Stubble it, warned his common sense.
“No,” she repeated, then paused, seeming to think better of her words. “That is, please do not go, my lord. I am not ready to be alone just yet, and I wish to have a frank conversation with you about your plans to leave for Shropshire.”
Not this again. She could argue with him all she liked, but the maddening female was not accompanying him on his journey. A month or two of rustication in the countryside—hours of travel between them—was what he required to rein in his wild impulses and get his imprudence under control.
He sighed. “There is no conversation to be had, my lady. I am leaving in the morning, and that is that.”
“If you insist on leaving, I will follow you,” she countered, defiant to the last.
Her stubborn little chin rose, making him want to kiss her again.
Stupid cockstand.
Mayhap he should leave tonight. Or spend the evening at a hotel. Far, far away from this maddening creature he had wed.
“You will do nothing of the sort,” he told her. “I do not give you permission to trail along wherever I go, and since I am leavingbecauseof you, it stands to reason that London is where you shall stay.”
“You cannot keep me from following you.”
The daring wench.
“Of course I can keep you from following me,” he countered. “Why not remain and enjoy the misbegotten fruits of your treachery?”
“Because I am your wife.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hardly need reminding of that fact, my dear.”
The color fled her cheeks, and he knew a moment of regret over the sharpness of his words. “Will you never forgive me?”
“We have been married for—” he fished out his pocket watch and consulted the timepiece—“less than five hours, madam.”
Her lush lips compressed to a firm line as she absorbed his words. For a moment, he thought he had won the argument and that he might reasonably extricate himself from this damned chamber before he did something more foolish than kissing her.
“Would you have treated Lady Beatrice so coldly?” she demanded next, shattering the delusion.
Her words sank their barbs into his heart, not just the reminder of his former betrothed, but the realization that he had not once thought of Lady Beatrice all day. His every thought had been of Helena. She consumed him.
This dratted obsession had to stop. She had betrayed him, manipulated him. Why could he not stop wanting her, in spite of what she had done?
Bitterness rushed through him. “I suppose we shall never know how I would have treated Lady Beatrice if she were my wife, shall we? You made certain of that, Lady Huntingdon.”
“Cease doing that, if you please.”
Her request had him grinding his teeth. “Cease doing what, forcing you to acknowledge the repercussions of your deceit?”
“Stop acting as if I am the only one at fault between us.” Her emerald eyes were flashing with fire now. “I may have embellished upon the extent of my ruination, but you and I both know what happened in the lady’s withdrawing room.”
Shame mingled with the maelstrom of other emotions warring within him. She was not wrong about that. He had lost control. He had touched her intimately that day.
And he wanted to again now.
No.He had promised himself he would not consummate their marriage today.
He frowned at her. “That regretful interlude was dishonorable of me, and I gladly admit to my sins. However, I remain unconvinced you did not orchestrate your entire plan just to catch me in your web.”
Like a beautiful, cunning spider.
The color returned to her cheeks at last. “I never wanted you to take Lord Algernon’s place. Nor did I invite you to follow me about London, ruining all my opportunities to create a scandal. You took it upon yourself, my lord.”
