I feel myself flush. He is not asking about the fright he just gave me or the fact I’m wandering around in the dark of night. He would have been able to sense I was ripe earlier. And now he can tell I’m not ripe. Which means only one thing. I have tumbled with his brother.
“I… I’m fine,” I stammer. “Just after hot chocolate.”
Jem smiles and holds up the tub of cocoa in his hands. “Great minds think alike. Take a seat, I’ll make it.”
Smiling in return I sit at the oak table in the center of the room. I nearly whimper as my backside touches the hard wood of the chair, but I manage to hide it just in time. I feel more well used than truly sore, anyway. Maybe I’m a pervert, but I like the feeling so it would be awkward as hell to receive any sympathy for it. Nevermind that it was Jem’s brother that did this to me, an image I’m sure he’d rather not think about.
Jem stirs a pot of milk on the range. It’s strange to see him acting so domesticated. My first impression of him, painted a picture of a wild, exuberant hellion. But he clearly has far more sides to him than that.
A few minutes later, he sits across from me and slides a mug of delicious looking hot chocolate over the table and into my waiting hands.
“Thank you,” I say before taking a sip and sighing with contentment. Just what I needed. There is nothing like a warm cup of coco.
“Harry is my brother and I love him dearly,” Jem begins carefully. “But he can be such an asshole sometimes.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t think there is a polite response. Defending Harry implies Jem is lying. Agreeing with Jem, insults my husband.
Jem’s aquamarine eyes, so much like his brother’s, regard me intently and don’t relent in the slightest. “Is he treating you well?”
I hate that I have to think about that question. Things certainly haven’t been a fairy tale, but what arranged marriage is? He hasn’t beaten me. The cruelest thing he has done was take me to the orgy, but then he changed his mind. The worst thing is the distance he keeps between us. Does all that count as treating me well? I have no idea.
And now I have hesitated far too long, and that’s an answer all in itself. Jem’s eyes are full of compassion.
“I have every faith things will improve,” I hear myself say.
Jem smiles, “So do I. Once he gets to know you and learns he can trust you, everything will be lovely. If not, let me know and I’ll slap him for you.”
The mental image that paints makes me grin, I can well imagine Jem doing such a thing. I almost want to see it. And that’s a truly wicked thought. I need to take a sip of my hot chocolate to hide my giggle.
The warming drink soothes me, and I finally notice Jem’s magic. He is going to be ripe soon. Probably tomorrow. That explains why he is up in the middle of the night. Who is going to empty him? I want to ask. But it is none of my business and frightfully personal. I hope he has one person who helps him regularly, but I have a sinking feeling that Jem is given to a different mage every time. All condoned by Harry. Possibly arranged by him.
I drink some more of my hot chocolate but I can’t taste it over the sudden bitterness in my mouth. Maybe I’m a foolish, naïve and immature child, refusing to see that my husband is not a good person. Ignoring all the evidence before me.
A weary sigh escapes me. I just don’t know. At some point the truth, whatever that may be, will rise up and slap me in the face, and I will just have to deal with it when it does.
Chapter nineteen
IfeelsickandI don’t think it’s because of David’s driving. Harry’s driver is extremely professional. I’m pretty sure I’m nauseous because I’m headed to my first formal event as Duke Consort Sothbridge and given the scandalous nature of our engagement and the hasty wedding that followed, all eyes are going to be on us.
I always used to dream of being the center of attention but now it has finally come to pass, I’m discovering that actually I’d rather not be the focal point. Drifting around mostly unseen and unnoticed like I used to, sounds heavenly. I sigh, be careful what you wish for, I guess.
Harry shoots me a concerned look at my sigh, but says nothing. Instead, he turns his attention back to the window. I think our silence is companionable and not hostile. I can’t think of anything to say because being in the back of a car with him is very distracting. I’m not ripe. I’m not even anywhere near ripe, yet the desire to crawl onto his lap is strong. If it gets any worse, I’m going to have to cling onto the door handle to stop myself.
In my defense, he looks ridiculously handsome in his perfectly fitting tux. I don’t think anybody would be able to resist. The man certainly has a presence. Something more than his magic or the innate confidence that men of his status have been raised to wear. It’s something I always noticed about him, even when I didn’t like him. A presence that fills the space around him. In the back of a car, it’s overwhelming. I feel like I’m drowning in him and it’s a great way to go.
The crunch of gravel underneath the tires jolts me from my musings. We have arrived, and it feels far too soon. A swarm of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. I’m here and people are going to be staring at me. I’m so glad I was naughty and used a smidgen of my magic to heal my eye.
Harry jumps out of the car and walks around to open my door for me. It’s a lovely gesture. I smile at him as I climb out. He smiles back and takes my arm. Okay, now my butterflies are turning into happy ones. I know it’s probably just for show, but I don’t care. I’m on Harry’s arm and that’s all that matters.
The walk into the house and through the hallways to the ballroom, passes in a happy daze and suddenly I’m standing at the top of a small flight of stairs and facing everyone who has already arrived at the ball.
“Duke and Duke Consort Sothbridge,” announces the butler loudly.
A million pair of eyes turn to look at us. I hear a few gasps and a multitude of excited whispers. The room is too hot and my clothes are too tight.
“Pay them no heed,” says Harry quietly, while still looking dead ahead. “They are as worthless as their opinion of you.”
Keeping my eyes forward feels like trying to resist the gravity of a black hole. I really want to look at him. Somehow, I don’t and somehow I make it down the stairs without landing on my face. Probably because I am clinging onto his arm so tightly.
