So that was why he’d looked so grim before the wedding.And what he’d been talking to Mr Wimple about at the wedding breakfast—the serious discussion.Not because he didn’t want to marry her, but because he thought his aunt had tricked them both.
Which she had, finely.
Tessa recalled how distressed she’d been, thinking how Marcus would suffer from the slur to his reputation.How the old lady had urged her to run off to Yorkshire and abandon Marcus to face the scandal alone.Knowing that Tessa didn’t have it in her to abandon anyone.Oh, the old lady was cunning indeed.Outrageous—worse!
And both she and Marcus had taken the bait which, now she looked at it in hindsight, wasn’t even terribly subtle.She ought to be angry.Furious.She hated being manipulated.But actually, looking back at what happened ... She snorted.
Marcus blinked and looked at her.
Another snort escaped her and then it became a chuckle.Then another.
“Are youlaughing?”Marcus demanded incredulously.
Now helpless with laughter, she nodded, gasping out between chuckles, “She is wicked, I agree, but oh, we’re a fine pair of fish, aren’t we?”
“Fish?”Marcus frowned.
Tessa kept laughing.“We positively leapt onto her hook, hardly needed any bait at all.”
His lips twitched.“We did.You don’t regret our marriage then?”
“No.”She took his hand and squeezed it.“Not one little bit.”
The expression on his face stopped her laughter cold.He leaned toward her.She waited, breathless.Was he going to kiss her?Oh, she wanted him to, had wanted it for such a long time.
But after a moment he sat back against the seat and said only, “I’m glad.”
But he didn’t let go of her hand.
Chapter Fourteen
They arrived at hisfriend’s house in the late afternoon.It was quite a grand house, but not intimidatingly so, she thought.Built of warm brick, it was originally Jacobean, Marcus explained, with additions made by various generations over the years.The family had owned it for hundreds of years, and it was only one of their properties.His friend was a keen yachtsman and only visited when he wanted to go sailing, which was less frequently since his marriage.His wife disliked the sea.A bad sailor—which Tessa gathered was not about any lack of sailing skill, but a tendency to seasickness.
Tessa noted a subtle unvoiced hope that she wasn’t going to be a bad sailor, but it wasn’t something you could choose to be.They would both find out tomorrow.
There was a wedding night to get through first.
