But that time had decidedly passed, he reminded himself sternly. He wanted no part of her now. Her lovely countenance and tempting curves hid a treacherous heart. The wretched irony of life. He had once almost been married to a cunning shrew who had desired him for his title and wealth, only to marry a similarly scheming bit of baggage who had wedded him for the same reason.
“I do assure you that I’m impervious to embarrassment,” she called. “Carry on however you must. I’m not leaving until I’ve said what I came here to say.”
Her voice was sultry. Husky and throaty yet sweet, like a ripe berry wrapped in smoke. Even when she was in a fit of pique, it slid over him like a caress.
“As you prefer, madam,” he said grimly before closing his eyes and willing himself to think of something suitably dreadful.
The scent of horse dung in summer.
The time he’d gone swimming in a lake and emerged with leeches stuck to a very unfortunate part of his person.
That did it. His stubborn cockstand subsided, and he aimed his stream into the ready chamber pot, not giving a damn if it was rude to do so in the presence of his wife. He wanted her out of this room, out of his reach, out of his life.
At least until he required her. She would be of breeding age for some time yet. At present, he couldn’t bear to touch her, even if his suddenly randy-again prick had other ideas.
Everett finished and found himself reluctant to step out from behind the screen. He’d been too irritated with her sudden appearance in his room and the water she’d poured over his head to pay attention to his nudity before. But now, marching out with his cock in the wind felt somehow more vulnerable than he ever again intended to be with her.
He glanced about and discovered a dressing gown his valet had draped on a chair for him last night. Thank Christ Turner was not just efficient, but armed with a propensity for knowing what Everett would need before he did himself. He snatched it up and slipped into it, doing up a few buttons before stalking from behind the screen.
Sybil was still waiting for him, her chestnut hair captured in an intricate series of woven strands, a few glorious curls left to hang free down her back. She was dressed in her favorite shade of blue, and he hated himself for remembering that pointless fact. She had a plump pout, a stubborn chin, high cheekbones, and eyes that were more gray than blue beneath elegantly archedbrows. Sybil radiated elegance as she always had, not a bloody hair out of place.
She was fucking beautiful.
But as he’d learned long ago and not just at her hand, beauty was hardly synonymous with a kind heart and loyalty. The most cunning jade could hide behind a luscious pair of lips or a sparkling gaze. His wife was no exception to that particular, unfortunate rule.
“Say your piece and be done,” he told her coldly.
Chin high, she swept past him, moving toward the window and leaving a tempting trail of perfume in her wake. “I’ve already said the most salient part. I want a divorce.”
Everett turned to watch her graceful movements, the swish of her hems revealing heeled satin shoes covered in embroidery. “Ah, pity. You’ll not be getting one.”
Furious as he was with Sybil over her perfidy, he had no wish to begin the maddening process of finding a wife anew. Particularly not when there was no guarantee he wouldn’t simply find another woman who was every bit as duplicitous as she.
Sybil was yanking at the curtains, pulling them open to admit sunshine Everett didn’t want to see. It was too damned bright. He blinked against the harsh glare of it, his head still aching from the indulgences of the night before.
She stopped in her ministrations to toss him an irritated glance. “Why not? You’ve demonstrated, quite amply, that you don’t want to be married to me.”
He squinted at her, glaring. “What I want is immaterial, as is what you want. We’re inextricably bound.”
Sybil tugged at the curtains. “Nothing is inextricable.”
“Marriage is.”
She clamped her hands on her waist and glowered at him. “Not when divorce is a possibility.”
She was stubborn. He would give her that. Unfortunately for Sybil, it would get her nowhere.
“If you think I’m going to start anew and endure the horrors of matrimony a second time, you’re bloody mad, madam.”
“I wasn’t thinking about you, Riverdale,” she snapped, shoving more curtains out of the way. “I was thinking about me.”
“As you prefer to do.”
“As Ihaveto do. Heaven knows you haven’t even the slightest bit of regard for my welfare or my future.”
“And why should I?” His lip curled.
She moved to the next window and began wrestling the curtains into submission. “Because I am your wife.”
