Chapter Nine #2
His brows rose in surprise. A month ago, he would never have conceived of feeling this way in his wife’s company.
He could never have imagined defending her either.
On the contrary, he might have taken some secret, shameful pleasure in hearing her belittled and insulted by the Wadlows, and yet today he’d only felt anger.
Defiance too, because the person they’d described, the person he might himself have described until recently, wasn’t the person he was married to.
‘Ungrateful, traitorous and conniving’? No.
She might have trapped him into marriage, but he’d spent enough time with her now to know she was none of those things.
He glanced sideways. Arguing with the Wadlows seemed to have unravelled something inside him, some knot of tension, making him feel looser and lighter.
He couldn’t even bring himself to dislike Florence any more.
Not once had she behaved like the fortune hunter he’d presumed her to be.
In the face of her accident and amnesia, she’d been brave and determined and impressively stubborn, so convinced of her innocence that he actually believed what she’d said, that her behaviour must have been a moment of madness, one for which she’d apologised and offered to make amends for by leaving him.
What more could he reasonably ask? And maybe, without her memory, she wasn’t the same person who’d trapped him.
Maybe she was the person she’d been before her moment of madness.
In which case, maybe it was time to set his pride and prejudices aside, stop punishing her, and try to see her as a wife rather than a usurper…
‘Select a bride whose fortune will enhance the estate, whose temper will benefit your domestic harmony, and whose bloodline is worthy of our illustrious family…’
The words flashed into his mind, but he was tired of feeling bitter and resentful.
What was it Cassie had said last night? That he’d sounded just like their father.
The idea had sent a glacial chill down his spine.
He’d respected his father, he’d admired his accomplishments, but despite the myriads of lectures he’d sat through, he’d never wanted to be like him.
He’d promised himself, and Cassie, that he wouldn’t.
He wanted this…this feeling of…whatever it was instead.
And they were entering Berkeley Square, he realised, on one side of which stood Gunter’s Tea Shop.
He could see a large array of carriages and barouches up ahead, as the ton gathered to eat ices in the open air.
And Florence hadn’t eaten breakfast. Or dinner.
She had to be ravenous by now. Their appearance would attract stares and gossip, of course, but he was heartily sick of caring what the ton thought too.
‘You’re right.’ He stopped walking in the shade of a lime tree.
‘I am?’ She sounded taken aback. ‘What about?’
‘What you said about accepting the truth.’ He shifted to stand in front of her. ‘And the truth is, we’re married. There’s no way out of it, so all we can do is make the best of the situation. The past is the past.’
‘You mean forgive and forget?’ She arched an eyebrow, quoting his words from the previous night.
‘I suppose so, yes. I don’t know if I can, but I want to try. At the very least I don’t want us to be enemies.’
‘Neither do I,’ she answered solemnly.
‘Otherwise it somewhat defeats the purpose I had for marrying in the first place.’ He gave her a strained look. ‘I’m the Marquess of Rainton. I need an heir.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You mean…?’
‘Yes. One day. Not yet. Or soon even. But once we know each other better.’ He coughed, dropping his gaze to her throat as a tide of red flushed over her skin.
‘So maybe we don’t have to leave London straight away?
We’ve travelled all this distance and the summer fair isn’t until next week.
Maybe we could stay and get to know each other a little better before we go back to Rainton. ’
‘Oh.’ She blinked several times, as if she didn’t know what to say. ‘I mean…yes, if you wish.’
‘Then why don’t we start with an ice?’ He gestured towards Gunter’s. Aside from anything else, it might help to cool her flaming cheeks.
She looked from him to the collected carriages, her expression suddenly wary. ‘It looks busy. What if everyone stares at us?’
‘I’m sure they will, but we can ignore them together. The chocolate ice is your favourite, is it not?’
‘Yes.’ She jerked her gaze back to his. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I accompanied you and Miss Wadlow here once and I remember you saying so.’ He was faintly amazed at the memory himself, especially since he had no recollection of what Amabel had ordered.
‘So you did. In that case, an ice sounds like a wonderful idea.’ Her own lips curved in reply.
They were plump and bow-shaped, he noticed.
Strangely beguiling when she smiled, too, so much so that he felt a powerful impulse to trace a finger along them, to press his thumb to the dip in her bottom lip, maybe even slip it inside…
Damn it. He jolted himself back to the present. Maybe he needed a little cooling down as well.