He nodded, the intensity suddenly in his countenance making her want to divert her gaze. “You look beautiful as always,cariad.”
He was being tender again.
Her heart could not withstand it.
“And you are handsome as ever,” she acknowledged, her voice sounding brittle. Her ability to resist him, when his charm was in full force, was nonexistent.
“Quite the pair we are. Married less than half a day and already frowning at each other on our way to the honeymoon.”
Honeymoon.Yes, perhaps that was another reason for her dismay. She was about to spend a week with him at the Marquess of Greymoor’s estate. When Anglesey had made the suggestion to her long before she had ever seen him kissing the widowed countess, Izzy had agreed. She had not wanted to go abroad. Nor had she wished for an extended honeymoon. The marquess, who was hideously wealthy thanks to his many investments, and apparently something of a business partner to Anglesey, had refurbished Haines Court, complete with electricity.
“Am I meant to be happy?” she asked, her tone emerging sharper than she had intended.
“Have you reason to be unhappy?” he countered. “Aside from what you believe you saw, have I given you cause to be miserable? Have I given you a reason to doubt me when I tell you I will do my utmost to be the husband you deserve?”
Still, she could not look away, no matter how much she wished it. He was so intent upon her, his lips curling with a hint of repressed anger. Or perhaps frustration. She thought about all the places that mouth had been on her body, and her cheeks went hot.
“No,” she admitted quietly. “You have not.”
But that did not mean her heart was not as uncertain of him as ever. Having been so thoroughly scorched once before, she had no wish to submit herself willingly to the same, soul-destroying pain. She knew what she had seen. She knew what Anglesey himself had told her about his past feelings for the widowed countess.
And Lady Anglesey was an undeniably lovely woman. Fair-haired and dainty and beautiful. Izzy, in contrast, had nondescript dark hair that was untamable and wavy, and her figure was far too curved.
“Do you mean to continue punishing me for the duration of our honeymoon?” he asked next. “If so, perhaps we ought to simply turn around and go back to where we have come from.”
The temptation was there, telling her to agree. To suggest they return to Barlowe Park where she was surrounded by her family. But her pride remained strong. She was not certain she wished to confess just how much the prospect of spending a week alone with him filled her with fear.
Nothing but the two of them and Greymoor’s capable servants.
No interruptions.
No guests.
No wedding to distract them.
Not even propriety to keep them apart.
“Well, madam?” he demanded, his voice curt and clipped. Not harsh, but carrying an edge of something stern. “Shall we return to Barlowe Park and abandon our attempts at a honeymoon? Say the word, and I will have the carriage turned around.”
Say yes, said her leery heart.
Say no, said her pride.
In the end, pride won.
“No,” she said hastily. “Do not return. We will commence with the honeymoon, my lord.”
There would be questions she had no wish to answer from her family if they returned. And neither did she wish for him to think her vulnerable to his charm, regardless of how unutterably drawn to him she remained.
“Because you wish for the honeymoon, or because your pride will not allow you to say otherwise?” he queried, his gaze assessing.
Knowing.
She tipped her chin up in a show of defiance. “Because I want the honeymoon. After the last week of upheaval, some quiet time away from the bustle should prove restorative.”
“Prove it, then.”
His low words sent heated delight down her spine as ways she might prove her desire for a honeymoon rose in her mind. She banished all with ruthless determination.
