making an observation. In future, after we are wed, I expect you will redirect your energies.”

“Redirect them how? You think, after we marry, I will give up trying to know you? Trying to understand and care for you?” Rebecca’s hands clutched the sides of the boat, but her scattered thoughts remained unsettled.

“I think you will come to understand how unimportant such attempts at building affection are as we build our lives around other matters. I have estates to manage, I will enter Parliament, and there are certain things expected of people of our station.” He met her eyes, lifting his eyebrows almost mockingly. “That is what we should speak of, Rebecca.” He spoke her name with smug superiority.

A chill slipped down her spine, despite the sun bathing the lake in its warmth.

“Those things matter,” she admitted, leaning forward, almost pleading. “But what goes on between us, our feelings, our eventual family, matters more. Doesn’t it?” Family. He must care about that. With the way he spoke of his parents, she knew he loved them. She ought to blush at her own implication of their future children, but then he looked away.

He spoke, almost disinterested. “Our situation in society, in the government, is of the utmost importance.”

It was nearly the same thing she’d heard from her father, all her life. Position. Wealth. Power. These are the things that matter.

“Not to me,” she whispered, as much to the words in her head as to Christian.

“What?” he asked, fully facing her again.

“Those things don’t matter to me. Not the way you matter,” she said, her voice raising with her indignation. “Those things are cold. They can be lost in an instant.”

“So can people,” he snapped, the coolness disappearing from his expression momentarily. “This marriage between us has nothing to do with your feelings or mine and everything to do with our mutual advantages.”

Rebecca gripped the boat harder, watching a muscle tick in his jaw as he clenched it. Where had the man from the music room gone? Where was the Christian who read to her in the garden?

“You will be titled, wealthy, and exert influence where you choose. I will leave you to your books, your friends, whatever it is you wish to occupy your time with and you will be a proper wife to one of my standing.”

“That is what you expect from me?” she asked softly. “All that you want? And what are the advantages for you, Christian? A pliable wife?”

He actually laughed. The sound, dry and without humor, made her flinch.

“I don’t hope for that much. My advantage, perhaps the only one, is that I have a wife who clearly understands this arrangement. I asked for this match. I asked for a wife who only cared for my title. It doesn’t matter that it’s you. It wouldn’t matter if it was another.”

He continued, glaring at her now, “You agreed to this marriage, under these circumstances. How could you think I would want something more?”

Something inside Rebecca cracked, her eyes burned, and she opened her mouth to shout, I never agreed to anything! But she couldn’t. He might think nothing of wounding her, but she had seen just enough of him that she began to understand. There were more scars on his heart than upon his body. She would not create more.

Could she even hope to repair the damage that had been done to him? What did she know about love, anyway? She read about it in books based on someone’s imagination. She caught glimpses of it when she visited Lucas and Virginia, or Thomas and Christine, but nowhere else.

For several long moments, the only sound to be heard was the slap of the water against the boat, the quiet buzz of insects and the far away birdsong. Rebecca closed her eyes, a headache beginning to throb at her temples.

“You have thoroughly put me in my place, my lord,” she said, squeezing her eyelids tighter, winning the battle against tears. She wouldn’t cry. Not now, in front of him. “And you have made your thoughts on the matter of our future very clear.” She opened her eyes and, for the barest moment, saw regret in his expression before it hardened again.

“Good,” he said. They were nearing the boathouse. It seemed he’d finished with her company as well.

She had to make her point. She could not let his word be the final one on the matter. “But you are mistaken,” she said loudly, squaring her shoulders, “if you think I will be content with an arrangement devoid of the kind of joy I know love to bring. I have not given up on you, Christian.”

When his gaze met hers, she saw the surprise there, saw him open his mouth, but she talked faster and louder.