The Devil Takes a Bride

Bloody hell, conversation could not be avoided. He turned back to her, his gaze sweeping over her. She was wearing a choker of amber stones about her neck, and he could imagine himself removing that necklace, his hands sliding over her shoulders, the jewels sliding into her cleavage, followed by his fingers.

That image was inexplicably and unavoidably followed by one of him at her breast, his mouth surrounding the tip of it, his tongue flicking across the hardened peak.

She was speaking, he realized. Jeffrey pressed the heel of his shoe into the carpet to settle himself. “Pardon?”

“I was inquiring if your family has been long at Blackwood Hall.”

“Generations,” he responded tersely. “This has been the Merryton seat since the title was bestowed on us. I am the fifth earl.” Her lips were full, plush and an amazing shade of coral.

“Do you live alone here?”

He shifted in his seat. “Mostly.”

She looked as if she wanted to ask more, but thankfully, the serving of the meal ended any talk for the time being. When Cox had filled their plates with lamb and potatoes, and had filled their wineglasses, Jeffrey sent him and the footman out with a single gesture.

He picked up his fork and began to eat. He was aware that his wife picked uneasily at her food as if she had no appetite, but drank her wine with more enthusiasm. When he finished, he settled back in his seat and placed his napkin on the table beside his plate. He noticed she’d only taken a few bites. “Do you not find the food to your liking?”

“What? No, it’s perfectly fine.”

Then why did she not eat it? He shifted his gaze to the buffet. Eight drawers, four by four.

“If I may,” she said, “I should like to...offer an apology for what happened.”

She had apologized to him. He didn’t know what she thought he might do with another apology.

“The tea shop,” she said, apparently thinking it necessary to explain what she meant. As if something else had happened between them, as if she’d made some other catastrophic gash across his life.

He did not care to think of that night, of his complete loss of control. “It is unnecessary.”

“But I—”

“Madam, as I said, unnecessary,” he said, and shifted uncomfortably again. “You were there to meet Amherst. You mistook me for him. We have both made a mistake of enormous consequence that has linked us, inextricably, for eternity. What is done is done. Have you finished your meal?”

Her brows knit in frown. “Yes.”

“Then...if you will excuse me.” He stood.

His wife looked surprised. She moved to stand, too, and the gentleman in Jeffrey, bred into him at an early age, quickly moved to pull her chair away. She straightened, only inches from him. Her eyes blinked up at him, the candlelight making them seem to sparkle. Jeffrey felt a swirl of emotion and heat rising up in him. He had an unbearable urge to take her in hand, to kiss the plump, moist lips, to put his hand and his mouth on her chest, to bend her over this table and lift her skirts, bare her bottom to him, move his hand between her legs—

He stepped back, curtly bowed his head. “I will not come to you tonight, Lady Merryton.” He clasped his hands at his back so that she would not see the way his hand curled into a fist, trying to control his desire. “I will allow you the time to be comfortable at Blackwood Hall.”

Her eyes widened. An appealing blush rose in her cheeks as she glanced around them, as if searching for something. An exit, perhaps.

“You may inquire with Mr. Cox about the services of a lady’s maid.”

That brought her gaze quickly back to him, but this time, instead of bewilderment, her gaze was cross. She folded her arms across her body and tilted her head to one side, and Jeffrey could not help but admire her neck. “I am curious—are you this aloof and commanding with everyone you know, or have you adopted this demeanor entirely for my benefit? For if you mean to punish me, you need not bother. I am punishing myself every moment of every day.”

Her bit of cheek surprised him. He wasn’t punishing her. He was more at fault than she.

“I understand you are angry. I would be, were I in your shoes. I have apologized—”

“There is no need to apologize again,” he said brusquely.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Good, because I didn’t intend to apologize again. After all, there are only so many ways one might beg for forgiveness, and I believe I’ve exhausted them all. But I rather think that here we are, my lord, and we may as well determine how we are to endure it.”

Jeffrey was caught completely off guard. He lived a solitary life—most people deferred to him. They certainly did not challenge him. “I beg your pardon, madam, if I’ve not been suitably garrulous for you. I find idle chatter tedious and I am not very good at it.”

“Why yes, you have demonstrated that very well, my lord. But I don’t think of it as idle chatter. I was attempting to know you.”

That declaration made him feel uncomfortably exposed. He wondered what she would think if she knew she’d trapped herself into a marriage with a madman. “Frankly, I don’t care to be known,” he said truthfully. “Good night.”

He turned away from her and walked to the door. But as he reached it, he heard her say something quite low. He paused at the door and looked back. “Pardon?”

“I said, good night, my lord,” she said with mock cheer. She looked lovely standing there, her color high, her eyes blazing with ire. The images began to come to him—images of those eyes blazing with passion—

He turned away and walked into the corridor. He turned left. He walked sixteen steps to the turn into the main corridor, then thirty-two steps to the foyer, which required him to shorten his stride. In the foyer, he began the count again, going up the steps.

It was the only thing that would banish the image of his wife caressing her naked body while he watched.

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