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She didn’t know what to do with her hands.
Why didn’t she know what to do with her hands?
After tucking them behind her back and then resting them uneasily on her hips, she settled for linking her fingers together in front of her. “I wanted to speak with you.”
Duncan sighed. A loud, harsh sound that said more than any words ever could. “Can’t it wait until morning? It’s late and I’m tired.”
But not, she thought silently,too tired to go into your study and work on a business matter.
On the slim chance her husband hadn’t a female mistress, then he certainly had one made of ink and parchment. She’d never seen a man more devoted to his work. As a loosely written rule, members of the peerage–particularly male members, as it could be argued that running a household, bearing children, and planning social eventswaswork–spent their time engaging in leisurely pursuits and left matters of money to their solicitors. But not the Earl of Chesterfield. No, the Earl of Chesterfield was a glutton for labor. If not with his hands, then his mind.
And it wasn’t a bad thing in and of itself, to be devoted to the security of one’s financial future. Had her father paid more mind to their coffers, perhaps she wouldn’t have felt pressured to marry for expediency instead of some deeper emotional connection. But surely it courted the edge of unreasonable when such devotion came at the expense of time and attention paid to one’s own wife.
Alexandria wasn’t asking for the moon.
She never had.
But was a bit of stardust too much to ask?
“I would like to speak with you tonight.” The edges of her mouth firmed. “Before you are overcome with the sudden urge to travel to London again. Why do you go there so often? Are you visiting someone? A mistress?” One after another, the words–half angry, half pleading–tumbled from her tongue before she could catch them.
It wasn’t what she hadwantedto say. She had sworn to herself that she’d never ask about Duncan’s affairs. That she didn’t care enough about himtoask. Which was a lie, of course. But sometimes a lie that spread comfort instead of cruelty was kinder than the truth.
He stared at her, dark brows pulled low over stormy blue eyes. “Is that why you think I go to London? To spend time with a mistress?”
Her shoulder gave a hard, restless jerk. “I haven’t the faintest idea why you do what you do.”
“That is apparent,” he sneered. “Why the devil would I seek out the attention of another woman when I have you, my sweet,adoringwife?”
The sarcasm in his tone sliced like a knife…and Alexandria was left bleeding.
“Duncan–”
“For your information,” he interrupted, “I went to London to purchase a Christmas gift. Foryou. But given this unprecedented attack on my character, it’s obvious my efforts were wasted.”
A gift?
He’d gone to the city to buy her a gift?
Even as her heart fluttered, common sense intervened.
Ifhe’d truly gone to London for the purpose of purchasing her a Christmas gift, it was an uncharacteristically thoughtful act. But one present did not a marriage make.
“The only gift I want from you is the gift of freedom from this wretched union,” she said bitterly. “I’m not happy, Duncan. I haven’t been happy for…I cannot remember when. And I don’t want to live like this. Not for another month, another day, anothersecond.”
“Is this about your allowance?” Although his tone was dismissive, she could have sworn she saw a flash–a blink and you would miss it flicker–of panic in his gaze. “I’ve already told you that money is no concern. Spend whatever you like. Bloody hell, take a shopping trip with your mother to London and spend whatevershewould like.”
“New dresses aren’t going to make me happy.”
“Then what is?” he demanded, throwing up his arms. A wall sconce sputtered out, casting half of his countenance in shadow. “Jewelry? A mink stole? Whatever you want, tell Johnson and he’ll have it delivered within a day.”
“What I want is not something that your valet can deliver.” Why couldn’t he see what she did? It was as clear as the pattern on the rug under his feet. That they never should have married. That they weren’t suited for each other. That their fleeting passion at the ball hadn’t been a sign of what could be, but a warning of what to avoid.
The past could not be changed. It was fixed in time, and no amount of hoping or praying could alter that. But the future…the future was yet to be written, and Alexandria did not want to find herself in this same place having this same discussion twenty years from now.
She lifted her chin a notch. Forced herself to look straight into her husband’s eyes. Like the sea, they were dark and restless. A deep midnight blue with nary a star to be found. And without stars, what did you have to wish on?
“I want a separation.”
