He laughed, the sound bitter, his gaze skimming over her face, landing on her lips. “Because you had no other choice. Is that not true? You were desperate. What is the matter, hmm, Julianna? None of your New York City lovers wanted to leg-shackle themselves to you forever?”
She had not had any lovers in New York. He had been the only man who had ever touched her, kissed her, held her. And he had ruined her for any man who had come after. But she was not going to admit that to him. Not now. Not ever.
“You are Emily’s father,” she said instead.
“Ah, such an angel of mercy you are. I consider myself fortunate indeed to take you as my wife.”
The familiar scent of him washed over her, along with the undeniable tartness of wine. “Have you been drinking this morning, my lord?”
“A bit.” His lips quirked. Sinful lips. Lips she very much wanted to feel moving over hers again, regardless of how much she told herself she must not.
“Drinking at breakfast, Shelbourne?” She frowned at him, concern she had been doing her utmost to tamp down rising once more. “That is a bit much even for a man of your licentiousness, is it not?”
“Not when I have to marry you.”
His riposte was a taunt, cutting and dark.
“If you found it such a hateful prospect, you did not have to agree.”
“Wrong, Julianna. I want my daughter. Unfortunately, you are her mother. I’ll not have her raised as a bastard, whispered about everywhere she goes. Unlike you, I am willing to put her best interests before my own.”
He could have slapped her, and it would not have hurt as much.
She mustered all her inner strength to form her equally stinging response. “Forgive me. I have forgotten what a paragon of virtue you are.”
“And yet, you kissed me as if you could not wait for me to bed you again.”
Yes, she had kissed him. She would not make the same mistake twice. If he thought to consummate their marriage, he would think again when she laid stiff and uncompromising in bed, refusing to touch him or give in to the desire he lit within her. If he intended to make her miserable, she had no qualms about playing his games.
“I kissed you because I forgot it was you,” she told him. “You could have been anyone.”
His nostrils flared and his jaw went rigid. Her words had affected him. But she felt no victory. Instead, the same hollow ache of loss infected her, stronger than ever.
“Fuck you, Julianna,” he said, almost pleasantly. And then he sauntered past her. “Come on then, let us finish this little farce. The sooner I have my daughter beneath my roof where she belongs, the better.”
Swallowing down a lump of fervent sadness at what they had become, Julianna followed in the angry wake of the man she had once loved. She had no other choice.
* * *
She had gottenbeneath his skin.
Sidney had not intended to allow her to do it, but it would seem he possessed no control at all where she was concerned. He felt like a wound, bruised and bleeding, refusing to heal. Soon to fester.
Mayhap he was already festering. Likely, he had been festering these last two years.
And now, she was beneath his roof. Settling in to the chamber adjoining his. Seeing her trunks unloaded, her gowns and baubles put in their places. Because she was his wife. He wondered if she would take note of the small changes he had made in the chamber in anticipation of her presence.
And then he hated himself for wondering.
And for making the changes.
For thinking of her at all.
Fuck, he was a married man.
A married man sitting alone with a bottle of untouched Sauternes, at the Black Souls club. He was not going to drink the wine. Julianna had been right that morning, damn her. Imbibing at breakfast was poorly done, even by his standards. His only excuse had been that he was in a foul mood on account of his looming nuptials. Also, his pounding head from the wine and whisky he had poured down his gullet the night before.
He never had managed to confront his father. The heartless curmudgeon would have to receive the news of Sidney’s nuptials when the rest of London did. The less Sidney saw of him, the better.
