“It doesn’t… at least not the way it used to,” she said falteringly, “but that doesn’t mean I want to expose myself to ridicule or rejection. I just want to leave the past in the past. Please understand, Rosie.”
“I do, of course.” Her sister huffed out a breath. “And seeing as how it is your wedding day, dearest, I’m not going to plague you further. Just promise me one thing, will you?”
“Yes?” she said cautiously.
Taking her hands, Rosie said, her eyes glimmering, “If you must leave me, do it for a good reason. Be happy, my dearest sister.”
“I’ll do my best.” Polly’s heart welled with love—the same emotion she saw glowing around her bosom spirit. “As long asyoupromise to do the same.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Freshly bathed, Sinjin dismissed his valet and poured himself a scotch. Elation hummed inside him. This had to be the best day of his life. Not because it happened to be his birthday, an occasion he wasn’t accustomed to celebrating and didn’t care all that much about, but because, on the other side of the door, Polly was completing her evening ablutions in her bridal bower.
Soon, he’d join her—hiswife.
I’ve done it. Polly’s mine.
Somehow he’d managed not to bollix things up… although it’d been a close call.
It was the nature of his devils to creep up on him. Not only did they pilfer his will, they could perform sneak-thievery upon his judgement and awareness. At the ball, he ought to have recognized the signs, but he’d attributed the euphoric feelings to Polly… which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Seeing her so radiant, brimming with sensual confidence, had aroused him immeasurably. In retrospect, however, it had also magnified the black demon’s seductive whispers to take what was his—to claim his mate.
So he had. On a bloody balcony.
God, she deserved so much more for her first time.
The familiar remorse and self-recrimination tightened his gut. The last week had been a test of things to come. For after the high of the ball, he’d plunged immediately into the abyss. The blue monster had been relentless, filling his head with loathsome thoughts.
You’re a bastard for ruining Polly. What will you do when she discovers how pathetic, how gutless you truly are? She’ll despise you. Leave you.
He took another sip of whiskey to dispel the tendrils of his inner chill. His head was clear again, and, as unpleasant as the episode had been, he felt a spark of triumph because, through the worst of it, he hadn’t lost sight of what was important. For the first time, he’d had a purpose to anchor him: Polly. Thoughts of her had buoyed him through dark waters.
The morning after the ball, despite his plummeting spirits, he’d dragged himself to the Archbishop of Canterbury to attain a special license. Next he’d made arrangements for flowers to be sent to Polly every day. He’d written her a note, making an excuse for his absence; there was no way in hell she could see him in the state he was in. In a stroke of luck, he’d already had that set of jewels ready for her. He’d been waiting for the right moment to give her the remaining pieces. While he was curled up like a bastard in bed had seemed as good a time as any.
The important thing, he told himself, was that the two of them had weathered his storm. After three days, when the worst of it was over and he was at least marginally fit for company, he’d gone to see her. He could tell she was hurt by his behavior, but she’d stayed the course with him.
That was what counted.
Gratitude and wonder warmed his chest. His new countess was loyal, would stick with him through thick and thin. She wouldn’t be like his family whose absence had been palpable at the intimate wedding ceremony and breakfast that followed. It was what he’d expected from them; he told himself it didn’t matter. With Polly, he finally had more than empty chairs in his future.
Through the walls, he heard Polly’s maid biding her good night. His bride was alone now, waiting for him. Anticipation simmering, he paused in front of the chevalier glass.
As his habit was to sleep in the buff, he wore nothing beneath his silk robe. He hesitated, wondering if he ought to don a nightshirt. Light-skirts might not blink at the scars on his back, and worldly ladies had found them titillating… but Polly fell in neither of those categories. She was no casual tumble. She was his wife, and this was their wedding night.
In the reflection, his lips curled in self-derision.You are who you are.Unless he meant to hide his back from her forever, he might as well begin as he meant to go on. Besides, he thought dryly, of all the things he needed to keep from her, his back was a damned low priority.
He’d neither hide nor bring attention to that part of himself; her reaction would be what it had to be. Setting down his empty glass, he tightened the belt on his dressing robe, went over to the door between their adjoining chambers. He gave a brisk knock.
“Come in.” His wife’s sweet summons beckoned like a dream.
~~~
Watching Sinjin enter her chamber filled Polly with a giddy sense of unreality.
In truth, the entire day had had a dream-like quality. Sinjin had been back to his old self, his aura once again vital and bright. He’d lavished such attention on her that she’d begun to wonder if her earlier apprehension had just been a case of the bridal jitters.
And as much as she loved her family, she’d loved them even more when, in the absence of Sinjin’s kin, they’d made extra efforts to welcome him into the fold. He and her brother Harry, in particular, had seemed to hit it off; the two were of a similar age and apparently shared a fanatical love of boxing. Between the toasts and general hilarity, the wedding “breakfast” had gone on until nearly suppertime, when Ambrose had announced that the newlyweds should be allowed to leave.
Now Polly was at her new home with her new husband, and all she could think was,I’m married to this god-like man?
