“What are you doing in my carriage, Needham?” she demanded.
“Waiting to accompany you on your journey, of course.” His countenance was calm, as if he had not a care. “Where were you going, wife, and in such a hurry you intended to miss dinner?”
She glared at him. “I was going to see Tom, of course. I would prefer to forego a meal rather than dine with swine.”
He remained impervious, instead extending a gloved hand in gallant fashion. “I would never invite a pig to the dinner table. All the Marquesses of Needham before me would roll over in their graves. A hand, my love?”
She ignored his offer. “You are not accompanying me. Get out of the bloody carriage.”
“You are my wife.” His tone was light. “Where you go, I shall follow.”
Anger spiked through her. “I do not want to be your wife, and nor do I wish your company on my journey. The last thing I would do is bring the chance of further violence to poor Tom’s door.”
He quirked a brow, hand still extended, remaining immobile. “If you have no desire to bring violence to your lover, then perhaps you ought to remain at home yourself. Or have you forgotten your viciousness yesterday and again today already?”
Her gaze settled on the scratches she had left upon his cheek, and she did not regret them any more today than she had yesterday. He deserved to experience pain. He deserved everything she had inflicted upon him and more, magnified a thousand times. That included today’s slap.
Her eyes flicked back to his, defiance tipping up her chin. “If you remain in the carriage, I can only assume you would like to experience more. Perhaps I can give you a matching mark upon your other cheek.”
He rubbed his cheek, his expression turning rueful. “Do your worst, wife.”
How she wished he would cease referring to her aswifeandmy loveanddarling. That he would stop being so impossibly handsome. That his voice did not send a frisson down her spine. That the sight of his mouth did not still make hers tingle in remembered awareness.
That he had not returned.
Still, she could not stand here on the carriage step all evening. It would seem they were once more at an impasse. “Why would you want to accompany me?”
“Because I do not trust you not to flee.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her in that intense manner he had always possessed.
She opened her mouth to protest. “I—”
“Do not,” he interrupted, “pretend you did not already entertain the thought.”
Her cheeks went hot. Shehad, of course.
Damn him all over again.
“Do not act as if you know me, Needham,” she said coolly, entering the carriage at last, ever cognizant of the servants overhearing their tense exchange.
She had ceased caring what others thought of her a long time ago, but she hardly wanted to stand about arguing with him for the next hour. The sooner she got into the carriage, the sooner she could see Tom. And it would appear her husband had no intention of vacating the carriage so she could travel in peaceful solitude.
The door closed as she settled herself on the squab opposite Needham, settling her skirts into place and doing her best to pretend as if he were not there. An impossible feat to achieve, as it happened. Needham had always set her pulse racing and filled the very air with a pulse of electric awareness. As he had said, curse him, some things did not change.
“I know you, Nell.” His low voice interrupted her thoughts as the carriage swayed into motion. “Perhaps you have forgotten just how well.”
Heat unfurled, deep within her. Remembrance hit her. Laughing with him, kissing in the rain, sitting up all night in his massive bed, drinking wine and talking about poetry, the beautiful weight of his body atop hers, the slide of his tongue in her mouth, his cock inside her. Desire—hated, unwanted—returned.
She did her best to banish it, curling her hands into fists at her sides.
Reluctantly, she stole a glance at him. “You do not know me at all, my lord. Indeed, you never did. No one knows me better than Tom.”
Her words had their intended effect.
He stiffened as if she had dealt him another physical blow. “Sidmouth could not possibly know you better than I do.”
Of course he did not. She allowed no one near to her heart. Not after their disastrous union. Needham had hurt her too deeply. His betrayal had hardened her, leaving her jaded and hollow.
Empty.
