She wandered to the wardrobe next. Her efficient lady’s maid Briggs had already made certain the modest number of gowns Julianna had brought from America were in their place. The rest of the belongings she had amassed would arrive in several weeks’ time, in the event she could not return to them as quickly as she intended, packed on a steamer. She missed her collection of books the most. But they would wait. The rest of her life would wait as well. Shelbourne would tire of this farce and she would go.
Despite the hopes burning within, there was no denying she was firmly mired in London for now. Cagney House was quiet and unfamiliar around her. There had been no wedding breakfast. There was no cause for celebration or joy on this day. It was merely one of quiet acceptance.
And absence—most notably Shelbourne’s.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door joining their chambers. She stiffened, hesitating. Had he finally returned?
“I know you are within, Julianna,” came his familiar baritone when she did not immediately answer.
She sighed and crossed the chamber to the door, opening it.
He was dressed in evening clothes. His dark hair fell rakishly over one brow, and she had to fight the urge to sweep it away. Where had that rogue impulse emerged from? She had no tenderness for this man. He was a stranger to her, albeit a stranger she had married.
A stranger she intended to leave behind as soon as possible.
Julianna was beset by a sudden, intense rush of vulnerability. She hugged her waist, thankful she was still dressed as well, and in the same gown she had worn to marry him. There had been no time or need to change.
His vibrant gaze locked on hers, sending unwanted sparks down her spine.
She chased them away. Cursed sparks.
“What do you want, Shelbourne?” she asked him, irritated with herself for the tumultuous rise of emotions within.
His lips curved in the ghost of a smile. “Cannot a gentleman inquire after the welfare of his wife?”
“Not when the gentleman in question is you.”
“Hmm.” He leaned against the doorjamb in a pose of vexingly handsome indolence. “Is the chamber to your liking?”
As if he cared.
“It is ample.”
“Just ample?” His gaze swept over her in an assessing fashion that somehow left heat seeping into her belly.
“It is well-appointed for a cage.” She raised a brow, eying him with defiance. “There. Does that mollify you?”
His stare flitted back to hers, burning. “I see no bars. Nor do I seek to be your jailer. You are free to come and go as it pleases you.”
“And yet, you demand your marital rights from me.” The moment she spoke the words, Julianna wished she could recall them.
They hung in the air between them, heavy and potent. Awareness crackled.
Stupid Julianna. Reckless Julianna.
Would she never learn?
“How have I demanded them,chérie?” he asked, his tone sardonic, his expression amused.
“By insisting this must be more than a marriage in name only,” she countered.
And heavens, the way he was looking at her…
Her palms were damp.
Nothing had changed except that now, she had no defenses against him. None. He could kiss her, touch her, saunter into her chamber. Bed her. He had every right, and the weakest part of her had no wish to stop him.
His mocking smile disappeared. “I must receive something in exchange for our bargain. Do you think I wanted to be bound to you forever?”
