He shrugged. What did he care about a coat? He could have thirty more in his closet by morning. “You shall wear it.”
She blinked and shut her mouth.Good.It was a battle she wouldn’t win. She was dry and warm within it, which was all that mattered. Still, he grabbed her discarded cloak in case she got an idea to wear the sopping, woolen mess. She could be stubborn.
By land, by water, by carriage, by stairs and corridors, they returned to Asquith Court. All the while, quiet nested between them. It wasn’t a tense silence, or tetchy, but one pensive and perhaps wistful. They both knew: one more day.
Tomorrow night, they would either succeed or fail to switch the tiaras, and all this would be over. It wasn’t playacting for him, but it was for her. For him, this thing between them was something he wanted more of.
She was his wife.
His lover.
His.
She could remain her own woman—in truth, he wanted her to remain her own woman, for it was deuced attractive and she was deuced good at it—but he wanted her to be his, too.
He had only a day to convince her of it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As Jamie movedthrough his morning ablutions, he hardly noticed the motions of his body or the ministrations of his valet. His mind was singularly focused elsewhere, onher.
And last night.
And his resolve to have her, not only in his bed or against a wall.
After the first time, he’d considered it had been so long since he’d touched a woman that emotions were becoming confused with the sensation of sublime release. He’d doubted it, but the possibility existed. But last night…
Put that possibility to an end.
What he and Hortense shared was unique to them.
Could she see that?
Could a marriage between them be genuine?
TheMorning Chronicletucked beneath his arm, he strode into the breakfast room.
At the table sat Hortense, dressed in her clothes—her old clothes—tying the silk lead around Sir Bacon’s neck.
The sight brought Jamie’s progress to an immediate halt, his stomach flipping before dropping to his feet. “Are you—” He cleared his throat, collecting himself to an outward show of cool indifference. “Are you leaving?”No, no, no.
She glanced up, and he caught a flicker of something in her eyes—a remnant of last night, mayhap. Then it was gone, a careful wariness replacing it. “Yes.”
Of course.Here it was. The inevitable.
Of course, she was leaving.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t put up a fight.
“But I thought—” He shut his mouth before his inner turmoil could spill into his voice. “But what about tonight?”
She couldn’t leave. Shecouldn’t.
He wouldn’t have it. A day yet remained to convince her to stay.
“Tonight has naught to do with it. I’m returning Sir Bacon to his owner.”
Swift relief soared through Jamie. “But why are you wearing—” He gestured up and down, indicating her current attire.
