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Seeing his wife standing there, with her golden hair windblown and tangled, only made him want to kiss her again. It didn’t matter that she wore a simple blue dress with an apron. She still carried herself like the duchess she was.

‘I deserve your anger,’ he admitted. ‘And I’m sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter any more.’ She started to push her way past him, but he caught her hand in his.

‘I thought about you every night while I was gone,’ he said. He put his arms around her waist, pulling her close. Then he leaned in to kiss her throat, grazing his mouth against that delicate softness. ‘Will you let me show you how much I’ve missed you?’

His voice was the Devil’s own, tempting her into sin. Beneath her gown, Charlotte’s breasts tightened, just imagining his hands upon her. A sweet ache began between her legs, and she hated her weakness.

He’d just come back from London, likely after a month spent in the arms of Lenora. The countess had made no secret of her feelings for him, and a dark jealousy flared.

Charlotte didn’t know whether Alaric still loved Lenora, but the thought of it infuriated her. How dare he return home and try to seduce her when he’d come straight from another woman’s arms?

Not bloody likely.

But all she had left was her pride—and she refused to let him know how angry he’d made her.

She gently pushed him back and gave the false excuse, ‘No, thank you. But I wouldn’t mind having the cake and tea.’

It was a lie, but it would put physical distance between them. She sat at her escritoire where he’d clearly eaten his own luncheon. The cake did look delicious, but her attention was immediately drawn to the poor crocus he’d murdered.

Did he not know that the flower would be dead in the morning? He probably thought he’d done something nice for her, but it took an effort not to scold him for removing the flower from her beds.

Ignore it, she warned herself. Eat the cake and find a reason to leave.

But he stood beside the window, watching her. He was as handsome as always, with the dark hair that framed a strong jaw and those grey eyes that reminded her of storm clouds. His face showed a slight bristle, as if he’d not bothered to shave. His mouth was an even greater distraction, for she remembered exactly what it felt like to have him kissing a path over her bare skin.

And he was most definitely trying to seduce her now.

Charlotte discreetly pinched her arm, reminding herself of all the reasons why it was unwise to think of her husband in that way. He had left, as he’d done before. And it probably wouldn’t be the last time.

She took an enormous bite of cake so it would be impossible to speak. Heavens above, it was the most delicious cake she’d ever had. The blend of sweetness from the vanilla and tart lemons only heightened her hunger. Before she realised it, she had devoured the entire slice. And yet, it hardly assuaged her hunger at all.

She supposed it was the brisk winter weather and snow that had made her so hungry during the past fortnight. Her husband made no remark about how quickly she’d eaten but poured her a cup of tea with a splash of milk and a little sugar.

He’d remembered how she took her tea. It was another blow against the walls she’d put up around her heart.

‘I wanted to talk to you about that note you found in my study.’ His voice was grim, and she truly didn’t want to hear what he had to say next. Seeing the intimate note from Lenora in his desk, like a treasured possession, had dashed her last bit of hope. She didn’t want to hear anything at all about the woman.

‘I’d rather not discuss it,’ she said, feeling rather proud of herself that she sounded entirely calm and collected. In truth, she wanted to shred something.

After a pause, he said, ‘I should have burned the note the day I received it.’

‘And when was that?’ She wanted to curse herself for asking, since she didn’t really want to know the answer.

‘Shortly after our wedding day,’ he admitted. ‘Things were…more complicated then.’

She sipped her tea as a distraction, not wanting to ask what he meant. It didn’t help that the drink was exactly right, warming her from the inside with just a trace of sweetness.

‘If you still love her—’

‘I don’t.’ He cut her off. ‘And I never did. She was the sort of woman I thought I wanted, but she wasn’t right for me.’ To her surprise, he reached for her left hand. Then he slid a delicate ring on her finger where her wedding band was supposed to be.

She’d stopped wearing it, for it was so clunky and impractical. But this gold ring was a delicate twist with a cluster of gemstones of different colours—yellow topaz, emerald, and pink tourmaline. Her heart faltered when she realised it resembled a blossom with emerald leaves. And it fit her finger exactly.

‘I thought this ring might suit you better as a wedding band instead of that signet ring you never wear.’

Her throat tightened as he brought her fingers to his mouth. His breath was warm, and she wanted so desperately to reach out to his hair and smooth it back. Perhaps bring his mouth up to hers. Hope blazed inside her, and she longed to imagine that things might change.