“The study, my lady.”
Rosalind nodded and made her way to her husband’s study. She and Torrington hadn’t spoken more than a polite greeting to each other since the day she’d stormed out of their bedroom. He hadn’t pressed her, perhaps sensing after he’d called on her mother that Rosalind needed time to sort things out. Torrington was a patient man. Seducing her with a collection of recipes had proven the truth of that. Any other gentleman would have given up on her.
The door to the study was ajar, and Torrington’s voice came through the opening. He was speaking in a low, soothing tone to Bijou.
“My lord,” Rosalind said from the door, clasping her hands before her.
Torrington was kneeling next to Bijou’s pallet on the floor. His hair was mussed, curls spilling along his cheeks, the silver in his beard glinting in the light coming through the window. The chair beside him held his discarded coat and cravat. There was only a mild flash of surprise at her appearance, almost as if Torrington knew she would seek him out today.
“Hello, Rosalind. Madame Bijou is under the weather. I’m playing nursemaid.”
Torrington kept his tone polite, as if they were merely acquaintances who had run into each other while walking in the park. Rosalind had done this. Forced her husband into distance. Running from the bedroom in tears after this gorgeous, splendid man had told Rosalind he loved her.
Her chest constricted, far more sharply than the tightest of corsets.
Rosalind came forward, coming to her knees to scratch Bijou behind her ears.
“Her back leg has been bothering her, so she needs to rest,” Torrington said. “I often forget how old she’s become.” There was a hint of pain in his words as one elegant finger traced the white fur around Bijou’s muzzle. “But I think some chicken will make her right as rain, am I correct, Bijou?”
Rosalind blinked away the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Was this why she had refused to have a dog or cat when she was a child? Because her heart wouldn’t allow her to become attached? Because all she could see was the grief?
What a fool I have been.
She took a deep breath, drawing in every ounce of courage she possessed. “I love you, Abraham Landsdowne.” The words crept out of her mouth slowly. Quietly. “Iloveyou.” The air halted in her chest. “So much.”
Torrington’s gaze stayed on Bijou. He was silent so long, Rosalind thought perhaps he hadn’t heard her. “I know,” he finally said. His fingers reached out to gently tug at her skirts.
Rosalind looked up at the ceiling of the study, wiping at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry that I made a mess of things. That I hurt you. I never wish to cause you such pain again. You have—given me everything I ever wanted.Youare everything I’ve ever wanted. Only I didn’t know and I—I humbly ask you to forgive me.Please.” Her voice grew scratchy. “Please forgive me. Because you are so bloodysplendidfor a feeble lecher.”
“Ah, Rosalind, you were doing so well.” The amber eyes were calm. Full of love for her. Endlessly patient.
“I am afraid, Bram.” She lowered her eyes. “I can’t help it. If anything were to happen to you.” She pounded the spot over her heart with a sob. “It would destroy me. I won’t be able to bear it.”
“Yes, you will. Admittedly, it won’t be nearly as much fun without me around.” He reached out and pulled her between his thighs. Strong arms encircled her. “For instance, I’m certain there will be too much nutmeg in the chocolate toffee cake.”
“There wasn’t.” She leaned back into him, hearing the beat of his heart beneath her cheek.
“I disagree.” His arms tightened around her. “I will die one day, Rosalind—”
A horrid, ugly sound escaped her. She turned her head, pressing her face into his chest, fingers grasping at his shirt. Her breath came in spurts.
Torrington’s fingers threaded through her hair, loosening the careful chignon at the back. “But just for today,only today, my love, you won’t think about such morbid things.”
“I won’t?” She sniffed.
“No. Just for today. Today we will be happy. Maybe make the macarons. Spend the day in bed reading from your collection of erotic books.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.
“My father’s books.”
“I disagree, Lady Torrington. I’m fairly certain they belong to you now. I’m sure there are lots of illustrations. Life can imitate art. Won’t that be fun?”
Rosalind smiled into his chest, inhaling the cedar and clean linen scent.
“So, do we have an agreement, my brazen baker?Justfor today, you will not think such awful thoughts. They are banished.”
She nodded. “Just for today.” She could do that. Put all those terrible feelings aside for now, as she had on their wedding night.
“Good. You may despair tomorrow, my love.” Then he tipped up her chin and kissed her, wrapping his arms tighter around Rosalind to pull her further into his lap. Torrington murmured beautiful nonsense into her hair, a great deal of it in French, until she stopped shaking.
