“Miss Goodnight.” Although his voice was cultured, he spoke her name disdainfully.
Emily did not miss the slight. “Lady Blakely,” she corrected him without thinking.
One side of his mouth twisted into a sneer. “As you say.”
Relief swept through her when the door opened a second time.
Marcus.
He was not alone. His mother and sister followed him.
His mouth was set in a grim expression, and she guessed he must have met with his father already. Had they discussed the past? He looked tired, as though the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders.
The urge to share his pain was a strong one, but she could not help remembering what she’d witnessed the night before, Marcus smiling at the barmaid sitting on his lap.
Cecily and Stephen had departed, leaving her very much alone. Although she didn’t want to look to her husband for reassurance, her gaze locked with his.
And for all of half a second, a teasing smile lurked behind his eyes.
For that one moment, they were friends again. Perhaps he was remembering what she’d done the last time she’d explored her host’s library.
He’d never lacked the ability to charm her.
Unwilling to open herself up to it again so easily, she pinched her lips together.
“How does it feel to be home, Blakely?” Quimbly queried Marcus from across the room with a mocking tone.
Marcus opened a glass door to his left and removed a carafe of some amber liquid. It would likely be scotch. Emily had been indifferent to the smoky spirit in the past but had recently grown rather fond of it. It tasted bittersweet. Much like her marriage.
The scent of it would forever remind her of her husband. Of their trip to Gretna Green.
Of sharing a chamber. Sharing a bed. Tasting it on his lips.
Marcus’ stare turned hard and unreadable when it landed on Lord Quimbly. The older man met it with an equally odd glint.
“How should I feel, Quim?”
Did he really call him that? Emily’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline but neither of the other ladies seemed to notice. Emily had read it in one of the more vulgar tomes she’d once discovered.
Lord Quimbly’s eyes narrowed. “Sorry that you’ve stayed away so long, I would imagine. In case you didn’t notice, Candlewood Park is in much need of repairs.”
Marcus lifted his chin, as though accepting a challenge of some sort. At the same time, he casually wandered across the room to Emily. “And now my countess and I can make plans for repairs and renovation. Isn’t that right, my dear?” He placed one hand on her back and with the other, lifted hers to his lips. “With my mother’s permission, my bride shall be given carte blanche.” At these words, Emily watched the duchess closely. Marcus’ mother gave nothing of her emotions away.
His sister rolled her eyes and then smirked.
The Earl of Quimbly pondered Marcus carefully. “Have you met with his grace yet?”
“Just now.” Marcus tucked her hand through his arm protectively. Was it her imagination or did he derive strength from her? She was so caught up in her emotions where he was concerned that she nearly jumped when he addressed her. “Father would like to meet you this evening, Emily. He’s eager to be introduced to the woman who lured me to the altar.”
He was obviously joking. His father must be livid.
Despite his amicable words and feigned smile, tension radiated from him.
“His grace also mentioned that you would be leaving today,” he told Lord Quimbly.
Emily glanced between the two men curiously.
“Not necessarily.” Marcus’ words failed to put the other man off. “You and I have business to tend to. In light of your father’s… illness.” The curious man then acknowledged Lady Hartley and the duchess with a twitch of his head. “Perhaps without the women present, though, eh, Blakely?”
