“Well, madam. Care to explain?” he demanded.
She lifted her chin in a show of bravado that did not meet her molten-silver eyes. “I could ask you the same.”
A seating area comprised of a small sofa, two armchairs and an accompanying table separated them. He crossed one arm over his chest, propped his elbow on his forearm and tapped his chin, then deliberately started toward her. “No, I don’t think you could. You are my wife, and I expressly forbid you coming here again.”
She sent him a chiding smile that was no doubt meant to be conciliatory. “But you know that we’re not married. Not really. That paper was just something I scribbled down.”
He nodded once, drawing to a halt a good six feet from her. He could not risk standing closer. At the sight of her, even in her ridiculous garb, a desperate need to haul her into his arms assailed him. And her rose-scented perfume was not helping matters.
“Next time you wish to pull off a male disguise, I suggest you leave off with the rose oil.”
Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “I did not apply any oil. It must be my shampoo you’re smelling.”
He clenched his jaw imaging her bounty of hair, currently hidden underneath a perfectly hideous beaver hat, loose and falling about her shoulders.
“We are straying from the point. Georgina, why are you here?”
“Why are you?” she countered.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I never asked you,” she said softly. “How is your father? Is he well, I hope?”
He dropped his hand and stared at her. This woman. Ever concerned for him. For his well-being. For his inmost thoughts and feelings and struggles—and joys. Despite the circumstances, warmth pervaded his insides.
“As it happens, he is on the road to recovery. As for our relationship, I’ve made it abundantly clear that things are going to change, or there won’t be one. But that is something I’ll share with you in detail at another time, should the matter interest you.”
“Oh, yes, very much so.” She drew what appeared to be a bracing breath. “Does that mean…does that mean you have decided to forgive me? That you do not hate me?”
Her watchful, uncertain gaze locked on him, and he could no more maintain the distance between them than allow her to exit his life. In one stride, he reached her, pulled her into his arms, and ran his hands over her, greedy for the supple feel of her. Then he laughed. “What are you wearing?” he demanded, leaning back only far enough to scrutinize her. “You seem to be carrying a few extra pounds.”
She laughed her musical laugh, swatting him. “You devil. This happens to be an old suit of Drake’s. It’s too large, so I stuffed the waistcoat with a pillow.”
He shook his head. “Very ingenious of you.” Sobering, he went on, “As to your previous question, no, I do not hate you. I could never hate you, Georgina. I cannot conceive a reality where that is a remote possibility.
“Now, kindly tell me what has happened, really, that led you here, and led you to the erroneous conclusion you would marry another.”
Hope lit her liquid-silver eyes as she searched his face. “Very well. As it happens, my father was not ill as Mother implied.”
“As she stated,” he clipped.
She lowered her lashes. “Father wanted me home in order to tell me he’d contracted a marriage between myself and their neighbor, Mr. Mealy.”
“Mr. Mealy,” he bit out as acid churned in his gut. He’d known there was a threat hidden in that letter from her mother.What favor Mr. Mealy might require,indeed.
“He’s a wealthy American who purchased the townhouse across from ours just over a year ago. For some odd reason, he developed a fascination for me.”
“You don’t say,” he drawled. That, Teddy had no problem understanding. Anyone could see his wife was bloody delectable. “Well, that’s unfortunate for him, isn’t it? As you’re taken.”
She slanted him an uncertain gaze. One he couldn’t read. Did she want to spend her life with him? He was so sure when he’d departed his father’s manse.
Of course she did. She would not have gone through all she had for him, would not have professed feelings of love for him.
He forced himself to cease his endless cogitation. The point was moot. She was his wife.
“Well?” He arched his brows. “I assume you informed your parents, and this Mealy, you were not interested in marriage to him?”
Her brows furrowed. “I…did. Only, as it happens, Mr. Mealy purchased my father’s vowels.”
