“Demand,” he murmured, arms shaking slightly as he let her slide down his body until she gained her feet. His heartbeat pressed hard against her cheek through the rough cambric of his shirt. This was how she liked him best—stripped of society’s trappings, without waistcoat or cravat, nothing between them but his truest self, laid bare to her.
However, she did not likethis. His fear turned to command, the edge in his voice making her feel less partner than possession. Did he imagine heownedher? One reason she loved him so was because he’d never acted like he did.
Dismayed, Louisa pressed her hand to her cheek. It smarted, blood sticky against her skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire in her veins. “You dare,” she whispered, gaze narrowing on him. “A dictate, as if I were one of your warehouse employees to be ordered about.”
The sting in her chest was harsher because she’d been on the verge of telling this dolt that she loved him, and he’d ruined it.
Dominic’s lips parted as he realized he’d said the wrong thing. Typical male, he forged ahead anyway, only making it worse. “As if you weren’t mywife, bleeding in my arms, nearly blown to bits.”
“It was a miscalculation, not a disaster. This has happened hundreds of times.” She lifted her chin, fury stiffening her spine. “I’m quite capable of tending to myself, Dominic.”
“You call that capable?” He pointed to her cheek, the muscle in his forearm jumping. “One slip and you might have been really hurt!”
She drew herself up, brushing shards of glass from her skirt with trembling fingers. “Better a slip than a husband who can’t keep hispromises. Where’s the man who advised me to hold my breath before saying something I’ll regret?” She exhaled, blowing a strand of hair from her face. “You might want to take that breath now, Dominic.”
Her words hitting their mark, his eyes darkened, the threads of gold circling the outer edges glinting. “Lou—”
“Don’t,” she cut in, giving his chest a weak shove. “You swore you would never stand in the way of my work. That you would accept all of me. And yet the first time I make a mistake, when mistakeshappen, you think to change your mind?”
He didn’t dispute her point. Or apologize. Or beg her forgiveness by sweeping her into one of his magical kisses. He merely stood there, mulishly fidgeting, his gaze fixed on the thin smoke leaking from the stone cottage—anywhere but her eyes.
Stubborn to the end, she would give him that much, almost as stubborn as her.
Silence stretched, taut and aching, until Louisa turned from him, silk a whisper over flagstone as she gathered herself. “My sister-in-law has invited me to the modiste. Now I have every reason to go. Perhaps London will prove a safer place than Marylebone.”
Louisa didn’t look back to see if her words struck. She didn’t need to. The decision had already taken root, hard and immovable, and with each step away from him it grew stronger.
“Your first maritaltiff certainly didn’t take long to occur. I was two months in before Willie left me. Lasted about six hours, when you’re going on two days. Impressive. But you always were the more strong-willed Beckett. I’m a pushover in comparison. Bessie’s going to be extremely disappointed if you don’t clear this up soon.” Seated in anarmchair before the library’s hearth, Griff stretched his legs with a yawn. Henry, their six-month-old infant, hadn’t slept well the prior night, meaning his proud papa hadn’t either. His brother appeared ready to drop.
“She nearly blew up that pile of stones out back you recommended I buy for her,” Dom muttered, draining the last of his whisky. He knew he sounded irrational, but the image of Louisa bloodied and dazed refused to leave him. What if she werepregnantthe next time this happened? “If my wife had a preference for watercolors instead of pyrotechnics, one of us would be happier.”
He loved her. Had decided to tell her—then ruined everything, as he always did.
But he wasn’t wrong, either!
“Mm. Frustration and fondness, blinding love, wrapped up in one troublesome package. Sounds like marriage. You had to pick a chit who’d eventually bring you to your knees.” Griff’s grin was lazy, blue eyes close to the color of Dom’s heavy with exhaustion as he saluted his brother with his tumbler. “So you shouted, said something stupid, and she’s gone. It happens. One of those gifts is going to overwhelm her ire, you’ll see. You just have to keep trying. That’s what I do when I’ve made a hash of things. The Belgian chocolates from that shop on Bond worked wonders last time.”
Dom’s scowl deepened. He hadn’t shouted, but out of fear he’d said something foolish enough to hurt her. Make her feel as if he didn’t accept every part of her, when he did. He loved her curiosity about life, about science, abouthim.
He loved her, period.
Once his temper cooled enough to realize the hole he’d dug, he tried to climb out with flowers. Lilies, roses, hothouse blooms were delivered to his brother’s home, where Louisa had gone in a rage. He’d even found a damned portable chemistry set in a polished mahogany case—the most gorgeous to be found in England—thinkingshe would surely be bought back with glass and copper.
None of it worked. She hadn’t returned. Even Rocket had been pouting since she left.
Dom guessed his next step was poetry, when he wasn’t a very able writer.
“Did you say you were eternally sorry in the notes?” Griff asked, his voice thready with fatigue. “Truly, miserably sorry? Dashing-all-self-regard-to-bits sorry?”
Dom grunted, staring into his empty glass. “I did.”
“Jewelry?”
He tapped his glass on his knee, having hoped for better suggestions from a once-celebrated rake. “Some silly necklace isn’t going to impress Lou, though I know gaudy trinkets worked for you back in the day.”
“Indeed they did,” Griff whispered with a sly note in his voice he’d never let enter it in the presence of his beloved wife. “Well, then, tougher measures for your Lou are called for.”
Dom turned to stare at his brother, willing to entertain any suggestion that might bring his wife home. He was lonely; the house was unbearable without her. Every corner carried her now—the kitchen where she burned her fingers sneaking a freshly-baked tart, the study where she perched in his lap one morning while he worked, even the linen closet where they had tumbled together, laughing, unable to wait. They had begun to build a life here, together.
