His lordship had received a large packet of mail as well, and had begged off their daily walk to go through it. He had appropriated the dining room table, as he needed room to write replies.
When Kieran did appear in her doorway, she looked up in surprise. In the stuffy suite, he had removed his frock coat and neckcloth.
She could not help noticing how well his vest clung to his torso as it narrowed to his hips. Aware that she had been nearly ogling him, she raised her gaze to his face. “Are you finished already?”
“Not yet. May I have a word with you?” Despite the civil words, his eyes blazed with anger. Curtly ordering Florette to leave their quarters, he grabbed her arm and pulled her through their dressing room to the dining room.
She faced him as soon as he shut the dining room door behind them. “What do you mean by dismissing my maid?”
“What do I mean? What the hell do you think you’re about, you conniving little jade?” A vein beat at his temple as he shouted.
She started and moved to place the solid table between them. “Kieran—your lordship—what have I done?” She grasped its edge so he would not see her shaking hands.
His voice dropped to a quiet even more frightening than his raised voice. “What have you done?” He tossed a crumpled piece of paper onto the table’s surface. It bounced off a pile of papers to land by her hand. “Why don’t you explain to me?”
Afraid to take her eyes off him, she picked it up and unfolded it. Her father had sent him a telegram. As she read, her knees buckled.
Papa not only demanded an apology from Kieran for his insolence the day they left, he wanted to know why he had not consummated the marriage, voiced in terms so blunt that she gasped in shame.
Lifting her gaze to Kieran’s, she sought words to assuage his wrath. “I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this. Why are you blaming me?” Her voice shook in spite of her attempt to control it.
Eyes blazing aqua, he leaned in to her across the table. “Of all the brass-faced lies I’ve heard, that has to be the biggest. You cannot think I am stupid enough to believe you didn’t go crying to your father over me.”
She stood her ground, her own wrath igniting. “You arrogant stuffed shirt! As if you would be worth my breath to complain about!”
“Don’t change the subject!” He snatched the hapless wad of paper and, coming around the table, backed her up to the wall. “He’s talking about intimate details that happenedin our bedroom!My God, and I thought your mother had no shame.” He raised the hand clutching the paper.
Diantha instantly collapsed against the panels, arms flying up to protect her head. She braced herself for long seconds, but the blow never fell. Only the sound of her husband’s labored breathing filled the room. When she dared to look up, he still stood over her with his hand raised, but the wrath had died out of his eyes. Instead he regarded her with amazement.
“I threw the telegram.” He stared at her. “Surely you don’t think I would hit you?”
Glancing to one side, she saw where the scrap of paper had fallen.
“Please excuse me—I need to freshen up.” Bracing her trembling knees, she straightened her legs. He stepped back, giving her a clear path as she sidled past him.
In the safety of her own room, she made her way blindly to sit on the narrow bed and pressed a hand to her hammering heart. The marriage would never work, not if he flew into rages worse than her father’s.
The door to the cabin opened. Kieran entered and pushed it closed behind him. She stood stiffly; her hands clenched as much in fear as in anger.
The latter emotion won out. “Please leave, your lordship.”
“Your father hit you.” The quiet statement hung between them as she shrugged a shoulder.
“That’s his prerogative. All the laws say so.” After one glance at his face, she stared at the oriental rug decorating the floor.
“I’m sorry.” He did not approach her, but she could not bear the pity in his eyes.
Feeling suffocated, she walked over to gaze out of a porthole. The busy harbor scene outside barely registered on her mind. “Why? I’m sure your father dispensed corporal punishment, too.”
“I was on the receiving end of the rod often enough to make me behave, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” His footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. “I would never strike you.”
She froze as she felt his hand on her shoulder. “So you say.”
His hand dropped and his frustration showed once more. “You don’t believe me?”
“I’d like to, but my parents both have—choleric temperaments.” She rounded on him. “And after that display, why should I think you’re any different?” Her face stiffened as she fought back tears. “Howcould you think I would speak of such personal things to anyone, much less my father?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Who else could have known that we didn’t spend the night together?”
