It was almost as if he cared for her.
But could she trust him?
Finally, she knew there was only one way to find out.
She rose from the chair, rebuilt her wall of pillows, and lay on the bed, conscious of his even breathing until she fell asleep.
Clarissa had finally relaxed enough to sleep. Mars rose up on the bed and looked over her “wall.” She looked young and defenseless. When she was awake, she was too distrustful to be so vulnerable.
Or so he’d thought until her speech tonight.
He’d assumed like many others that she was content with her lot. Now he knew differently. His petite countess had the devil’s own pride, and that meant life as a subject of local gossip and pity had been hard for her.
Mars understood. He’d hated the years after the duel when the whispers of busybodies followed him. His parents’ marriage and the exact number of his mother’s lovers over the years had fueled discussions in numerous London drawing rooms, discussions that had been carried back to school. People adored judging other people’s behavior while turning a blind eye to their own. Was it any wonder he was so cynical?
But Clarissa was not jaded. Yes, she’d been hurt by what people whispered, even though she tried not to show it. Instead, she believed if she was good, then she would earn the world’s approval.
He knew differently. No “score” was being kept with the high points going to the kind and moral. She could be pleasant to all and they would still laugh at her behind her back. In fact, the more she tried, the less “they” would respect her.
And in those feelings of the world being unfair, of trying one’s best and still not being accepted, he and his wife were more similar than he’d ever imagined.
It was now his job to protect her. He’d made that vow in her beloved church, and so be it.
Mars lay back down. He wished there weren’t any walls between them, even pillow ones. Then he could put his arm around her and let her know she wasn’t alone any longer.
Except one day soon, depending on the outcome of his challenge against Dervil, she would probably be alone again.
All he could do was stand up for her now. He would defend her, even from himself.
Chapter Twelve
I may have married a better woman than I deserve.
—Book of Mars
Clarissa woke the next morning feeling more rested than she had in ages.
And then she remembered. The wedding. The dance. The fight.
The bed.
She rolled over to discover her pillow wall intact and the other side empty—
“Good morning.”
Mars’s voice startled her. She turned to find him sitting fully dressed in the upholstered chair by the desk. He held Dora up as if the two of them had been waiting for her. “Watch this.” He lifted Dora in the air and made an astoundingly funny face at her while mooing like a cow as he brought her toward him.
The baby laughed and laughed as if he was the funniest thing ever, and Clarissa realizedthe sound of Dora’s laughter had been what woke her. She found herself smiling.
“Here, let’s do it to your mother,” he said to Dora. He rose from the chair, carrying the baby as if she were flying toward Clarissa. “Be prepared to moo,” he ordered.
Clarissa was a bit taken aback, not by the baby coming toward her but how easily he had said the wordmother. She took Dora from him and mooed. Her moo was not as deep and loud as his but Dora didn’t care.
Clarissa found herself laughing as well.
“She’s an amazing child,” he declared, sitting on the edge of the bed a respectable distance from her. “So happy.”
Clarissa had to agree, especially when Dora decided to entertain herself by grabbing her stockinged foot and moving it toward her mouth. “Oh, no, not that,” Clarissa said, trying to lightly block her. Dora protested any restraint, trying to do as she wished with her foot.
