For courage alone, I applaud you.”
“For marrying you? In all honesty, I had little choice in the matter, as my aunt was fond of reminding me.”
“I’m not commenting upon the occasion of our wedding, but on our wedding night.” He placed the glass back down on the table.
When she didn’t respond to that goad, he only smiled. “And perhaps to this morning when you were so determined that I continue my husbandly duties.”
It was one thing to say something to him in the heat of emotion, quite another for him to tease her about it now. She looked down at her plate, not at all surprised that her appetite had departed also.
“Or tonight, when you entered the dining room to see me here.”
If he wanted confrontation, she would give it to him. She would not be the little Edinburgh mouse recently transported to Ambrose.
Perhaps there were numerous reasons to be wary—the surly housekeeper, the strangeness of Ambrose, the feeling that there were secrets here that she couldn’t begin to fathom, not the least of which was her husband.
But Davina had the feeling that if she began to be afraid, even rightfully, then she would never stop. She must cultivate an air of indifference, of apathy, of any other emotion rather than fear. Fear could eat away at her until there was nothing left but tears.
His right hand reached out and pulled the wineglass closer. A slow, deliberate movement that made her recall his fingers on her body. Was it possible that her new husband craved wine more than he did her?
“Was bedding me nothing more than a chore to you?” she asked.
There, she finally managed to jostle the smile from his face. That dratted perpetual half smile that indicated he thought her amusing, or charming, or precocious, like a small child or a cute puppy.
“Should I comment upon your ability to shock me, my lady wife?”
“That is all I have managed to do, Your Lordship,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps that’s how our marriage will be. You constantly disappointing me, while I annoy you.”
“I never said you annoy me,” he said calmly.
“But I should prepare myself to be continually disappointed?”
He smiled again and slowly pushed the wineglass away with one finger. “I feel suitably chastised, Davina. Reminded of my duty as your husband, and as a man.” One eyebrow arched upward as he looked at her.
She’d never seen a less cowed individual. Instead she was the one who felt reproached.
“You may do as you wish, Your Lordship,” she said with as much of an air of indifference as she could muster. Truly, she didn’t feel very indifferent around him. Instead he annoyed her, challenged her, made her feel emotions she’d never felt in a concentrated form and in a short time.
“I’ll come to you tonight, Davina.”
She didn’t know what to say, but the necessity of speech was taken from her when he stood, threw his napkin down on the table, and strode from the room without a backward glance.
She stared at the meal on the plate in front of her. She couldn’t quite decide what she was experiencing at this moment. Fear? No, not fear. Anticipation? That hardly seemed proper, did it?
Very well, she was doomed to perdition, then. Because that’s exactly what she was feeling. Her fingerstingled, her breath was tight, her heart raced, and her mind recalled every moment of the night before.
Her aunt had always told her that a lady, a true lady, never had to worry about behavior. A lady was a lady down to the very center of her being. Decorum was second nature, politeness was always expected and delivered, but most of all a lady never stretched the boundaries of propriety. A true lady defined them.
That particular lecture had been given to her numerous times after her abandon —her aunt’s way of referring to the scandal she’d caused. Davina hadn’t volunteered that there were other occasions when she hadn’t been the perfect lady, when she’d committed small, inconsequential acts of
“For marrying you? In all honesty, I had little choice in the matter, as my aunt was fond of reminding me.”
“I’m not commenting upon the occasion of our wedding, but on our wedding night.” He placed the glass back down on the table.
When she didn’t respond to that goad, he only smiled. “And perhaps to this morning when you were so determined that I continue my husbandly duties.”
It was one thing to say something to him in the heat of emotion, quite another for him to tease her about it now. She looked down at her plate, not at all surprised that her appetite had departed also.
“Or tonight, when you entered the dining room to see me here.”
If he wanted confrontation, she would give it to him. She would not be the little Edinburgh mouse recently transported to Ambrose.
Perhaps there were numerous reasons to be wary—the surly housekeeper, the strangeness of Ambrose, the feeling that there were secrets here that she couldn’t begin to fathom, not the least of which was her husband.
But Davina had the feeling that if she began to be afraid, even rightfully, then she would never stop. She must cultivate an air of indifference, of apathy, of any other emotion rather than fear. Fear could eat away at her until there was nothing left but tears.
His right hand reached out and pulled the wineglass closer. A slow, deliberate movement that made her recall his fingers on her body. Was it possible that her new husband craved wine more than he did her?
“Was bedding me nothing more than a chore to you?” she asked.
There, she finally managed to jostle the smile from his face. That dratted perpetual half smile that indicated he thought her amusing, or charming, or precocious, like a small child or a cute puppy.
“Should I comment upon your ability to shock me, my lady wife?”
“That is all I have managed to do, Your Lordship,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps that’s how our marriage will be. You constantly disappointing me, while I annoy you.”
“I never said you annoy me,” he said calmly.
“But I should prepare myself to be continually disappointed?”
He smiled again and slowly pushed the wineglass away with one finger. “I feel suitably chastised, Davina. Reminded of my duty as your husband, and as a man.” One eyebrow arched upward as he looked at her.
She’d never seen a less cowed individual. Instead she was the one who felt reproached.
“You may do as you wish, Your Lordship,” she said with as much of an air of indifference as she could muster. Truly, she didn’t feel very indifferent around him. Instead he annoyed her, challenged her, made her feel emotions she’d never felt in a concentrated form and in a short time.
“I’ll come to you tonight, Davina.”
She didn’t know what to say, but the necessity of speech was taken from her when he stood, threw his napkin down on the table, and strode from the room without a backward glance.
She stared at the meal on the plate in front of her. She couldn’t quite decide what she was experiencing at this moment. Fear? No, not fear. Anticipation? That hardly seemed proper, did it?
Very well, she was doomed to perdition, then. Because that’s exactly what she was feeling. Her fingerstingled, her breath was tight, her heart raced, and her mind recalled every moment of the night before.
Her aunt had always told her that a lady, a true lady, never had to worry about behavior. A lady was a lady down to the very center of her being. Decorum was second nature, politeness was always expected and delivered, but most of all a lady never stretched the boundaries of propriety. A true lady defined them.
That particular lecture had been given to her numerous times after her abandon —her aunt’s way of referring to the scandal she’d caused. Davina hadn’t volunteered that there were other occasions when she hadn’t been the perfect lady, when she’d committed small, inconsequential acts of
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