The Mister I Married (Romancing the Rogue #3)

Chapter Twenty

Dinner that evening with their unexpected guests was a pleasant affair, and Alex was happy to discover the Marquess and Marchioness of Keswick were a friendly, good-natured couple. Emmy was obviously thrilled to see them, as he observed again later that evening in the rose salon, noting her smile as she sat on the sofa beside his father and watched Tess and Lady Keswick play a duet on the pianoforte.

Watching her interact with her family this evening, she seemed content, even happy, but her behavior toward him seemed off. Almost strained.

The change seemed to have come out of nowhere, considering how well their walk had gone, so he could only assume her family’s presence was to blame. This was her first interaction with them as a married woman, after all.

Perhaps she was uncomfortable with the newness of it all, and with melding the two personas of sister and wife.

It was the only explanation he could think of, though it did little to assuage the twinge of unease in his chest.

A throat was cleared at his shoulder, drawing him from his reverie, and he looked up as Emmy’s brother sat in the chair beside his.

“Thank you again for your hospitality,” Lord Keswick said, crossing one leg over the other. “I did not like showing up here unannounced and uninvited, but my wife can be rather persuasive when she wants to be.”

His tone was wry, but there was an underlying thread of fondness there, too, which Alex liked. The affection between Keswick and his wife was displayed subtly but there was no doubt it was there.

“Think nothing of it,” Alex replied. “Emmy is happy you’re here, and I’m glad we finally met.”

“So am I,” Keswick said. “Truth be told, I was rather unhappy I wasn’t able to meet you before you married my sister.”

Alex nodded. “Having a younger sister of my own, I can understand that.” His gaze settled on Tess as she launched into another duet, clearly enjoying herself.

“You did manage to make a favorable impression on my mother,” the marquess went on, “which went a long way toward easing my concerns. Still, I am relieved to see with my own eyes that Emmy is well. And that her husband cares for her.”

Lord Keswick glanced at him, and Alex met his gaze. “I do care for her. Very much.”

“You are in love with her.”

It was not a question, but Alex did not hesitate with his answer. “I am.”

Keswick nodded once. “Good.”

Alex shifted in his chair, unsure how he should feel about this conversation and his apparently obvious feelings for his wife. Especially when said wife was so bloody good at hiding her own feelings from him.

Keswick chuckled softly, as if reading Alex’s thoughts. “Be patient with her, Whitcomb,” he said, as the final notes of the duet came to a close. “Emmy is stubborn, but she is not unmovable.”

A deluge of questions flooded his brain and lodged in his throat, but his own pride—and the smattering of applause—prevented him from speaking them, and he never found another chance.

An hour passed by, and then the evening was over. Lady Keswick announced she was feeling fatigued and the rest of the party admitted defeat and headed off to bed.

“I like your family,” Alex said to Emmy as they walked the corridor toward their chambers, alone for the first time in hours. “I’m glad they came, even if it was a surprise.”

Emmy offered a small smile, her gaze on the floor. “Thank you for being so welcoming,” she replied quietly. “I appreciate your kindness.”

He shrugged. “They’re your family. Of course I would welcome them.”

She nodded but made no reply, and Alex couldn’t help but frown, flummoxed by her uncharacteristic reticence. “Are you well, Emmy?” he asked, just as they reached her door.

She faced him, finally meeting his gaze. “I am, thank you. It is only…a slight headache, that’s all.”

Concern furrowed his brow. “Shall I have your maid prepare a cold compress for you?”

She shook her head. “Thank you, no. All I need is a good night’s sleep.”

“Of course,” he replied with an understanding smile. “I hope you feel better in the morning.”

“Thank you, Alex. Good night.”

He leaned in, intending to kiss her cheek, but she turned away, as if dodging his touch, and slipped into her chamber, shutting the door without another word.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the door and trying to convince himself nothing was amiss, even as the unease in his belly grew.

Once inside his own room, he dropped like a stone onto the armchair by the hearth and leaned his elbows on his knees. He fished the small velvet box out of his coat pocket and thumbed it open to peer at the ring nestled inside. He’d intended to give it to Emmy tonight, but their unexpected guests had disrupted his plans. It would have to wait for now.

He went to sleep thinking of Emmy and when he awoke the following morning she was still on his mind, as if he’d spent the whole night thinking of her, even in his dreams.

Lovesick fool.

He rolled onto his back and rubbed his tired eyes as a yawn overtook him. The clock on the mantel said the time was nearly nine o’clock, and the muffled sound of feminine voices reached him through the wall. Emmy was awake.

And, of course, we have guests , he reminded himself. Slipping out of bed, he saw to his morning ablutions and then quickly dressed before stepping into the hallway.

The conversation taking place in Emmy’s chamber grew louder as he neared the door, which was open only a crack. He knocked softly before nudging the door open as the conversation inside fell silent.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze flicking from his wife, who was pulling gowns from her wardrobe, to Lady Keswick, who sat on the chair at the dressing table.

“Good morning, Mr. Whitcomb,” she said with a smile that struck him as mildly queasy.

Emmy offered her own polite greeting as she continued to riffle through her wardrobe, and Alex watched in uneasy silence as she piled gowns on top of the bed.

“Is something afoot?” he finally asked, attempting a carelessness he did not feel.

Lady Keswick cleared her throat and stood. “I…think I’ll take my breakfast now,” she said, excusing herself, and the kindly look she offered Alex as she made for the door did little to ease his anxiety.

He waited until she’d shut the door before speaking, his gaze following Emmy as she bustled about the room.

“Emmy? What is this?” he asked, his calm, quiet voice belying the knots in his gut.

“I have decided to go to London with Olivia and my brother,” she said matter-of-factly, her gaze on the chemise she was folding. “I will only be gone for a fortnight, and then I will return, and we may resume our attempts at creating your first child.”

Alex frowned, his thoughts swirling. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly, stepping further into the room. “What prompted this decision? Why do you want to go to London?”

She shrugged. “Because I miss it. It’s been weeks since we left, and I want to see it again.”

His mind churned, trying to understand her, attempting to pinpoint the impetus for this decision. “I would be happy to take you to London. We can—”

“No!”

The vehement refusal caught him like a clip to the jaw and his words broke apart.

“There is no need for you to take me,” she continued, her voice even once again. “My brother is already going, and he will be there to watch over me. Besides, you don’t like London.”

Alex slipped a hand into his trouser pocket, gripping the ring box with unsteady fingers, his heart beating a sluggish rhythm. “But I do like you.”

She said nothing for a moment then a tiny sigh escaped her lips. “You don’t understand.”

“I’m trying to, Emmy. Help me.”

Her chin came up and her gaze met his, resigned but determined. “I need to get away from here,” she said. “Away from you.”

The whispered admission shot through him like an electric shock, and he flinched, his hand fisting around the ring box. He had no words.

“I feel like I am losing myself, Alex. Like I am becoming the very thing I wished to avoid.”

Those gorgeous gray eyes were beseeching now, asking him to understand, but how could he, when she made him feel like he was finding himself?

“I thought you were happy here,” he said gruffly . I thought you were happy with me.

“I was. I am .” She sighed. “At least, I am not unhappy. But I am also not myself. And I cannot have that. I will not.”

Alex shook his head before walking to the window and gazing out at the grounds, seeing none of it. “I don’t understand this. Just yesterday, on our walk, you seemed so happy and then your family arrived and you…” He faced her again. “Did something happen? Was something said that brought on this change?”

Her gaze dipped to the bed. “No. Nothing was said.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Emmy.”

Her jaw clenched. “Does it really matter what was said? All that matters is that I must leave.”

Must . She must leave. Why? What was said that had scared her so?

He crossed the room to stand before her, his hands itching to take her by the shoulders, but he resisted the impulse, uncertain whether he would shake her or embrace her. “It matters to me,” he said evenly, though his body urged him to shout the words instead.

She drew her lower lip between her teeth as if stalling for time, clearly reluctant to answer him. “Olivia saw us yesterday, as we were returning from our walk. She said we…” She paused to clear her throat. “She said we looked like a couple in love.”

A beat of silence followed, thick, unwieldy, as Alex’s heart began to race. “Did she?” he asked, working to keep his voice calm.

“I explained to her, of course, that we cannot possibly be in love because this was not a love match.” Emmy’s speech had quickened, her hands fussing needlessly with the clothing laid out on her bed. “We know why we agreed to marry, and love had nothing to do with it.”

Alex watched her for a moment, a smile turning his lips, though there was no mirth in it. Only self-mockery. “It is true that I did not marry you because I loved you,” he said, drawing her gaze to his. “But I am in love with you now.”

She seemed to freeze, staring at him, her gray eyes wide with surprise. Perhaps even panic.

“I love you, Emmy,” he said, though why he felt the need to repeat it, he did not know. He wasn’t usually a glutton for punishment.

“You can’t love me,” she said, fidgeting with the folded chemise again. “I don’t want you to love me. And I certainly don’t want to love you.”

Alex drew in a shallow breath, his chest tight, his stomach in knots. He tried to think of something that would change her mind, and make her feel as he did, but nothing came to him.

Perhaps it was just as well. Perhaps there was nothing he could say.

Drawing in a shallow breath, he nodded once, and said, “I understand.”

And with his heart in his throat, he quit the room.