He could not allow her to attempt to resurrect the walls she tried to keep between them.
“The hour is late, Shelbourne.”
“Sidney,” he countered.
She sighed. “The hour is late,Sidney.”
“The hour is late for babes. Not for a husband and wife who have much to discuss.”
“Have we not already discussed all there is?”
“Darling, we have not scratched the surface.” He raised a brow. “The choice is yours. Shall we have our conversation in the library, or shall we have it in your bed?”
Her eyes widened. He did not mistake the desire simmering within their vivid depths. Regardless of how much she desired to maintain a distance between them, she wanted him every bit as much as he longed for her.
He wanted to believe that passion could turn into something more, over time.
Hell, he had to believe that, or else, he was doomed to a hopelessly miserable marriage. A marriage of convenience was one matter. A marriage in which he loved his wife wholeheartedly whilst she felt nothing for him—he did not think he could bear it.
Pity he had not realized how much was at stake before speaking his vows. But then, he would happily do anything to raise Emily as his and claim her before London and all the world. Because she was his daughter, damn it, and he loved her. That love supplanted all pride and even his own sense of happiness.
“Well?” he prodded when she failed to answer him. “We can either stand here in this bloody hall at a stalemate, or you can join me in the library. Or in your bed. The choice is yours,chérie.”
Damnation. There was no charm left in him, but she had driven him to the edge. As always.
“I shall join you in the library,” she relented, reluctance dripping from her voice, etched in her visage.
But then an idea occurred to him. There was a place that was better than the library. One more suited to wooing. He offered her his arm, and when she took it, he steered them toward the billiards room instead. Down the stairs, and to the left.
Her fingers clenched his arm. “This is decidedly not the direction of the library.”
“I changed my mind.”
Into the billiards room they went. The lights were out, and he could hardly blame the servants for such an oversight; he could not recall when the last time was that he had made use of the chamber. And certainly not with his wife. He had always spent most evenings at his club or with his mistress.Christ, what a time to think of Charlotte. He was going to have to end his understanding with her. It had been his intention to do so imminently, but the matter of his hasty marriage and then settling into life with a bride and child had rather usurped the secondary need to cut ties with a woman he had not seen in over a month, since well before Julianna’s return to London.
“I cannot see a dratted thing,” Julianna said at his side.
Well, neither could he. Mayhap this had not been the best of sudden plans. But he was reasonably certain he could find his way around in the—
“Fuck!” he howled as his hip connected with something hard and immovable.
The bloody billiards table. At least he had not walked straight into it with his cock. That would have been truly wretched.
“What happened?” she asked.
Did he detect a note of concern in her voice? He rubbed his hip, wincing, and dared to hope. “I walked into the damned table.”
“Are you injured?”
“I shall live,” he declared grimly, feeling like the world’s greatest lummox.
He had brought her here to distract her, woo her. Win her.
And instead, he was walking into tables and groping about in the darkness.
“You truly ought to watch your language,” she pointed out.
Yes, he bloody well should. And he would, but Emily was not here, and his hip hurt, damn it.
