“No,” she said. Out of habit, she asked, “Are you?”
He laughed and rolled onto his back. “No,” he said to the ceiling. “I’m the opposite of hurt. That was . . .” and herehe paused. Drew held her breath, waiting for what he might say. “. . . probably something we both needed,” he finished.
Drew did not exhale. She turned this statement over in her mind, searching for trick locks and hidden compartments. It was not a rude thing to say, she reasoned, notunkind, but it was still less than... less than—?
Well, it wasless.
It was notI needed you; or even,I wanted you—although he’d already demonstrated this, she supposed.
It wasn’t:I will need thatevery night.It was also not:I will needyouevery night.
It wasn’t:How wonderful.
Or, if she was being completely fantastical, it wasn’t:How wonderful you are.
She began to shiver; the blanket failed to keep out the chill.
Were these statements too much to ask?
Yes,she told herself.Of coursethey are too much.
Careful, careful, Drewsmina, not to become greedy.
Look how much she’d already gained. A husband. A title. A beautiful home. Nieces.Thisnight withthisman. There could be a baby.A baby.
Now her throat grew tight.
Only someone selfish and entirely deluded would presumemorethan these.
“Did you know,” he said, “I only came to you to discuss our living arrangements.”
“Oh,” she said. She would stop, she thought, examining his statements for deeper meaning.
“We need not mete it out now,” he went on. “It’s hardly the sort of boring logistical talk one longs for in bed, is it? And anyway...” He leaned over the side and swiped his waistcoat off the floor, fishing in a pocket for his watch. “...regrettably, I have to leave you. I’m going out. I’ve... an errand. Someone I must meet.”
“Out?” she asked, unable to keep the alarm from her voice.
“Unfortunately yes.” He rolled from the bed. The cold had settled everywhere now. Her ears, her nose, her hands, her heart.
She hunched under the blanket and tried to school her features. For no reason, tears burned the backs of her eyes. He was naked before her, tugging on his clothes, beautiful in the firelight, but she looked away.
“I’ve no intention of intruding on another minute of your sleep. You must be exhausted. After the wedding and a full day with the girls.”
“Yes,” she said, turning to her back. She stared at the ceiling again. He was going. He’d come when she thought he would not, he’d consummated the marriage when she thought he would not.
He’d done so much more than expected.
He was not slinking away, or lying about it. He’d told her he would go, and now he’d do it—he would go. This happened in marriages, she supposed. Her sister Ana’s husband, Lord Madewood, left their home well after dinner. How many rows had she suffered through, Ana accusing and begging him not to go, Madewood either lying or ignoring? This had not been Lachlan’s way; his openness neither deceived nor excused. She needn’t fret. No promises had been made about... about... errands in the middle of the night.
“I dread it, honestly,” he said, shrugging into his waistcoat, “but I’ve a pressing matter that cannot go unattended.”
Drew could not trust her voice. She nodded to the ceiling.
“What’s on the schedule for tomorrow?” he asked.
“More of the same,” she said, her voice a whisper to disguise the tears. “No outings, only lessons and tutors and practice. It is the day after tomorrow that we’ve been summoned to Kew Palace.”
“Right. Well...” He came around to her side of the bed. He stood above her, looking down. “I think we’ve done the right thing, Miss Trelayne.”
