Rosina could see only the loop of his tied-back hair against the tanned skin. She felt her pulse start up, and a flutter at her stomach. What did he want? The waiting began to chafe her. She crossed to a chair, careful to choose one that would admit of his being able to turn his bad side away from her, and sat down, gripping her hands together in her lap. Still he did not move. She could not endure this! She had to speak. She could not help the tremor in her voice.
“What is it you w-wanted to see me about, my l-lord?”
A groan escaped him, and he flung a hand up to his forehead. “Oh, dear God, Rosina!”
He dropped his hand after a moment, and turned. His ravaged countenance drew from her a swift indrawn breath. He looked haunted, and she knew instantly that his barrier had been dictated by suffering.
“What is it, Raith?”
He threw up a hand. “Don’t ask. I cannot answer you.” He made an effort to pull himself together. Hell and damnation! He had known how hard it would be to be with her, and obliged to discuss more than the commonplace. His feelings threatened every moment to get the better of him. He could not let that happen. He would not gain her trust by ranting at her. On the other hand, he was no nearer to gaining it, as Ottery had pointed out, by his persistent withdrawal.
He wished his lawyer had not thus advised him, though he knew well he was right. Ottery had been adamant that he must seek out the mystery, whatever it might be. And he should do it, not through his lawyer’s enquiry, as he had himself suggested, but by asking his wife.
“It is your best chance of securing your own happiness, my lord. To have me spy upon Lady Raith will serve only to alienate her affections. Try, if you can, to get upon terms that will bridge this iniquitous divide. Then you may ask her, and she will trust you enough to tell you.”
Well, let him begin with the business at hand. At least it would open the way to conversation, without entering dangerous waters. He moved to take a chair, noting with mixed emotions as he did so that Rosina’s selected position gave him the advantage of sitting with his right side away from her. So much for her wish to accustom herself. Now that she had successfully driven him from her bedchamber, what need was there to put herself through that particular discomfort?
She had succeeded in driving him off. No matter how strong his desire, he was unlikely to risk a repetition of the farce of the other night. He had discovered, to his cost, that he could not bed Rosina, if she could not accept him with more than mere duty, overcoming revulsion to do so. She must want him. Worse, she must care. What price that for a marriage of convenience?
But it afforded, he had admitted to himself, a sop to his conscience. Any of the candidates might have come to him tainted. It was unlikely he could find, by means of advertisement, a lady of unimpeachable virtue. Ottery had warned him of it, and he had accepted the hazard. But he had not anticipated Rosina. He had not bargained for his emotions becoming involved. It was hard indeed to accept the disagreeable possibility that another man had been before him. Even was Rosina an unwilling participant, as he suspected.
Until he had found out the truth, he could not deal with the inordinate difficulties confronting him. No doubting his ardour was as strong as ever. Seeing her last night in her wedding gown had near been his undoing. But to take her with, if he read her aright, the utmost care and gentleness, he must control his passion, and overcome both her reluctance and these misguided seedlings of jealous possession.
Enough! Futile to dwell upon it. Let him rather pursue this attempt to follow Ottery’s advice, and get upon better terms with his wife. Terms. Yes, there were other terms to be looked at. He was to begin with those.
“Ottery has secured the release of my fortune,” he began. “It will shortly be in the hands of my bankers, and it is time to formalize the financial arrangements between us.”
“Formality again? Very well, sir. Pray continue.”
Her tone struck him as cheerless. He tried for less stiffness in his own. “It is only the matter of your allowance, Rosina. It cannot, I regret, be as large an amount as I could wish, for—”
“My lord, I am in need of nothing. I did not marry you for—”
“I am quite aware of why you married me,” he interrupted, with a faint rise of hostility. Deliberately, he amended it. “Or, at least, of why you say you married me.”
Her breath caught, and she threw a wary glance at him. She did not speak, but he read the apprehension in her face. He regretted the manner in which he had introduced the subject. Her defences were up. He would not reach the truth this way. He backtracked.
“There are bound to be items you will need, apart from the obvious—”
“The obvious?” she cut in, the dark eyes flying to meet his.
“For heaven’s sake, Rosina, do not take an affront into your head! I am talking of clothing. You are a peeress. You need gowns suited to your station.”
Involuntarily, Rosina looked down at the faded open robe of blue floral, worn over a dimity petticoat. Another of Louise’s cast-offs she had imperfectly altered to fit her trimmer figure. The implied criticism sent heat into her cheeks, and she fidgeted with the set of the garment.
“You need not look like that,” came Raith’s gentler tones. “It is not your fault.”
“Only in having married you.” There was instant hurt at his eyes. She had wanted to hurt him. The realisation smote her conscience, and she looked away, her fingers wafting to the fluttering at her bosom. “I d-did not m-mean that.”
“If you did, I must be the last to blame you. However, it is too late for regret.”
“You can say that?”
His glance raked her. “What does that mean?”
Rosina’s hand crept up to her neck. “Nothing.”
“It was not nothing.” He was waiting for a response. She remained steadfastly silent, refusing to look at him. His voice came again. “Never mind. Let us return to the point of this discussion. An allowance is a simple necessity. You cannot be forever applying to me.”
