She walked for ages, checking various places, and gradually, her rage began to wane. It was difficult to sustain such virulent fury, and with each stride, she reassessed.
Why chastise him? Why scold? What was the point? She didn’t matter to him in the slightest. Why waste the energy? He’d simply scoff at her criticism.
She slowed, her livid promenade lagging, then halting. To her dismay, she’d ended up outside his bedchamber, the smaller one he’d picked for himself upon his arrival.
The door was open, and she peered in like a beggar on the street.
She remembered the special evening she’d spent in his bed. They had talked and dallied and shared, and the memory pressed down on her like a heavy weight under which she couldn’t keep her balance.
Sadness swept over her. She didn’t hate him. She loved him, and she always would. It was killing her to know that she’d been so insignificant.
Suddenly, she heard his voice. He was in the dressing room behind his bedchamber.
Her stupid pulse raced with grief, but with joy too. He was exiting his suite, coming toward her. Perhaps if they could have a moment to chat, he would explain why he’d used her so horridly. If he could just make her understand, she wouldn’t be quite so bereft.
He stepped into view, and Emeline was about to call out his name when she realized that Lady Veronica was still with him. The exquisite blond girl rose on tiptoe, and the earl kissed her full on the mouth. The embrace was chaste and quick, but it was an embrace nonetheless.
Emeline felt as if all the blood had been drained from her body, all the air sucked from the sky, and she was suffocating. She gasped with shock.
He spun, smiling, until he saw who was loitering and gaping. For a long, torturous interval, his gaze locked with hers, then she whirled away and ran.
In her frenzied retreat, she thought he shouted, “Em!”, but she was sure it was her fevered imagination.
“It’s a beautiful house, Nicholas.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
Veronica looked up at him.
An hour earlier, she’d managed to lose Portia. Her friend had been hungry, and she’d wandered into a dining room where a buffet had been laid out. Veronica had left her there and sneaked off with her fiancé. It was the first time they’d ever been alone.
During the three months of their engagement, they’d rarely interacted, so she’d forgotten how manly he was. At being so vividly reminded, she was thrilled.
With him so tall and dark, and her so shapely and fair, they would cast a dashing shadow across the social world of aristocratic London. She would have the most handsome husband in the kingdom, and heads would turn wherever they went. Every female of her acquaintance would be green with envy.
“Mother requires your presence in town,” she advised him, “for some wedding preparations.”
“I don’t need to come,” he said. “Whatever you decide is fine with me.”
“But you and your brother must visit our tailor. I’ve chosen the fabric for your wedding clothes, and they’re eager to get sewing. The date is approaching so rapidly.”
“My brother and I will wear our uniforms. You don’t have to make a fuss.”
“I don’t wish you to wear your uniforms. I wish you to wear what I have selected.” To lessen the sting of her remark, she flashed a flirtatious grin. “I’m afraid I have to insist.”
He didn’t reply, and she frowned, trying to interpret what his silence indicated. Was he amenable? Would he come to London as she’d demanded? Or was he merely being courteous when he had no intention of doing as she’d asked?
She wasn’t accustomed to being ignored, and she refused to have her plans thwarted. Her wedding would be fabulous, and he couldn’t be permitted to spoil it.
They trudged along, not speaking, and she was growing irked by his mulish contemplation.
She’d finally escaped her chaperones, but he hardly seemed to care. She was a chatterbox, but he was barely listening. He kept peeking out the windows, as if worried over what was occurring outside.
Apparently, every detail about the estate was more important than her.
“You’ll allow me to remodel the manor, won’t you?” she inquired.
“Remodel? Why would you? This mansion is the gaudiest place I’ve ever seen. The furniture is in excellent shape, and it’s of the highest quality. It would be a waste of money.”
“It would make me happy—buying things for my new home. You want to make me happy, don’t you?”
She had a very clear image of herself trotting about London to the merchants from whom she’d purchase the latest styles and colors. She could envision just how she’d dress for her appointments, just how she’d barter and haggle and shop. He couldn’t ruin her fun, couldn’t prevent her from doing what all brides did after their weddings.
He was quiet again, and she wondered if he’d agreed or not, but she couldn’t figure out how to press him for answers.
For the prior three years, she’d been courted and wooed, but her suitors had all been near her own age. They were malleable and easily coerced. Nicholas was nothing like any of those boys. He wasn’t concerned over how she viewed him, and he’d expended no effort to learn what she wanted or to ensure that she received it.
“Where is our honeymoon to be?” she asked. “I’m dying to know, and you haven’t breathed a word.”
He scowled. “I’m coming to London for the wedding, then I’m returning immediately to my post.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re not. I think we should go to Italy. Wouldn’t it be exciting to rent a villa on the Mediterranean? How long could we stay? Would six months be all right?”
If she couldn’t finish off her glorious wedding with a glorious wedding trip, what was the use of getting married?
He halted at a door and gestured inside.
“You asked to see where I sleep,” he said. “This is it.”
She
