Marcus stuffed down the barrage of emotions threatening to erupt. Her calm demeanor angered him to no end. He’d never hit a woman. He wouldn’t do so now.
But God damn his eyes for coming to trust her. Idiot he was, God damn his eyes for marrying her.
“Pack my belongings.” He flicked his gaze to the man who’d served as his valet for over a decade. “I’d like to depart before dark.”
Crandall nodded and backed out of the room discreetly.
Now she blinked.
Now she appeared contrite.
“But.” A tremor shook the single syllable. “We’ve only just arrived.”
Marcus lifted her gown from the floor and tossed it in her direction. “You can do whatever you damn well please, my lady.” He watched his words wash over her. “I’ll be leaving alone.”
Damage Control
The room felt all too quiet at Marcus’ departure.
Emily sat unmoving, staring at the closed door he’d disappeared behind, confused.
She knew he might not take pleasure upon hearing this information, but she didn’t quite understand the bitter words he’d thrown at her.
She’d only sought the truth.
She shook her head as though she might unmuddle her thoughts.
Not only her thoughts, but something else. A sharp pain on the left side of her chest—a burning emptiness.
Only ten minutes ago, they’d shared the greatest of intimacies. And now…
He was leaving her?
Finally spurred into action, she bounded off the bed and tugged the wrinkled gown over her head.
They’d decided to forgo Sophia’s dinner. He’d wanted to lie abed with her.
And now he was leaving?
Without her?
She tugged the bell pull more vigorously than necessary and did what she could to make herself presentable once again. When a maid arrived, she asked the woman to deliver a message to her grace.
Emily could not return to London without her husband. Her mother would never believe her. Marcus held the certificate! Miss Emily Goodnight wed to the Earl of Blakely. Even she could hardly believe it.
The past few days had been like a dream. None of it felt real.
And in truth, perhaps it hadn’t been. Just a game. Marcus played the part of passionate lover, and she, his devoted wife.
She’d not bothered to ask a maid to unpack the small valise Marcus had purchased for her on their way to Gretna Green. It remained unopened, by the door.
She heard doors slamming from next door and assumed Marcus was on his way out.
Yes, she was guilty of manipulating. Yes, she’d married him without being completely honest. She’d tried to tell him before their wedding, but only half-heartedly. Nonetheless, he was still her husband.
And she’d be damned if she’d allow him to abandon her. She’d come this far. No sense in rolling over now.
Marcus rapped once on the oversized door leading into Prescott’s study, and then promptly stepped in upon hearing the muffled answer.
