His lean warmth melted into her, along with his scent, and as much as she hated the confrontation between the two brothers, she could not deny that she relished her husband’s possessiveness toward her. At least it meant that he felt something for her beyond mere lust.
She did not wish to consider why she found such vindication in the notion. Why it mattered to her that Bainbridge should feel anything for her at all, even. Theirs was not, nor would it ever be, a love match. A frozen heaviness settled within her with the weight of a boulder, and she could not shake it.
“I care about her a great deal,” Lord Harry said then, his gaze and his tone unyielding as he pinned Bainbridge with an intense glare. “You would do best to remember that, Duke.”
“And she is my wife.” Spencer’s fingers tightened on her waist. “You would do best to rememberthat, brother.”
“Be good to her,” Lord Harry clipped, his jaw hardening. “We would not want her to end up like the last duchess, now would we?”
The air rushed from Bo’s lungs at the vicious verbal blow Lord Harry had just dealt. Spencer went utterly still and stiff, and it was as if she absorbed his fury. She sensed that the brothers were near to coming to blows. Indeed, it seemed as if Lord Harry’s mission was to incite Bainbridge to the first swing.
“Lord Harry,” she rebuked, pressing what she hoped was a calming palm to her husband’s lower back. He was all sinew and muscle and strength, hard as marble.
But her brother-in-law had not finished. He continued to lock Bainbridge in a stare. “Did you tell her what happened the last time you had a wife, brother? Your history is not promising, I am afraid.”
“Bainbridge,” she tried next. The situation had taken on the horror of a runaway carriage about to overturn. She felt like a bystander watching, helpless to stop it. Helpless to save those who would be wounded by the inevitable upending. “Lord Harry, cease this nonsense at once.”
“Is the truth nonsense?” Lord Harry raised a brow, turning the full force of his gaze upon her once more. It was luminous, burning, sparking with anger. “Some would say he killed her, you know.Millicent.That was her name.”
Spencer jerked forward, stepping into his brother’s chest, nostrils flaring. “You. Go. Too. Far.”
Bo’s mind spun. Panic gripped her chest like a fist, squeezing. She did not want the brothers to come to blows, especially not over her. And she did not want to know the name of her husband’s dead wife, for somehow it made her less a murky figure of the past and more real. The day had been a whirlwind—first her wedding, then the dowager’s meddling followed by Bo’s injudicious consumption of wine, and now an irate brother who would not stop until he made Bainbridge bleed. It was too much, more than she could bear.
“Stop,” she whispered to them both, begging. “For my sake.”
For the first time, she saw Harry as a man living in his brother’s ducal shadows. A man still trying to find his way in the world, by being an MP, by making his voice heard. While none of that made his behavior acceptable, it at least rendered it understandable.
But Spencer’s brother cocked his head, looking unapologetic. “That is why I have spoken up at last. For your sake, Bo.”
“Enough,” Spencer bit out. “Do not dare to ever again be so familiar with my wife. I alone am responsible for her. Not you.”
He turned on his heel, giving his brother his back, and hauling Bo along with him all the way to the waiting carriage. As beginnings went, it was rather ignominious, and she could only hope as she settled on the squab alongside her husband that she could melt his ice forever. That she might have a chance at happiness with him, or at the least, contentedness. That marrying him had not been the biggest mistake of her life.
pencer had made many mistakes in his life.
Marrying Millicent.
Failing to save her from herself.
Failing to save himself in the wake of her death.
Compromising the lady his brother loved.
Nearly coming to blows with his brother on his own bloody wedding day over that same lady.
Choosing a quiet honeymoon at one of his northern estates rather than the long, indulgent trip abroad Boadicea undoubtedly deserved.
Being too icy and arrogant, too stubborn, too prickly, too temperamental. Christ, he was an endless list of wrongheadedness, lapses of judgment, and grievous errors.
Yes, any number of sins could be laid upon his shoulders, and he would accept the mantle. Wedding Lady Boadicea Harrington? That had been but one more of his mistakes. For he was not whole, nor would he ever be. And he would not jeopardize the precious sense of peace he had achieved before her—withouther—not for any reason and not for anyone.
He couldn’t forget the words of Dr. Clyde from the asylum where Millicent had spent much of her last year.I have seen such puerperal mania cases before. Giving birth to a child can affect a woman’s mind.And he had vowed on that day that he would never again run the risk of casting himself headlong into the fires of hell by fathering another child.
He stopped in the act of pacing his chamber, an occupation that had riveted him for the last half hour at least as he allowed his wife time to get settled for the evening. The altercation with Harry had left him at sixes and sevens, rattling him down to his core, and he had been distant and quiet to Boadicea for the entirety of their journey from Boswell Manor.
He had performed a perfunctory introduction to the domestics, and when they had reconvened for dinner, it had been a formal, staid affair presided over by the butler and two footmen. Boadicea had been uncharacteristically reserved. The ghosts of his past, unearthed by Harry’s vicious words, had returned to haunt him in full force, and he had not been able to shake them.
Spencer stared at the door separating his chamber from hers. Ensconced at Ridgely Castle, they were far enough removed from Boswell Manor and the heaviness they left there. Built in the fifteenth century and rebuilt by his father some twenty years ago, it was not as palatial as Boswell Manor, but that meant that it also was not as cavernous. They shared a dressing and bathing area, and their chambers, while still elegantly appointed and generous in size, were far smaller when compared to Boswell Manor’s ostentation. But the park, settled in the woods and almost enchanted in its backdrop, had always been one of his favorites. He had never brought Millicent here during their marriage, and it seemed somehow fitting to begin his marriage with Boadicea within walls that were untainted by the past.
