The flare of temper, the way she glowered at him, oddly convinced him more than her words or tears. This side of Evie he was familiar with: the forthright and sensible woman who suffered no fools.
“You cannot possibly still harbor the illusion that I married you out of honor,” he said bluntly. “We settled that years ago. Emphatically, I might add.”
The words slipped out, and he cursed himself for bringing up their passionate interlude in the greenhouse. The first time he’d tupped her outside a bedchamber—and the first time they’d exchanged words of love. The memory had snuck up on him, but perhaps she’d forgotten. Perhaps she would think he was referencing something else, a conversation?—
“Making love doesn’t settle anything. We are living proof of that.”
Her honesty riveted him. Yet he remained wary that this was yet another diversion that would lead nowhere. Braced, he said nothing and waited.
“I have never felt like your equal, James.” Her manner was steady, even if her voice quavered. “From the start, I knew that you were—that you are—too good for me.”
“That is nonsense,” he said dismissively. “Your family is as old as mine. And you know I’ve never cared about the financial arrangements of our union.”
“The fact that you’ve never held my lack of a dowry against me is what makes you so good,” she said wryly. “But I am not referring to social status or even wealth.”
“Then what, Evie? What is this perceived difference between us?”
“I am not a good person,” she whispered. “Not like you, James. You are perfect in every way.”
He studied her pale features and realized that she was in earnest.
Flummoxed, he said, “I am far from perfect. And you are a fine woman, Evie. Why would you think otherwise?”
“I…I just do.” Gold flecks shimmered in her eyes. “I knew from the start that I didn’t deserve you, but I selfishly married you anyway. Because I couldn’t help myself. You were everything I wanted—honorable, intelligent, and kind. Not to mention absurdly attractive. Why would a fellow like that, who could have any woman he pleased, want a fat, plain lady’s companion with nothing to offer?”
His instinct was to argue that she was none of those things. Yet he felt a prickling awareness as he viewed their past interactions through this distorted lens. Was this why Evie had acted so hot and cold? Not because of indifference or faltering affection…but because of her own insecurities?
“Even if you felt this way initially,” he said, “surely those feelings changed with time? We have been married nearly four years. If I failed to demonstrate my regard for you?—”
“You didn’t. You have always shown me the greatest care and respect. I was the one who failed, don’t you see?”
“No. I don’t see...”
Then the realization dawned, puncturing his anger. He hadn’t been fighting his wife, but a shadow—the ghost of grief and loss. Tenderness welled, and he didn’t stop to think before closing the gap between them. When he took her hand, he found it cold and trembling.
“Evie, we did discuss this recently. Losing the babe was a tragedy. But neither of us could have done anything to prevent it.”
“I know that now. Intellectually speaking, at least.” She drew a shuddering breath. “Yet there is a part of me that wonders…did this happen because of something I did? Not during the pregnancy, perhaps, but in my past. Was this my comeuppance for mistakes I’ve made, sins I may have committed?—”
Unable to bear her self-recrimination, he pulled her into his arms.
“There now,” he murmured against her hair while she wept. “That is foolishness talking. In the absence of reason, the heart searches for fanciful answers.”
“You are the b-best thing that has ever happened to me, James. And I am afraid. So afraid of ruining our m-marriage the way I ruin everything else.”
Her aching confession wrenched his heart. He bled for her—for the unnecessary burden she’d been carrying all this time—even as relief blasted through him.
She was never indifferent. She was afraid. Afraid…because she cares too much.
Women, he marveled, were a mystery, and his wife especially. Even if he lived to be a hundred, he would never understand the workings of her mind. As long as she was his, however, he could make things work.
Stroking her back, he said, “You haven’t broken anything that cannot be fixed.”
“I am sorry that I acted like a madwoman.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “I let jealousy get the better of me and jeopardized your campaign. It was poorly done, and I hope you will forgive me.”
Her sincerity washed away the residue of his anger.
He tipped her chin up. “I do, darling, but I am not the one to whom you owe an apology.”
