This wasn’t a dream, then. Nausea surged, and she swallowed thickly.
“I don’t know. When I w-woke up a few minutes ago, he was like this.” She was so cold… and shaking. She couldn’t seem to stop. “H-he was fine when I f-fell asleep…”
“I understand.” Andrew removed his jacket, placed it over her shoulders. “I’ll take care of everything.”
She drew the warm, spice-scented wool closer around her. Gathered her wits enough to ask, “Wh-what are you doing here? H-how did you find me?”
“I’ll explain everything later.” He turned to the innkeeper. “McCready, send for a maid to escort Miss Kent to a new room. Have food and brandy brought as well.” His mouth was a grim line. “It’s going to be a long night.”
~~~
Later that morning, he found Primrose in her new suite. Fully dressed, she sat in a chair by the window, her arms hugging her raised knees. A pang struck his chest: as a little girl, she’d often curled up just that way. A posture both innocent and guarded. Her head turned as he approached, and there was no mistaking that she was a woman now. The eyes that met his held too much worldly knowledge.
Pain that he was powerless to erase.
Insides clenching, he noted the untouched glass next to her. “You didn’t have the brandy.”
“I didn’t want any. I’m muddled enough as it is.” She lowered her feet to the ground, sitting up straight. “What did you do with Daltry?”
“The undertaker is preparing his remains. I’ve arranged transport of the body back to London.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He gave a gruff nod. “How are you faring?”
“It feels like a dream… a nightmare. This cannot possibly be happening.” She rose, pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders. “We weren’t even married for a full day.”
“I know.” He’d gotten all the details from the innkeeper. In fact, he’d gotten more than he’d bargained for.
I’ve seen it before,the innkeeper had confided.Older gent elopes with a young thing, thinks he’s won the prize. But then the business proceeds and the sod’s old ticker can’t handle the excitement. Mark my word, sir: wedding nights can be dangerous.
“And now Daltry’s dead. I’m awidow.” Her voice hitched.
Swiftly, he went to her. Held her as the tears began. The shock was wearing off, reality wracking her slim body with sobs. He stroked her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense until she calmed. Her fragrance curled into his nostrils: Pears soap, feminine sweetness, temptation itself. He was acutely aware of how well she fit against him. The perfection of her curves nestling against his own hard edges… which were getting harder by the moment.
It was wrong, of course. Yet of their own accord, his fingers tangled in her silken tresses.
“Once we return to London,” he said hoarsely, “your family can get you an annulment.”
She stilled. A heartbeat later, she pushed at him.
It took everything he had to let her go.
“Why would I want one?” Her voice quivered, her gaze remaining steady.
“Because…” He caught himself in time. “Because you were only married a matter of hours. You could argue that the consummation didn’t take place. You would be a free woman.”
“And why would I want to be free?”
He couldn’t look away from the vulnerable gold swirling in those pure green depths. His lungs strained. He knew what she was asking.
What you can’t give her, you bastard.
“Because you are young and have a whole life ahead of you,” he forced himself to say.
Her bottom lip trembled. “What place do you have in this plan for my lifelong happiness?”
“I want what’s best for you, Primrose.”
