She wanted to squirm, but her pride would not allow it. “You know the reason.”
“Perhaps you should speak plainly.”
Tilly gripped the basket to keep from making a fist in her skirts. “You are continuing to act as if we are strangers.”
He was implacable. “Wearestrangers.”
“Da-yun,” Robby proclaimed, holding his horse, now glistening with saliva, aloft as if it were a triumphant reward he had just been presented with. “Neigh!”
“Very good, my darling boy,” she praised, trying not to allow Adrian’s assertion to sting.
But oh how it did. It burrowed deep. Deep in the broken, jagged shards of her heart.
Robby clapped.
Tilly felt like weeping.
Adrian continued watching her, his gaze searing. “Last night changed nothing.”
There it was. The truth she had been dreading ever since she had opened her eyes in the guest chamber and found nothing but a dent in his pillow where his head had lain the night before. He had been acting on carnal impulse, and she could not deny she had as well, to a certain extent. It was more than that for her, however.
Her body longed for his. When they were together, they were incendiary. He was the other half of her. He was hers, and she was his. It had always been thus, from that first spark which had been lit at Coddington Hall. But he was determined to cling to his doubts. To resurrect the walls keeping them apart.
Frustration surged, along with sadness. “You did not seem to think me a stranger last night,” she could not keep herself from pointing out.
His jaw tensed. “I was not myself. You need not fear I will require your company.”
Require your company.
As if he spoke of nothing more intimate than the sharing of tea. She knew he had suffered, but in that moment, she rather longed to box his ears.
Instead, she took a deep, steadying breath. “You could not be so fortunate, Mr. Hastings. My company is often appreciated by those upon whom I bestow it. But never fear. If you do not wish for it, I am certain I shall find no end of others who do.”
His lips thinned, and a brief flash of triumph flitted through her. She decided that if he insisted upon referring to her as Duchess, she would refer to him as Mr. Hastings from now on. It was only fair. As for the rest, it was bluster. There was no other man she wanted.
But let him stew uponthat. Perhaps he had forgotten that she had already been trapped by the bonds of a loveless marriage once before.
“Others?” he asked, his tone silky.
But there was a warning beneath it.
Robby chose that moment to make his horse gallop up Adrian’s forearm. Her heart gave a pang as she watched their son’s innocent play. Regardless of how much it hurt her to pretend she did not love her husband desperately, she would endure any pain to see her son happy. To let him grow secure in the knowledge he was loved by his parents. So very loved. To not have to come of age in the shadow of the Duke of Longleigh’s wrath but instead with a doting father.
Histruefather.
Yes, she must be thankful for what she had rather than demanding more. More would come in time. She had to believe it would.
“Will you be staying this evening for dinner?” she asked him with false brightness instead of answering his question.
“No.”
His curt answer was not unexpected. After all, he had not taken a single dinner with her since they had wed. Still, she could not deny she had been secretly hoping for something more.
“Excellent,” she said, careful to keep any hint of irritation from her tone. “That leaves me free to pursue alternate plans for the evening, then.” She moved toward her son, who was now chewing on an Arabian mare in favor of hisday-un. “Give Mama a hug, little love.”
Robby rose from the Axminster, toddling forward. He linked his arms around her neck, squeezing tight before dropping a wet kiss on her cheek as Adrian remained a silent observer. She was keenly aware of her husband’s searching stare, but she ignored it and him in lieu of pressing a kiss to Robby’s soft, plump cheek.
“Mama loves you so,” she whispered in his ear.
