He glanced up to see her watching him, her eyes shining with intensity.
“Do not all men wish for a child—an heir?”
Charles shook his head.
Foolish girl! Didn’t she realize by now that he was not like other men?
“Your father must have wanted an heir—and sons love their fathers, do they not? My father…” Her cheeks reddened further. “I mean, Montague’s father—played his wife false, but Montague still speaks of him with fondness. And my nephew Horatio adores his father. Would you not what that for—Oh!”
She let out a cry as he slammed his fist on the table, causing the crockery to rattle. Moisture beaded in her eyes, and she picked up her teacup once more, her hand shaking more violently.
Fuck.The last thing he wanted was to frighten her.
Forgive me. I have no wish to speak of my father.
She stared as he moved his hands, then shook her head. But rather than ask him to write the words she continued to sip her tea, as if she no longer cared.
Or as if she knew that whatever he tried to say would distress her further.
Curse it!This was why he wasn’t suited to married life. He knew not what to say to her, even armed with pen and paper.
Silence stretched around the room, save for the clock ticking on the mantelshelf. Then Charles heard hoofbeats and the crunch ofwheels on gravel. Olivia stiffened and turned toward the window.
There was a knock before John entered.
“The carriage is ready when you require it, sir.”
Bugger. So soon? I can’t leave her now.
John glanced at Charles’s hands. “Sir, you told me this morning that you needed to visit London, and I thought…”
You thought it opportune to visit my banker now I’ve earned the additional ten thousand?Charles smacked his fist into his palm.You think I can fuck my wife then rush to London while the bed’s still warm to claim the reward?
“N-no, sir, I just thought, what with the new carriage and all the expenses agreed with Mr. Carlton yesterday, that…”
Charles banged his fist on the table again, and his wife’s fork clattered to the floor.
“I should excuse myself,” she said. “I doubt this is a conversation you wish me to partake in.”
She stood, then paused as Charles raised his hands.
Tell her I’m going to London.
John rolled his eyes. “Lady Devereaux, your husband wishes to convey his apologies, but he’s required in London for the next few days.”
“How many days?”
John glanced at Charles. “A fortnight, perhaps. No longer than a month.”
“For what purpose, if it’s not unseemly of me to ask?”
The slight edge to her voice was cause for celebration, as was the firm set to her jaw. Charles’s little wife had some spirit, after all.
Do not tell her.
John, the treacherous bastard, ignored the request.
“The cost of refurbishing the estate buildings is considerably more than anticipated, and…”
