The idea of touching any woman other than Maggie sickened Rhys. Yet this was what he was signing up for. A lifetime without the woman he loved…the only woman he would ever love.
“That is not under my control,” he said.
“I want your word that you’ll put in the effort on your part.”
He made no effort to hide his distaste. “You have it.”
“Capital.” Sharpe all but rubbed his hands together. “Let me summon Gretchen and Mrs. Sharpe to share the good news.”
“Now that we have a moment alone, Your Grace,” Miss Sharpe said, “I should like to come to an understanding.”
Rhys roused himself from his moody contemplation. They were outside, taking a stroll in the garden after luncheon. They had no chaperone. Mrs. Sharpe had slyly said, “You’ll be wed in a few days. I’m sure you’ll behave yourselves in the meantime, hmm?”
No problem from Rhys’s quarter.
“I was under the impression that we had an understanding,” he said.
Miss Sharpe regarded him with cool blue eyes. She wore a white satin pelisse edged with white fur, and it heightened her aura of frostiness. “You and my father have an understanding. You and I, however, do not.”
He’d suspected that beneath his intended’s simpering coyness lay a calculating nature. He found it relieving. Neither of them would be going into this marriage with any illusions.
“What would you like to clarify?” he asked as they continued to stroll.
“I would prefer not to have to mince words.”
“By all means, let us abandon any pretense of civility.”
“That woman you were with at the ball. Is she your mistress?”
The question ripped open his wounds. The ones he’d patched up with denial in order to get through the present deed.
“Not my mistress, no,” he said tightly.
“Your lover, then.”
He saw no point in denying it. “The affair will not continue after our marriage.”
His torment broke through his resolve.I’m going to lose Maggie…forever.
“Well, don’t end it on my account,” Miss Sharpe said.
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. “You don’t require my fidelity?”
“I require your title, which Father purchased for me and himself at no small cost.” Her smile showed small, pointed incisors. “In addition, your respect for my independence and freedom, both of which I shall enjoy exercising as a married woman. Living in one another’s pockets is so provincial. I daresay you’ll find me as sophisticated as any one of your London ladies.”
When he made no comment, she added, “All of this will occur after I have provided you with an heir and a spare, of course.”
“Of course,” he said tightly.
This sort of bloodless union was prevalent in his circles. He should be grateful for Miss Sharpe’s worldly attitude. Yet the weeks with Maggie had altered him, made him long for more.
For everything.
Knots of yearning tightened his chest. Maggie would probably wallop him with a pan if he carried on with another woman. He understood those feelings for he would surely wring the neck of any bastard who dared to even look at his Maggie.
She’s not yours. She’ll never be. Your duchess is going to be the walking icicle beside you.
The memories he’d been holding at bay flooded him, penetrating his numbness. He couldn’t stop reliving the moments with Maggie, how she made him feel alive with her sweet primness and hot passion. Her vulnerability and strength. Her laughter made his life worth living…and her tears—he’d do anything to stop them.
