Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
When James entered his wife’s bedchamber two nights later, Evie and her companion were standing by the dressing table, their heads bent together. They spun around at his approach, their expressions alarmed.
He halted. “My apologies for startling you. Am I interrupting something?”
“No.” Evie’s smile didn’t quite hide the flutter of nerves. “Pauline just finished dressing me, and Harkness was, um, adding the finishing touches.”
“My lady has an important role to play tonight. She must be perfection itself.”
Given the stony stare the old bat aimed at him, James guessed that Evie had told her companion about Lady Vernon.
He suppressed a sigh, wishing Harkness wasn’t quite so informed about his private affairs.
Yet he wouldn’t begrudge his wife a loyal confidante.
He came forward, taking Evie’s hand. Cold, he noted. And she was a trifle pale.
Poor thing is truly nervous at the prospect of dealing with Lady Vernon.
The fact that she was doing so anyway, for his sake, filled him with tenderness.
He brushed his lips over her knuckles. “You are perfect as you are, my dear.”
Roses bloomed in her cheeks, filling him with satisfaction.
While he enjoyed making his wife blush, he wasn’t lying: she was a vision tonight.
Her golden hair was smoothly parted in the middle and drawn back in glossy twists that framed her face and wove into an intricate coil at her nape.
Her coiffure was adorned by a small cluster of orange blossoms. The simple style suited her, drawing focus to her large brown eyes, pert nose, and full lips.
Her gown of lilac taffeta left her pretty shoulders bare and showed a modest amount of décolletage—which was his preference.
He didn’t need other men ogling what was his.
Of course, any discerning fellow would take note of her delightfully curvy shape, but imagining wasn’t the same as seeing.
Call him old-fashioned, but James liked having the exclusive privilege of viewing his wife’s charms. He liked that Evie chose to save the best for him and only him.
He noticed that she wasn’t wearing much jewelry tonight.
Her diamond engagement ring and matching band sparkled on her finger, but her throat was bare.
He considered this a stroke of luck. She usually wore her mama’s pearls, and knowing their sentimental value, he hadn’t wanted to ask her to take them off. Now he wouldn’t have to.
On that note, he said to Harkness, “If I may have a moment alone with my wife?”
When the woman hesitated, Evie gave her a nod. “Go on and finish getting ready. I shall see you downstairs.”
With clear reluctance and a lingering look at Evie, Harkness departed.
“What was that about?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“Nothing. Have I ever told you how handsome you look in formal evening wear?”
Evie’s flirtatious smile distracted him.
“Er, I don’t believe so.”
“Well, you do.” Her expression was guileless. “Even without your lyre.”
“Vixen.” With a grin, he pulled her close. “Must I remind you again of the instrument I carry?”
Gazing into her warm whisky eyes, he had the mawkish thought that he would happily drown in them.
“I am still sore from your reminder this morning. Or reminders, rather.”
“Poor wife.” He rubbed a thumb over her lower lip. “I have been rather greedy of late, haven’t I?”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Her sincerity drew a laugh from him. It also puffed his chest…and other parts. To distract himself from his insatiable desire for his wife, he focused on his purpose.
“I have something for you.” Releasing her, he reached into the inner pocket of his tailcoat and removed the jeweler’s pouch. “I had intended it for our anniversary, but I thought you might find use for it tonight.”
“You needn’t have,” Evie protested.
She always became charmingly flustered whenever he gave her a gift.
He’d always assumed that her reaction was due to the financial hardship she’d endured.
The years when she’d had to scrape by had naturally led her to question extravagance.
However, their raw emotional honesty at the inn had made him consider another explanation: did Evie’s insecurities make her feel unworthy of presents?
This he would not stand for. His wife deserved the best of life, and it was his privilege to provide it.
Loosening the strings, he removed the riviere necklace and let it dangle from his fingers.
The diamonds formed a loop of flashing white fire, the fluid movement of the setting a signature of Garrard.
The sparkling gems were graduated, with the largest trio, each over five carats, positioned to hang just beneath the collarbone.
“James.” Evie’s voice was choked, her gaze wide and fixed on the glittering strand. “It is far too much.”
“It is just the beginning.”
He meant it, metaphorically and literally. He planned to create a parure for her. A full set of jewels that he would present to her, piece by piece, occasion by occasion, to commemorate their life together.
“This is a symbol of our fresh start. We have both made mistakes, but we have a second chance. A chance to rediscover happiness”—he strove for a casual tone—“and love.”
Despite their passionate reconciliation, love was a topic they had yet to broach.
This wasn’t surprising: communicating about emotions was a forte neither of them could claim.
For his part, he could debate politics for hours, yet discussing what lay in his heart was a different matter.
He had no talent for expressing himself.
And he didn’t know if Evie returned his feelings.
He remembered the first time they’d said the words in that sunlit greenhouse, a year into their marriage.
He had believed them, then. Since he and Evie weren’t prone to dramatic declarations, they’d doled out those words sparingly, making them all the more precious.
Yet after the miscarriage, Evie had withdrawn into silence…
and so had he. Somewhere along the way, those three simple words had been swallowed by grief and distance and secrets. Now he no longer knew where she stood.
Stop being a namby-pamby. She is your wife, for God’s sake. Tell her how you feel.
Even as he summoned his courage to say more, he saw it: the flash of dread in Evie’s eyes. As if she feared what he might say next…as if she didn’t want to hear it. His gut sank as the logical conclusion slammed into him.
The only reason she would wish to avoid the conversation is if she does not love me.
He knew that desire was not the same as love.
He’d had lovers before Evie, and none of them had grabbed hold of his heart.
None of them had made him yearn for intimacy the way she did.
He knew Evie desired him and cared for him.
Yet physical attraction and affection weren’t the same as love—and they weren’t enough.
Could I be misconstruing her reaction? Perhaps she needs time to assess her feelings. After all, our reconciliation is new, and I sprung the topic of love on her like a blasted idiot.
He said as neutrally as he could, “Is something the matter?”
“No.” Her smile was clearly forced.
Why is she lying? Because she doesn’t want to admit that she’s fallen out of love with me?
Her gaze didn’t quite meet his. “The necklace is lovely. Would you help me with it?”
She turned her back to him. Numbly, he draped the cold stones around her throat. And wondered what the bloody hell he was going to do next.
“Gigi is glowing with happiness, is she not? Mr. Godwin cannot take his eyes off her.”
“Yes.”
James’s mama had asked him to fetch her champagne, and now the two of them were standing in a corner shielded by potted palms, an oasis amidst the glittering throng.
He watched as his sister floated around the dance floor in her husband’s arms. The two were laughing, Gigi’s cheeks flushed a charming pink.
Evie whirled by after them, partnered by some fop.
It wasn’t jealousy James felt but something deeper.
It started in his gut and spread like a blight that caused hope and joy to wither.
“Xenia was such a dear for offering up Bottoms House. She handled the arrangements beautifully,” his mama went on. “Ethan must be so proud.”
“Yes.”
Did I make a mistake marrying Evie? Have I been fooling myself from the start?
“And Evie is in splendid looks. That exquisite necklace from Garrard was an inspired choice. You have your papa’s knack for finding the perfect gift.”
He nodded absently. He couldn’t even blame Evie, for she’d been honest from the start.
She’d said she wasn’t suited for marriage and intimacy, but in his arrogance, he’d assumed he could change her feelings on the matter.
If he wooed her, did his best by her as a husband and lover, then he would win her heart.
Failure had never been an option. Why should it be, when he’d managed to achieve most things he put his mind to, if not easily, then through sheer grit and will? Instantly, the exceptions clawed at him, leaving bloody trails: he was successful at most things…except in his closest relationships.
With his brothers. With his wife.
By Jove, he’d failed them. His brothers, at least, had found their own way to heal. But Evie…he didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. What else he could do. What it would take to earn her love—to earn the right to be part of his family legacy.
“I think I shall take a dip in the champagne fountain. Make a splash.”
“Yes.”
When silence greeted him, he forced his attention back to his mama.
“Er, pardon. Did I miss something?”
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” His mama studied him with keen violet eyes. “What has you so distracted, my dear?”
He forced a smile. “My apologies. I was woolgathering.”
“Does it have to do with Evie?”