Page 93 of A Momentary Marriage

“I am rather fond of her myself, as it happens,” James said drily.

“It’s obvious you are. But I know how you feel, what you think about love. And I know the . . . the sort of relationships to which you are accustomed.”

“You think I’m going to treat her like a mistress? That I’ll toss her aside one day with a note and a bauble?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not at all. Laura is my wife—and, I must point out, not yours.”

“James!” Graeme’s face flooded with red.

“I don’t need you telling me Laura’s too good for me. I already know that. I realize she will never have what she wants, what she deserves, in a husband.” James swung away. “And sooner or later she will realize it, too. But I can hardly stop her from doing that.”

He downed the rest of his drink and slapped the glass onto his desk. When he turned back, his temper more firmly in control, he found Graeme staring at him, stunned.

“You love her, don’t you?” Graeme said in awe.

“Don’t be absurd,” James scoffed.

“I’m not. You have fallen utterly, madly in love with Laura.” His cousin began to grin.

“Come, Graeme, you know me better than that.”

“I do know you. And I have never seen you act like this over any woman.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not acting any way.”

“No, not at all.” Graeme’s eyes danced. “You aren’t jealous or anxious or angry at me.”

“I am angry at you. You’re pushing your nose into my business. It has nothing to do with how I feel about Laura.”

“And how do you feel about Laura?”

“The same as I always have,” James retorted, beleaguered. “She’s an admirable, intelligent, lovely woman who was foolish enough to fall in love with you and even more foolish to marry me.”

“That’s what you think. What do you feel?”

“I feel damn sorry I ever walked into this room with you, that’s what. I’m leaving.” James turned and strode to the door. “I am going to dance with my wife and do my best to forget this entire conversation.”

A smile played at the corner of Graeme’s mouth. “I wish you luck with that.”

James made his way down the corridor toward the ballroom. He realized he was scowling when one of the footmen walking toward him took one look at him and hurriedly ducked into an open doorway.

Making a conscious effort to clear his forehead and unclench his jaw, James continued to the ballroom. There were still a few people dancing, though some had left and many were sitting about in small clumps, chatting. He glanced around, but Laura was nowhere to be seen.

He looked across the room to the double doors leading outside and saw Laura standing on the flagstone terrace. She leaned against the stone balustrade, hands braced on the wide stone rail, gazing out across the garden. James stepped through the doorway, saying her name, and she straightened and turned toward him, smiling.

There was a harsh scrape of stone against stone on the balcony that formed the roof of the terrace. Instinctively James glanced up and saw a large, dark shape hurtling down from the balcony above. He shouted Laura’s name, his insides going cold as ice as he desperately lunged for her, knowing he could not possibly reach her in time. Laura flung herself forward, falling to the ground, as a large stone flowerpot crashed onto the railing where she had been standing.

chapter 37

It was the flash of fear on James’s face that sent Laura rushing toward him. The enormous crash came a fraction of a second later, and something thudded into her back, knocking her down. Then James was there, saying her name and going down on his knees beside her.

“Laura, Laura, are you all right?” His hands swept over her, searching for damage. “Are you hurt? Did it hit you?”

Laura blinked, momentarily numb with shock. “What? What happened?”

“A bloody urn fell from the balcony, that’s what happened.” James’s voice was shaky, his hands cold. “No, don’t get up. You may have broken something.”