“Not yet,” she admitted.
She should have done so without him; now it seemed she would be trapped into sharing the first meal of the day.
“We will breakfast together.” He turned his attention back to Emily, making more foolish expressions that caused her to burst into giggles.
Julianna’s heart ached. She loved the sound of her daughter’s laughter. Hated the tumult of her new life. She did not know her position in the household or in her marriage.
“Have I a choice in the matter?” she could not help asking.
His vibrant gaze flicked back to her. “You always have a choice, Julianna. However, you seem to frequently make the wrong one.”
His observation stung. “I agree. For instance, I trusted you.”
Shelbourne’s jaw tensed. “And I trusted you not to disappear with my daughter. Looks as if I was mistaken.”
Anger blazed through her, chasing some of the unwanted desire that had been her constant companion since she had so foolishly lowered her defenses and rolled about on the floor with him like a common strumpet.
“Not in front of Emily,” she snapped.
As the product of a bitterly contentious union herself, Julianna knew all too well the toll of growing up in the shadow of her parents’ acrimony. She had felt unwanted and unloved. Heavens, she still felt that way.
Because it was true.
“Do you intend to keep the truth from her when she is of an age to understand?” Shelbourne asked Julianna then, tearing her from the misery of her past.
“Papa,” Emily said, then released an excited stream of babble.
Drat him.
Julianna was determined that her relationship with her daughter would bear no resemblance to the one she shared with her mother.
“If you feel the need to relate the story when she is old enough to comprehend, I will not argue,” she told Shelbourne, gratified at the even tone of her voice. “I am confident when she hears my side of the tale, she will understand I made the best decision I could, given the circumstances.”
“Like hell you did,” he growled.
Emily said something that sounded suspiciously close to Shelbourne’s epithet and clapped her hands again.
“Language, Shelbourne,” Julianna chastised.
He inclined his head. “Forgive me. My wayward tongue cannot be trusted.”
Inexplicably, she thought about that tongue of his. And where it had been. How delicious it felt, gliding over her most intimate flesh. Her cheeks went hot. Their gazes met and held, his expression knowing.
“You are correct,” she said stiffly. “It cannot be trusted. Which is why I shall endeavor to keep my distance from it and all its bloody lies from this moment forward.”
“Hmm.” His eyes narrowed. “Language, Lady Shelbourne.”
It was the first time anyone had referred to her as her new title. Shock and disbelief mingled with something else, an emotion she refused to examine.
“Forgive me, Lord Shelbourne,” she returned, echoing his words. “It would seem my tongue is little better than yours.”
“I shall be the judge of that,chérie.” The looked he gave her was molten.
And Julianna would have had to have been fashioned of stone not to feel something as her handsome husband stood before her with their daughter cradled in his arms, his eyes telling her everything his words did not. Reminding her of the tempest that had seized them in his chamber.
One which would not be repeated, she reminded herself sternly.
She frowned at him. “Never, Shelbourne.”
