Despite their passionate reconciliation, love was a topic they had yet to broach. This wasn’t surprising: communicating about emotions was a forte neither of them could claim. For his part, he could debate politics for hours, yet discussing what lay in his heart was a different matter. He had no talent for expressing himself. And he didn’t know if Evie returned his feelings.
He remembered the first time they’d said the words in that sunlit greenhouse, a year into their marriage. He had believed them, then. Since he and Evie weren’t prone to dramatic declarations, they’d doled out those words sparingly, making them all the more precious. Yet after the miscarriage, Evie had withdrawn into silence…and so had he. Somewhere along the way, those three simple words had been swallowed by grief and distance and secrets. Now he no longer knew where she stood.
Stop being a namby-pamby. She is your wife, for God’s sake. Tell her how you feel.
Even as he summoned his courage to say more, he saw it: the flash of dread in Evie’s eyes. As if she feared what he might say next…as if she didn’t want to hear it. His gut sank as the logical conclusion slammed into him.
The only reason she would wish to avoid the conversation is if she does not love me.
He knew that desire was not the same as love. He’d had lovers before Evie, and none of them had grabbed hold of his heart. None of them had made him yearn for intimacy the way she did. He knew Evie desired him and cared for him. Yet physical attraction and affection weren’t the same as love—and they weren’t enough.
Could I be misconstruing her reaction? Perhaps she needs time to assess her feelings. After all, our reconciliation is new, and I sprung the topic of love on her like a blasted idiot.
He said as neutrally as he could, “Is something the matter?”
“No.” Her smile was clearly forced.
Why is she lying? Because she doesn’t want to admit that she’s fallen out of love with me?
Her gaze didn’t quite meet his. “The necklace is lovely. Would you help me with it?”
She turned her back to him. Numbly, he draped the cold stones around her throat. And wondered what the bloody hell he was going to do next.
“Gigi is glowing with happiness, is she not? Mr. Godwin cannot take his eyes off her.”
“Yes.”
James’s mama had asked him to fetch her champagne, and now the two of them were standing in a corner shielded by potted palms, an oasis amidst the glittering throng. He watched as his sister floated around the dance floor in her husband’s arms. The two were laughing, Gigi’s cheeks flushed a charming pink. Evie whirled by after them, partnered by some fop. It wasn’t jealousy James felt but something deeper. It started in his gut and spread like a blight that caused hope and joy to wither.
“Xenia was such a dear for offering up Bottoms House. She handled the arrangements beautifully,” his mama went on. “Ethan must be so proud.”
“Yes.”
Did I make a mistake marrying Evie? Have I been fooling myself from the start?
“And Evie is in splendid looks. That exquisite necklace from Garrard was an inspired choice. You have your papa’s knack for finding the perfect gift.”
He nodded absently. He couldn’t even blame Evie, for she’d been honest from the start. She’d said she wasn’t suited for marriage and intimacy, but in his arrogance, he’d assumed he could change her feelings on the matter. If he wooed her, did his best by her as a husband and lover, then he would win her heart.
Failure had never been an option. Why should it be, when he’d managed to achieve most things he put his mind to, if not easily, then through sheer grit and will? Instantly, the exceptions clawed at him, leaving bloody trails: he was successful at most things…except in his closest relationships.
With his brothers. With his wife.
By Jove, he’d failed them. His brothers, at least, had found their own way to heal. But Evie…he didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. What else he could do. What it would take to earn her love—to earn the right to be part of his family legacy.
“I think I shall take a dip in the champagne fountain. Make a splash.”
“Yes.”
When silence greeted him, he forced his attention back to his mama.
“Er, pardon. Did I miss something?”
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” His mama studied him with keen violet eyes. “What has you so distracted, my dear?”
He forced a smile. “My apologies. I was woolgathering.”
“Does it have to do with Evie?”
