Jeremy nodded. “Maybe when you return or tomorrow, we can talk about Sardinia.”
Thomas forced himself to smile. “I promise.”
He practically fled from the room and quickly headed to the door. Footsteps followed him, and he looked back to see Lisbeth coming towards him. Harshly, he asked, “What is it?”
“Where are you going? Will you return?”
He felt smothered here. “That isn’t your concern.”
She bristled. “I’m your wife.”
Thomas leaned forward so only she could hear him, “Only because it allows me to be near my child.”
She wore a pained expression. “I will have the bedchamber connected to mine prepared for you.”
“Was that the duke’s?”
Lisbeth nodded, and he shook his head. “Prepare a guest chamber for me.”
“Thomas, can we please talk?”
He didn’t let her say anything else but yanked the door open, escaping her and everything that he’d lost because of choices that were made outside of his control. Thomas would never allow that to happen again.
Chapter Eighteen
Lisbeth, an hourago, had heard one of the servants escort Thomas to the guest chamber. She needed to speak with him. Even if it was an argument, they needed to discuss in detail how all this would unfold. It wasn’t good for the children to be around so much animosity.
She walked to the guest chamber, feeling as if she was sneaking around even though Thomas was now her husband. Lisbeth opened the door and found him asleep, not in the bed, but in a wingback chair. A glass of brandy rested in his hand, sitting on one of his knees.
Tonight, apparently, would not be the time for their discussion. She gently pulled the glass from his hand and retrieved a soft blanket from the foot of the bed to cover him with. When Lisbeth turned back, she was surprised to see his green eyes staring back at her.
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” she murmured.
He smiled softly at her, and it was filled with warmth that startled her. Since their encounter at the hotel, he’d not looked at her in that way. She shook out the blanket, but he pulled it away, dropping it on the floor. “Come here, Lizzie.”
The endearment from his lips made her body hum. She frowned at him but stepped closer. “Have you been drinking?”
He laughed. “I’ve drank, stopped, and now I’m here.”
“You are home,” she said.
Thomas grimaced. “I’m not sure that is what this place is.”
“It could be. May we talk?”
He pulled her towards him so his legs were between hers, hiking her nightdress up slightly. “This place is like a museum containing all the things I could have had but were denied to me.”
She stroked his cheek. “It doesn’t have to be. We can start anew.”
His hand stroked the outside of her leg, sending warmth through her body. Lisbeth should step away, but for once, he wasn’t staring at her with so much hatred. It may be desire, but she would take it over animosity.
Thomas’s hand drifted up, reaching her stomach, her hip, and then sliding down her lower back and bottom. “Thomas, we shouldn’t—”
“Kiss me, Lizzie—just one time. Let’s pretend that none of this exists for a moment,” he said gruffly.
There was nothing wise about appeasing him, but she found herself unable to resist. She dipped her head down and placed her lips to his. Thomas’s warm hands pulled her closer until she stumbled onto his lap astride.
The soft kiss deepened. They explored each other with a yearning that Lisbeth felt so deeply her eyes began to water. His hands threaded through her hair. Thomas broke the kiss and whispered, “I used to dream about wrapping this thick blonde hair in my hand.”
