Chapter Two
Why did shereturn?
Malcolm Worthington paced the green and gold carpet in the parlor, clenching his hands into fists. Where was that woman? What was taking her so long? Rather than cooling off, as he told her he would, his anger intensified.
Usually an understanding man, he couldn’t forgive her this time for leaving without a word, amongst the other crimes she had committed since their wedding. For the past few months, his life had hung by a thread, and any more catastrophes could send him to his doom.
He wouldn’t surrender without a fight. His wife held secrets—he just didn’t know exactly how many. If he weren’t so worried about it, he would have let her run away. But keeping a close eye on her was crucial at this point. Soon, he would go through Parliament and get the annulment they both wanted, no matter how it tarnished his name.
Grumbling, he raked his fingers through his hair. What had he been thinking, marrying a woman he had never met? His friend had told him of a man who had a daughter he was trying to settle with a good husband. Malcolm should have heard the warning bells when he realized how desperate Mr. Connelly was to have a quick wedding and hand his daughter over. Then again, he had been searching for a mother for his children, and washoping that marriage would solve that issue, along with finding him a good wife.
Neither had happened.
Now two questions swam through his head—why had she returned, and what would he do with her now she was back?
The sound of swishing skirts close by caught his attention, and he turned. His wife entered, appearing as regal as the first day they had met at her father’s house. Her light brown hair was upswept into a tight knot at the top of her head, with a few soft curls brushing near her ears. The dark gray dress had a high collar and long sleeves, and was snug enough to complement her slender figure. A cameo clasped at her throat was her only jewelry.
He pursed his mouth. Why had she dressed this way? She was neither a servant, nor in mourning. Seeing her attired thus reminded him why he had agreed to marry her in the first place, next to the constant echo of his dying first wife’s wish rushing through his head at that time—Find another wife who could be a mother to our children. Kat had put on a façade of innocence, and he wanted to believe with all his heart such a woman existed.
Now something different glimmered from the depths of her green eyes. A steady, thoughtful regard had replaced the haughty glances.
Would she tell him where she had been all this time and why? No doubt whatever scheme she pursued had gone awry, and she had returned for the financial support of living as his wife. Despite her changes in dress and demeanor, Hell would turn to icicles before he ever trusted her again. It hadn’t taken long after they were wed to discover what a fine performer she was.
“Have you misplaced all your other dresses, Mrs. Worthington?”
“I don’t quite understand your question.”
He rolled his eyes heavenward then strode to her. He gestured to her covered neck. “Planning to seduce a Puritan?”
She grabbed her modest neckline, her eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?”
“And well you should, but I fear your apologies come too late.”
“You do not approve of my dress?”
“I prefer to see the package wrapped in something more fitting to your true self. In that manner, I would be well reminded of the true woman I married.”
She gasped, and her cheeks blotched with red spots. “Are you insinuating that I—”
“Kat, cease playing innocent. It is unbefitting of your true character.” He breathed a deep sigh. “Now, tell me where you have been, and what in heaven’s name possessed you to come back?”
She clasped her hands against her stomach. “As I told you before, I went to care for my ill sister.”
“Why did you return?”
Her brows drew together. “Because I’m your wife and this is where I belong.”
He snorted as he walked in front of her. “When did you decide that?”
“Malcolm,” she said, touching his sleeve, “I really had no intentions of worrying you.”
He caught his breath and glared at her. “What did you call me?”
“Malcolm.” Her face paled.
Hearing his name roll from her lips made his stomach churn. “What are you playing at now? You have never called me by my Christian name.”
She clutched her hands together again, turning her knuckles white. “I don’t know why I called you that.” She shrugged. “I suppose I’m trying to show you I have changed.”
