But that might have been because Marcus Roberts, the Earl of Blakely, heir to the Duke of Waters was simply put, a good person, whom she’d manipulated into marriage.
After the doctor confirmed she’d not broken her wrist but only sprained it, Marcus had insisted she lay down, keep her arm elevated, and then ordered a delightful meal brought to their chamber. He’d said he’d return to check on her later but needed to finalize matters with Mr. Nottingham first.
As soon as Emily learned that the Earl of Kensington was the magistrate, she’d understood Marcus and Mr. Nottingham would have to be creative in how they chose to deal with Quimbly.
The monster.
Murderous fiend.
She blew out a deep sigh.
Here she lay, a married woman, unable to see any farther than twelve inches in front of her face, with the use of only one hand. She could hold a book but be unable to turn any pages. And what good was a book when you couldn’t turn the pages?
She would ensure Marcus that she would be fine on her own. He could leave her to her own devices.
The more time they spent together, the greater a disappointment she faced when he left.
Except she couldn’t keep herself from hoping for more. She wanted it all.
How had she convinced herself that all she wanted out of a marriage would be security and the freedom to do as she pleased? That all she needed a husband for was to keep her from being sent to live with her dreadful aunt?
What a fool she’d been.
Still was.
She wanted what Cecily and Sophia had. She wanted her husband to look at her like she mattered to him more than anyone else in the world. She wanted to make a family with Marcus.
For a moment, she allowed herself to dream of what an incredible father he would be.
Of course, their children would be intelligent, if breeding won out. Marcus was keenly intelligent, as was she. The things she could teach such children.
She rolled onto her side before remembering her arm was injured and yelped when pain shot up her arm.
“Blasted feathering Gubberducker…” She’d given up on the swear words she knew today and began making them up all on her own.
Such a day.
“Emily?”
She’d not heard him enter, caught up in her own frustrations. His low voice sent a chill along her spine. She wished she could see him. He stood by the door. A magnificent six-foot blob with dark hair dressed in ruggedly handsome colors.
“Is he taken care of?” She pinned her gaze on the blur that made up his fine-looking face and piercing eyes.
“Quimbly?” The blob of his face nodded. “My father?” Less confidence in his voice now. “We can only wait and see.”
Ignoring the pain in her wrist, she propped herself up to face him. His hands moved at his neck. He’d be removing his cravat.
Tingles swept through her at the knowledge that she’d have yet another night with him.
“I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know what to say about the mess that was his family. And then the thought struck her that they were her family now, too!
Marcus paused. He seemed to be staring at her for a moment and then took a few steps closer. “I don’t suppose you have another pair.”
And then he was there, touching her face. And she really could see his eyes now. Not piercing though, but tender. She shook her head.
“Is it giving you a headache? Not seeing?” His thumb traced the sensitive skin near the outer edge of her eye.
Again, she shook her head.
