He never had.
He did not love her.
And now, after what she had done, he never would.
She tried to tell herself it was just as well. That having him this way was better than not having him at all. But the protestation was a hollow one. Because it did not feel right. Because the Huntingdon seated in the barouche with her, the man who had stood with her at the altar and stiffly spoken his vows, was not the same man who had kissed her with such unexpected passion, even if he was now her husband.
In his place, remained the detached stranger who had been so forbidding and cruel in her father’s library until he had given in and kissed her. He was a fortress, and she would have to determine the best way to breach his fortifications.
“How much time?” she asked.
“Do not ask more of me than I am willing to give, my lady,” he warned. “You have already taken more than enough.”
They descended from the barouche in a decided lack of fanfare. He offered her his arm with practiced gallantry, but his expression remained aloof. Helena felt as if a fog of gloom had enveloped her. Little wonder the skies opened and a drenching mist began to fall as they made their way up the walk. The gray misery reflected her mood. Mayhap her future as well.
“Huntingdon, you cannot be serious about leaving me in the morning,” she tried again.
“I am as serious as you were about spreading your ruinous lie,” he countered calmly. “You wanted me for a husband, and now you have me. Mayhap you shall find you would have been more content with a different choice. However, the dye has been cast, and here we are. Do smile for the staff, if you please.”
Before she could formulate a response, the door swept open to reveal his butler and a gathering of servants assembled in the entry hall. So many sets of eyes were upon her. Some of them had seen her before, and in a rather ignominious circumstance. The whirlwind of the last week had not left her with enough time to prepare herself for the reality of her new role.
She endured the introductions in a state of semi-wakefulness, feeling as if she had just been dredged from a deep sleep. Although Helena had stood with Huntingdon in the church and exchanged vows before joining him at the wedding breakfast, nothing seemed more real than this—the affirmation that everything was about to change.
Just how much remained the question.
Because she had a husband who had no wish to be a husband.
Or, to be more specific, no wish to beherhusband.
By the time the formalities were observed, her cheeks ached from the feigned smile she had kept upon her face. Huntingdon led her upstairs, away from the welcoming domestics. He remained silent and forbidding, stern and tall and strong. His presence seemed a rebuke.
She waited to speak until they were alone in the hall. “Will you not change your mind about leaving me in the morning? What will the servants think? Or my family, for that matter? The rest of London?”
Not that she cared what the rest of London thought. Or most of her family. She did care about Shelbourne. He was her brother. And she cared about her mother’s opinion as well. Indeed, part of her had hoped that in her marriage, she would be able to enjoy a closer relationship with Mama, apart from Father’s draconian marital plans for her, which had been hanging over them like a storm cloud for far too long.
Huntingdon’s handsome mien still showed nary a hint of emotion. “Your family already thinks the worst of me, Lady Huntingdon. The domestics may believe what they wish, and the rest of London can go to the devil for all I care.”
Lady Huntingdon.The title was unfamiliar. Unexpected. It was her—the Helena she was now, not the Helena she had been. The ultimate symbol she was no longer living beneath her father’s less-than-benevolent thumb.
But nothing her husband had said gave her pleasure or reassurance.
She supposed she deserved no less of a response. “And what of me? Do you not care what I think, what I want?” Something horrid occurred to her then. “Do you have a mistress awaiting you in Shropshire?”
He smiled, but the expression held neither warmth nor mirth. “It is rather too late to concern yourself over such a question, do you not think, my lady? We are already wed.”
She raised a brow, refusing to bend from this new question which would not cease nettling her. “I do not think it too late for such a query. As your wife, I have a right to know.”
The mere utterance of the phraseyour wifewas foreign and unfamiliar. Almost unbelievable. And yet, real. True. Her foolish heart rejoiced anyway, because it loved him still. No one could persuade that stubborn part of her he would not one day return the sentiment.
He studied her, his sky-blue eyes dark in the low light of the hall where they had paused for their impromptu discussion. “I have pressing matters awaiting me in Shropshire. That is all you need know, my lady. Now, would you care to see the countess’s apartments?”
How dismissive he was.Pressing mattersindeed.
She swallowed down a rush of resentment at his iciness. “Of course, Lord Huntingdon. Proceed as you wish.”
“Excellent.” He stalked down the hall abruptly, taking her by surprise as he hauled her along with him.
They crossed the threshold of the countess’s apartments just as Helena’s slipper caught in her flounced hems. One moment, she was struggling to keep up with her new husband as he all but dragged her into the chamber, and the next, she was pitching forward.
