As Cecily and Emily returned to the carriage, Cecily reached out and removed a few more leaves from Emily’s hair. “I take it Lord Blakely accepted your apology, then?” she whispered before climbing onto the well-sprung vehicle.
Emily crouched through the opening without answering and then waited for Mr. Nottingham to hand in little Finn.
The gentlemen would continue riding outside.
Cecily took the baby with a considerable glint in her eyes. Emily didn’t respond until they began moving again.
“He did.” Emily felt better for it. But when they’d returned to join the other couple, he’d dropped her hand and held himself stiffly once again.
Of course, any outward sign of emotion would be considered ill-mannered, except that they were to make the journey with another couple who frequently brushed up against the other, often held hands, and expressed their affection for one another with every glance they exchanged.
They were traveling with a married couple who’d married for nothing but love.
And not that Emily would have him make any intimate gestures in front of the Nottinghams, but did he have to be so very standoffish?
Efficient and brisk in manner, Marcus attended to the horses instead of seating himself beside her again.
“Except?” Cecily’s question brought her back to the present. “I distinctly heard an ‘except’ following your answer.”
“Except… Oh, I don’t know, Cecily. Everything seemed fine. More than fine! Afterward even. But then when we returned…”
Cecily nodded and scrunched up her face. “Stephen is unhappy with me as well.”
This surprised Emily. She liked to believe the married couple never found reason to quarrel. “Why?”
Displeasure replaced Cecily’s normal serene expression. “We are to stay a few days at the Kensington country estate. It abuts Marcus’ father’s estate,” she reminded Emily. “Flavion is not there but his wife will be.”
“Daphne.” Emily vividly remembered the woman who’d fought with Cecily in the Serpentine last spring.
They’d literally wrestled in the mud.
Cecily let out a huff. “Yes. Normally Stephen makes these visits on his own. Or his steward, Mr. Thompson, comes to us at April Heights. He knows everything Daphne has done and yet he doesn’t understand my reluctance.”
“Why don’t we all simply stay at April Heights?”
“It would require driving another twenty miles.” Cecily tipped her head back against the cushioned seat and closed her eyes. “I know I’m being petty. The house, why, of course, it’s massive. But…”
“You spent the most horrible months of your life in that house,” Emily supplied.
Cecily nodded, nearly imperceptibly. “I don’t wish to inconvenience Marcus and you. It adds a tremendous amount of travel if we were to go all the way home.”
Emily pinched her lips together. Cecily ought not be required to stay in the home of her husband’s former mistress. Her former husband’s mistress that was. Cecily had once been the countess herself.
“I wish Marcus was willing to go directly to his father’s estate.” Emily hadn’t forgotten her promise, but it ought to be obvious to all that she and Marcus should simply stay at his father’s home. If he was ever to resolve the issues he had with his family, he needed to spend time in their company.
He needed to find his peace.
She glanced out the window ruefully. If she emphasized Cecily’s discomfort at the current plans, likely Marcus would see the right of it. She merely needed to help him understand.
Marcus fought the inclination to go directly to his wife after dinner. After resolving yesterday that he would end all of their relations, he’d broken at the slightest hint of her tears.
How had he come to be so entranced by Miss Emily Goodnight? If he’d been warned even a month earlier that he might succumb to her charms, he’d have laughed out loud.
Not viciously but without even considering such a notion.
Whether she’d intended to do so, or had done so unconsciously, she’d been hiding from the world. Hiding from men.
He’d been the lucky one to pull off her mask and reveal the sensual woman she was.
And that, he lectured himself, was why he’d given in to her apology so easily.
Sex.
Damned if he hadn’t been ruled by his cock for most of his adult life. Hell, not only his adult life but half his childhood as well, if he were to be truthful to himself.
He’d been aware of her every move throughout dinner.
The manner in which she tasted every item of food the innkeeper presented to her, whether it looked appealing or not. She was always willing to try something new. She’d move it around on her plate, cut it into tiny pieces, and then tentatively place it in her mouth. When she enjoyed something, she savored every last bite. When she wasn’t certain, she tried a second bite, just to be certain.
There were very few morsels she outright rejected.
Not unlike how she approached other… experiments.
Which was why his inclinations drew him to her tonight.
It had nothing to do with him wanting to talk to her. Only there were a few things…
He’d like to ask her opinion as to how he ought to renew his relationship with his mother and sister. Discuss the argument Nottingham was having with his wife and find out what Emily thought of it. Tell her of the book he’d remembered having read a few years ago…
Oddly enough, he’d discussed more of his life with Emily over the past few weeks than he’d done with anyone, Stephen Nottingham included.
And look where that landed him.
He’d not live in his wife’s pocket!
Marcus lifted a hand to request another pint. As the barmaid eagerly drew one from behind the bar, he vaguely noticed the view of generous bosom she displayed along with an inviting glance.
He winked and then paid her but quickly turned his attention to the head of foam floating at the top of his glass.
Something he’d been thinking scratched at his conscience. But for his wife’s bollocks, he’d no doubt never have learned the truth. Of Meggie’s betrayal. Of the fact that he’d not sired a child. He’d have gone on wondering if he had a son or daughter somewhere in the world, starving, freezing, perhaps living in a foundling home.
He doubted his father had been completely innocent of meddling in their disappearance, but what if his father hadn’t had them murdered? According to Prescott, the duke had not.
And why had Marcus been so quick to believe that his father had?
Meggie had told him she feared it. And Quimbly had once made the suggestion.
His father’s friend had said it jokingly over dinner and again on a hunt.
But Marcus had not forgotten.
And after Meggie disappeared, and his father had shown no remorse or sympathy…
Marcus shook his head. He’d assumed the worst.
Had Emily merely brought the truth to light?
Perhaps, but she’d also exposed his private life to Prescott and likely, the duchess as well. He wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Nottingham knew everything.
But Emily had apologized.
Hadn’t she?
He couldn’t remember much of what she said. Yes, he distinctly remembered her saying she was sorry.
Just before he’d taken her against that beast of an oak tree, which had been conveniently standing behind her. Reliving those frantic moments had him shifting on his barstool
His wife.
He needed to get used to the idea.
As much turmoil as he felt at the reminder, he also found some peace with her.
He scrubbed a hand across his face.
Why did he resist her?
Why could he not enjoy her for the next few months and then take himself off to India again? Wasn’t that what they’d decided upon?
She’d told him she missed him.
He took a long swallow but as the cool liquid poured down his throat, doubt pricked between his shoulder blades.
Had he been the one to make such a confession? Had he been the one to express such a romantic sentiment?
Marcus glanced around the half-filled tap room. What was the matter with him?
He’d often found solace in places nearly identical to this one. He’d drink, make conversation with men of the working class. As a merchant, a shipman himself, rarely did anyone guess him to be a member of the aristocracy. In fact, he’d spent many an early morning hour discussing the merits and failures of England’s landed gentry. Conversation evolved to greater honesty, intensity, amongst strangers as the night wore on and spirits flowed.
He’d even discovered a few interesting barmaids.
More than a few, actually.
Something inside of him had shifted.
This was why he resisted going to his wife tonight. This loss of his independence. This loss of individuality.
He gestured to the barmaid again. Drawing on years of flirtatious behavior, he winked. He wasn’t prepared, however, when she drifted across the room and settled herself on his lap.