Chapter 11
‘Goodnight, mama.’ Lizzy kissed her mother’s cheek and all but pushed her into the corridor so she could shut the bedroom door.
Her mother left, Lizzy shut the door and leaned against it, drawing the first deep breath she’d been able to since she’d come so unexpectedly face-to-face with Aaron that afternoon.
Aaron. The man who wanted a wife on paper so he could lay claim to this house and grounds. Oh, and how could she forget. The title.
For a while, once her heart had stopped racing, she had been so happy to see him. To be in his company again, sharing their secret. But as they’d walked outside, then sat at dinner, she realized that what they’d had in London had nothing to do with the agreement that had been made and Aaron had particularly chosen a wife who would make no marital demands on him. No doubt so he could continue his rakish ways back in the city. Once he had the wife to ensure his inheritance.
Her mother had undone the ties of her dress and now Lizzy shoved it off, leaving it on the floor where it fell, then struggled to twist her corset around so she could unlace it. That quickly lay on the floor as well. She kicked off her shoes and crawled into the turned-down bed in her stockings and shift.
Tears of frustration and anger burned behind her eyes, but she refused to shed them. She had come into this arrangement with no expectations of happiness. She had nothing to cry about.
When Lizzy woke, the candle had burned out and moonlight slanted through the gap where the drapes hadn’t quite been closed tightly enough. She flopped onto her back, fishing under the bedding to untie her garters and take her stockings off, then wriggled out of her shift. Her nightdress was still in her bag but the sheets on her bare skin reminded her of…
Turning over onto her other side, Lizzy waited for sleep to return but the silence and knowing that Aaron was somewhere in the same house, also in bed, refused to give her peace.
Climbing out of bed, the meagre moonlight let her find her bag on a chair and she pulled out her nightdress and wrap. No matter what now came of this arrangement, one thing Aaron had taught her was not to be ashamed of her desires. She only slipped on the wrap.
She opened the door with no idea of where she was going, she just hoped that being out of bed for a while would enable her to sleep again. She crept down the staircase, past the dour-faced portraits to the foyer. At home she would have made her way to the kitchen and rummaged in the pantry for a piece of cake. She would take no such liberties here.
Lizzy walked past the staircase, soundless on bare feet, towards a door where a flickering orange light shone from the gap where it wasn’t closed properly. Had the fire not been put out for the night? She pushed the door open.
Indeed, a fire burned in what looked to be a small library with walls filled with bookshelves and a single sofa faced the fireplace. The warmth beckoned and Lizzy walked towards the flames, hands outstretched. The chill of her barefooted exploration had already seeped through her body. She’d warm herself before heading back to bed.
‘Don’t stand too close, Lizzy.’
Lizzy gasped, stumbling back and colliding with the sofa as a strong arm caught her around the waist.
She struggled against Aaron’s hold, and he loosened his arm so she could turn to face him. He lay on the sofa in his half-buttoned Banyan, hair disheveled and falling over his forehead. He pushed himself into a sitting position and patted the seat next to him.
‘Sit, Lizzy.’
She sat, and they sat in silence while flames crackled.
Eventually he reached for her hand, and she didn’t resist.
‘I am so glad it’s you, Lizzy,’ he finally said, and she allowed herself to look at him.
‘Because you know you’ll have a compliant wife when you deign to spend time here? If you spend time here.’ She wasn’t angry with him. He had never hidden what he was, what this arrangement was. She was sad. For herself. That she would have to live a reminder of what she’d had and of what he would most likely be giving someone else while she languished here, alone.
‘Because,’ she allowed him to draw her onto his lap. Aaron’s skin was warmed from the fire, and it seeped through the thin fabric of her wrapas she he slid his hand into the opening. ‘Because the only woman I want in my bed, anywhere, is you, Lady Elizabeth Charters. Soon to be Marchioness Lizzy Branston. If you still want to be.’