She’d spent more time purchasing a pair of gloves.
The entire transaction—she couldn’t even refer to it as a ceremony—had taken less than one minute. One single minute that would change her life forever.
Disappointed and dazed, she allowed Marcus to drag her back to the inn.
She was married. She’d been a bride for all of sixty seconds.
“I don’t imagine supper’s cooled down.” Marcus seemed oblivious to her emotions.
And she’d wanted to hide them from him. She’d wanted to prove that she wasn’t getting too attached, or heaven forbid, expecting too much. “No, I don’t imagine it is.”
Now what?
Marcus walked her through the taproom and upstairs. He looked a little sheepish when they arrived at the door to her chamber. “I’ll return in a while?” The wicked glint that appeared in his gaze had an opposite effect upon her tonight. She did not feel beautiful. She did not feel sensual.
“So that you may eat and then… prepare for the night,” he added.
Having assured himself that she would not become too attached, he looked eager enough to further their intimacies. Emily nodded vaguely and closed the door. What did he mean, prepare for the night?
She glanced toward the food, which indeed was still warm.
She was a married woman now. A wife.
She drifted across the room and stared into the glass above the wash basin. She looked the same as she had twenty minutes ago. Same brown hair, same spectacles. She peered closer. Same smattering of freckles across her nose.
She’d always thought she’d feel so completely different after she’d married. Cecily had seemed different after marrying Flavion. Not in a good way, but different. And then again after marrying Stephen. And Sophia had changed.
She picked up the glass and poured herself some wine. It was good. Spicy and a little dry. She swallowed it and then poured another glass.
Marriage was overrated.
Men’s Blissful Ignorance
He’d missed her today.
Marcus bought himself a pint and then took his time drinking it. He’d not expected the anticipation he now felt. He oughtn’t to have worried about Emily getting clingy and emotional. Although bookish, she’d always exhibited a level-headedness absent in most silly debutantes.
He looked forward to tonight with a gusto he could never have imagined.
She’d not shown the slightest signs of squeamishness. This thought alone sent blood racing to his cock.
He’d wanted to join her for supper…in her chamber. He’d wanted to rush ahead, see what crazy musings flew from her brain tonight. But she’d seemed overwhelmed. As though she needed a moment to herself. A moment to allow the momentousness of such an occasion as her marriage to seem real.
He contemplated the weddings many of his peers had been forced to endure and nearly laughed out loud. This was the way a man ought to do it, if he had to get leg shackled. No sentimental squalling. No lengthy ceremony.
No nervous waiting at the altar.
Surely, he didn’t regret the lack of pomp and circumstance, did he? Marcus rubbed the muscles that had suddenly tightened at the back of his neck.
No tearful bride beaming at him from the back of the church, holding a bunch of flowers. He pulled his shoulders forward, stretching out the kink that had suddenly developed along the top of his back.
No religious vows to love, honor, and obey. No music. No joining of hands. His heart grew traitorously heavy at the thought.
Realizing his glass was empty, he ordered another.
No wedding breakfast.
Damn his eyes! Surely, Emily wasn’t experiencing a similar regret?
