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‘Oh, thank you, thank you,’ she breathed into his chest. ‘You cannot know what this means to me. I had quite accepted the fact that I would probably never have anything to do with any of them again, but now…’
She stopped as he gripped both her arms and set her back, quite forcibly.
‘Don’t,’ he barked.
‘I b-beg pardon,’ she began, looking up into his face, expecting to see an expression of censure blazing from his eyes.
Instead, she caught a look of what appeared to be anguish. Or guilt.
No, she must be mistaken. He must be angry with her for making a scene in a public street, when everyone was already looking at them as though they were some sort of sideshow, that was what it was.
The expression only lasted for a fraction of a second, anyway. For now his face was a mask that could have been carved from ice.
‘Calm yourself,’ he said sternly. ‘My wife should not make an exhibition of herself in a public street.’
‘Not even if she has just discovered something wonderful?’
‘Especially not then,’ he bit out. ‘Because far from doing anything the slightest bit wonderful, I have—’ He shut his mouth with a snap. ‘Just remember your station in life. You are not some vicar’s daughter, for whom nobody cares, any longer. You are my wife. And as such, should make more of an effort to maintain a dignified appearance.’
She recoiled.
‘Dignified,’ she repeated. ‘Yes, I see. You want me to try to behave in a more dignified manner.’
‘Precisely.’ He gave her a cold look. ‘Now, do you think we might continue on our way? I should like to look in at the reading rooms and take a cup of coffee. Since you were so fired up to come out and explore, you did not give me any chance of taking any refreshment in our own lodgings.’
‘I do beg your pardon,’ she said stiffly, all her pleasure leeching away as though he’d just tipped a bucket of icy water all over her. ‘By all means, let us go and take a cup of coffee, my lord,’ she said. And then stuck her nose in the air and stalked off in the direction they’d been headed before.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It wasn’t long before they reached a market square. The Three Tuns took up one entire side of it. A rather inexpert layer of stucco had been pasted over extensions to the original building and if she hadn’t been so annoyed by the way he’d just spoken to her, she would have agreed that it did look rather pretentious.
But nothing, now, would force her to agree with his opinion, about anything. There was no need for him to speak to her in that odiously condescending manner. She needed to be dignified, indeed! Why, for two pins she’d…
Hang on a minute, though. Earlier on, when she’d told him she wasn’t ready to go into society because she didn’t know enough about the proper etiquette, he’d told her that he wanted her to be herself. That she had no need to worry about what anyone else thought. So why was he now saying exactly the opposite?
She ran over the content of both conversations as they crossed the market square. During the one about Almack’s he’d been trying to comfort her when she’d confessed to feelings of inadequacy. But just now, he’d acted as though she was letting him down by hugging him in the street. Which was inconsistent, to say the least.
It made her feel as if she’d tried his patience to the limit. That so far, he’d been remarkably forbearing, considering, but that hugging him in the street had been the last straw.
Although, he hadn’t minded when Betsy Woodly had hung off his arm, had he? What was it—different rules for wives than mistresses?
She got a sudden, vivid image of him holding a naked Betsy in an affectionate embrace. It brought such a sharp pang to her chest that she almost gasped out loud.
‘Is something amiss? Have you turned your ankle?’
She realised she’d stumbled slightly under the weight of her jealous image of how he’d been with Betsy, or how she imagined he’d been, all those years ago.
‘No, I…’ He was looking at her with concern. Genuine concern.
Which confused her. How could he have been so patient and kind when she’d punched him, then act so cold and cutting when she hugged him?
