His uncle’s brows dropped. “For what in return?”
Mark shifted on both feet. “Suffice it to say, we both got something we wanted out of it, but she will be returning to France eventually.”
“Do you love her?”
Mark steeled his jaw against the unexpected question. He only needed to repeat what he’d been telling himself every day since she’d come back into his life. If he said it often enough, he might even begin to believe it. “I never even knew her, Uncle. Nicole and I never should have married in the first place.”
The duke arched a gray brow. “You won’t be sorry to see her go?”
He’d be sorry to see her go all right, but what did that have to do with anything? “We’re two different people, Nicole and I.”
“That’s not what I asked. Will you be sorry to see her go?”
Mark straightened and stared out the window. This was more difficult than he thought. The sooner this conversation ended, the better. He ground out the words between clenched teeth. “It’s best for both of us if we return to our normal lives as soon as possible.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Nicole stared at the blank piece of vellum again. She’d put it off long enough. She must write her mother. No doubt Mother’s letters to her had been stacking up in France. The woman was probably worried about her. Why was it so difficult to scribble the words to tell her mother she was living under the same roof as her husband again? Perhaps because a letter had started all the trouble to begin with. Nicole tossed down the quill and let her head drop in exasperation.
She and Mark had been back in London for two days. Mark hadn’t touched her. She’d slept in her bedchamber, next door to his, wondering if he would come. But he hadn’t. She doubted he’d come tonight, either, and after what she’d overheard him say to his uncle in his study in Surrey, she doubted he’d ever return to her bed.
“It’s best for both of us if we return to our normal lives as soon as possible.” Those words slashed throughher heart each time she remembered them. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She’d merely been seeking Mark, to ask him about their plans to return to London. She’d heard his deep voice coming from his uncle’s study and made her way down the corridor to the room. She’d raised her fist to knock when she’d heard the duke ask, “Do you love her?”
Her heart had stopped beating. Her breath caught in her throat. God help her, she’d stood in stone silence waiting with bated breath for Mark’s reply. “I never even knew her,” he said. She closed her eyes, letting the pain wash over her. Of course she’d read too much into their nights together. While she’d been falling in love with him again, he’d merely been fulfilling his side of the bargain.
She pressed the heel of her hand against her eye. A dark thought had crept through her mind after Mark had received his promotion. He didn’t need her any longer. He’d got everything he wanted. And then some. The Duchy of Colchester would be his eventually in addition to the position as Secretary of the Home Office. She was unnecessary, unneeded. His own words confirmed it. He wanted to return to his normal routine as soon as possible.
She pinched the bridge of her nose to disperse the sting from the threat of tears. That was it. She’d made her decisions. Both of them. First, she dropped the scribbled upon vellum in the rubbish bin beside the desk. She wouldn’t write to her mother from London. She could write to her from France. Second, she was going back. As soon as possible. She’d done what Mark had asked of her. She refused to overstay her welcome. It hadbeen foolish to want a baby with him. Foolish and selfish of her. The whole idea had been ridiculous, but even if she wanted to stay, she couldn’t. It was torture. The nights with him in Surrey had been magnificent, but they’d come with strings attached. Long, tangled strings.
She impatiently dashed away tears that formed as quickly as the realization. She’d known from the beginning that she couldn’t just sink back into bed with him and feel nothing. She’d known when he touched her body and made her feel like he was a virtuoso playing a violin that she wouldn’t be able to keep her emotions from becoming involved. And they were. She’d fallen in love with him again. She loved him and he still blamed her for the same thing he’d blamed her for ten years ago. Nothing could change that.
Staying with a man who didn’t love her was impossible. It would kill her. There was no telling how long it would take to get with child. What if she couldn’t conceive? They could potentially stay together for months, years. She’d be breaking her heart open again. She had to leave. As soon as possible. The longer she stayed with him, the more entrenched her heart would become. She swallowed hard, tucked her chair beneath the desk, and turned to face the door. There was only one way she knew to convince him to let her go with few questions asked. The thought of leaving made her heart ache, but the thought of staying made her miserable.
She straightened her spine and ran both hands over her damp cheeks. This weeping would not do. When had she become such a crier? Good heavens. She must pull herself together.
A soft knock at the door that separated her bedchamber from Mark’s made her jump. “Come in,” she forced herself to say in a false-bright voice.
Mark entered the room. He wore his breeches, a shirt opened to reveal his muscled chest, and little else she surmised from a quick, enlivening glance down to his beautiful bare feet. Had he come to make love to her again? She wanted him to. Oh, how desperately she wanted him to.
“Are you recovered from the journey from Surrey?” he asked, coming to stand near the bed, only a few paces from her.
“Y-yes. Are you?” She couldn’t meet his gaze for fear she would weep again.
“I think so.”
She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. It was cold in the room of a sudden. “You got everything you wanted, didn’t you?” she murmured.
“I got theonething I wanted. I never wanted the duchy.”
“Ah, of course.” She moved toward him and hesitated, then reached to place a hand on his elbow. “Mark, I don’t think you should take the duchy if you truly don’t want it.”
He searched her face, confusion written across his expression. “What?”
“It’s not worth it. Your uncle will manage it. There will be someone else to take it. There always is.”
He bit his bottom lip as if considering her words, then he said slowly, “I’m surprised to hear you say that. Don’t you want the duchy… for our child?”
She couldn’t talk to him about their child. Their nonexistent child. The lump in her throat blocked anywords on the subject from coming out. Instead, she said, “I never expected to be a duchess or the mother of a future duke.”
