Stephen drummed his fingers against his thigh as the Yarrington daughters performed, one by one. He’d waited for over two hours, and there was still no sign of Emily.
He never should have agreed to go on without her. She’d claimed she needed more time to alter the gown he’d sent. Now it seemed she had no intention of coming.
He was barely aware of Miss Julia Yarrington’s rendition of Mozart’s Sonata in C upon the piano, to great applause. Beside him, Miss Hereford sent him a quiet smile. He didn’t return it. Though he would not humiliate her by avoiding her, he could not encourage her thoughts of marriage.
And what of his own? Emily claimed she’d wanted a new beginning. He’d invited her to attend, as a way of becoming better acquainted. Though she’d protested the event, he’d believed she would succumb to the temptation of a beautiful gown and an evening spent together.
Instead, she’d lied, remaining at home. This wasn’t the old Emily he was used to. She’d never been frightened of anything, a daredevil who had called him a coward when he wouldn’t climb upon the roof of her father’s house.
When had she changed? What had happened? He’d heard the whisperings about the family scandal surrounding her father’s death. But had that truly been enough to transform her?
The Yarrington sisters paused for a brief intermission, and he thought about returning home. He wanted to understand why she’d married him, why he’d married her.
What if he kept her as his wife? Could they make the most of their arrangement?
He rose from his chair, intending to find out. Before he could leave the room, the marquess blocked his path. “The evening has not yet concluded.” A threat underlined his father’s tone.
“I am aware of that,” Stephen said, keeping his voice low. “But I have decided to return home to my wife.”
“This impulsive wedding was a ridiculous idea. William would never have done something so foolish without thinking of the consequences.”
“You are right,” Stephen conceded. “William would have married any woman of your choosing.” His brother had been the perfect son, the perfect heir. Stephen was the disappointing spare.
His father suddenly brightened, his attention focused behind Stephen. “Miss Hereford. Are you enjoying yourself?”
The young woman blushed, lowering her eyes and dropping into a curtsy. “Yes, my lord. I am enjoying the evening very much.”
The silent message from his father said:This is the woman you should have married. She is far more suitable.
Stephen bowed politely and made his excuses to Lady Yarrington. With a tight smile to his father, he departed.
Emily’s maid was unlacing her corset when he opened the door to her bedchamber. He didn’t apologize for the intrusion but ordered the maid, “Leave us.”
The maid fled, closing the door behind her. Emily tried in vain to cover herself. It did no good—he could easily see the curves of her breasts rising from the chemise, the small waist accentuated by the corset. Thankfully, she had already discarded the heavy crinoline and several petticoats.
With each step closer, she took another step back. “What are you doing here? This is my room. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I am your husband. I’ve every right to be here.” His tone came out sharper than he’d intended, but he was completely distracted by her state of undress.
Her golden hair was unbound, falling to her waist. He needed to touch it, to wind it around his wrist while he captured her sweet mouth.
“Why didn’t you come to the musicale tonight? I thought you wanted to begin again.” He reached out to her waist and turned her back to him, revealing her partially unlaced stays. Slowly, he drew another lace out.
“I did—I mean, I do.” She lowered her chin, and he moved her hair over one shoulder while continuing to unlace her. “But I couldn’t go.” She shivered at his touch, trying to push his hands away.
He lowered his mouth to her nape, not really caring how discomfited she was. He wanted to taste her skin, to know if it was as soft as he suspected. At the touch of his lips, gooseflesh rose upon her skin.
“Stephen, please don’t,” she whispered. But he kept her trapped, using his mouth to trail a path of heat across her collarbone.
“Why did you stay behind?” he asked again.
“I told you. I’m in mourning for my brother.”
“I don’t believe you.” He removed the corset until only a thin layer of fabric covered her body. His groin tightened, and he pulled her against him, caressing her with the cloth between them. He spanned her waist with his hands, tantalizingly close to her breasts. “What are you afraid of?”
“I cannot be your wife in front of everyone else.”
“Why?”
