The groom let down the steps, and the three scamps bounded out, heading for the square, their navy woolen coats and red scarves bright splashes against the snow-dusted terrain. Marcus alighted next and helped his wife down. Her boots touched lightly to the ground, her ermine-lined cloak of ruby velvet swirling gracefully around her. Wordlessly, he offered her his arm. Her eyes wide, her breath puffing in the chilled air, she took it, holding onto him tightly as they followed their children through the gates.
It was nearing dusk, and the park was empty. The setting sun cast glinting jewels over the snow-crusted ground and trees. Ice crunched beneath their feet as they trailed their sons, who were whooping and pelting each other with snowballs.
“They’re little savages,” Marcus remarked.
“They’ve just been cooped up as of late. What with the snow and the cold weather, they haven’t had a chance to expend their energy,” Penny said. “They’re just boys being boys.”
Which she would say even if the rascals committed bloody murder. Marcus felt his lips twitch. His wife always defended their offspring—even when they didn’t deserve it—a tendency that he found both exasperating and adorable. And, damn it, it was good to have a normal conversation with her again. To be walking arm and arm with her, talking about their children.
Not wanting to lose the feeling, he said, “Have you forgotten that we just took them to the spectacle at Astley’s? After an afternoon of watching Madame Monique le Magnifique balancing on a tightrope, I should think they’ve had their fair share of excitement for the day.”
“Well, watching someone on a tightrope isn’t the same as walking it yourself,” she replied softly.
The subtext didn’t escape him, and her uncharacteristic tentativeness again knotted his insides, made him want to apologize for acting like a damned cad these past two weeks. At the same time, his vulnerability when it came to his wife angered him. Having full knowledge of her deceptive nature, he would no longer countenance being played like a puppet, and yet he couldn’t free himself from her strings. As the episode in his bathing room had so clearly proved.
Desire and anger washed through him in a confounding wave. Christ, one look at her and he’d lost control, succumbing to urges he didn’t want to have—at least, not until his head was clear, and he could decide upon the future. Yet she’d snapped her fingers, and he’d gone running to her like a bloody trained hound.
He resented her power over him even as he hated the way he was treating her. It was a devilish conundrum, and one he didn’t yet know how to resolve. But he also didn’t want things to continue as they had been, tension hanging over them like a shroud.
More silence passed than he had intended, which he realized when Penny tugged her hand free as if she sensed the downward spiral of his mood. Her lashes lowered, she said, “I’ll just go check on the boys—”
“They’re fine.” He caught her hand, tucked it firmly back into the crook of his arm. “Stay and walk with me a moment.”
Doubt shadowed her gaze. “You want me to?”
“I asked, didn’t I?” Hearing the curtness of his words, he strove for a calmer tone. “It’s been a while since we’ve spoken alone.”
She said nothing. She didn’t have to seeing as he’d been the one to erect the wall of silence between them. Her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth; he didn’t miss her cautious sidelong glance as they trudged on.
His mind latched onto a suitable topic. “How are the plans progressing for the Winter Ball?”
“Nicely.” Some of her hesitation faded. “It’s only been a week since I sent out invitations, and already I’ve received positive replies from nearly all. We’ll have a crush on our hands.”
This didn’t surprise Marcus. Over the years, it had been a source of pride for him to watch Penny flourish in her role as the Marchioness of Blackwood. She’d tackled the job the way she seemed to do everything in life: with passion and verve, a willful determination to succeed. Through hard work (that she somehow made look easy), she’d become one of theton’s most influential and fashionable hostesses… not to mention a doting mama and a mistress adored by all her servants.
Yet despite all her success, the confidence she’d earned by right, she’d never lost her vulnerability with him. After every glittering ball she threw, she’d always ask him, a hint of anxiety in her eyes, “What did you think, Marcus? Did you enjoy it?”
The knot tightened in his chest. How could he reconcile the loving wife who’d dedicated herself to pleasing him with the devious ex-spy who’d been lying to him for the entirety of their marriage?
He… couldn’t. Perhaps it wasn’t possible.
Enjoy the bloody walk. Don’t think about it now.
Pushing aside his turmoil, he cleared his throat. “Who will we be expecting?” He asked not because he cared but because he wanted to prolong this domestic conversation. To linger for a little longer in this oasis of normality.
“The usual off-Season crowd: the Temples, Osterwicks, Knowles. Oh, the Hartefords will be there as well as Lady Helena is recuperating in Town.”
“Recuperating?”
“From childbirth.”
Marcus felt the resonance of sorrow and saw it in the trembling of his wife’s lips. Despite the three years that had passed since they’d laid their stillborn child into the ground, the memory of loss quivered between them. It was yet another reminder of the intricate connections that bound them, invisible threads spun by time and shared experience. It flitted through his head that grief as well as joy could cement the bricks of a marriage.
“From what I hear, Lady Helena is doing well,” Penny said quietly.
“I’m glad,” he said.
Lord Nicholas and Lady Helena Harteford were more acquaintances than friends to them, but this was due mainly to the fact that the couple spent most of their time at their country estate. Whenever he and Penny did see the other pair, conversation flowed easily as they had much in common. Both couples had married around the same time and shared the experience of raising little hellions. Indeed, the Hartefords’ three boys made James, Ethan, and Owen appear sedate by comparison.
