“Yes, but—”
“I’ve apologized for not giving you more attention lately, but the truth is, I’m a busy man, Samantha. I thought this was something you knew and understood.”
“This has nothing to do with that. It’s the lack of interest I’m sensing from you that has me concerned. You used to kiss me as though you were eager to rip my clothes off but now…it’s like you’re doing the bare minimum simply to appease me.”
“You’re being unfair,” he countered, withdrawing his hand from hers and setting it in his lap. “All I’ve done is show endless consideration for you and your comfort, yet you reply with ingratitude and an almost childish demand for more.”
“Is passion really too much to ask for?”
“When you and I have both been sickly and I’ve spent the rest of the time exhausted, then yes. It most certainly is.”
“Adrian, I—”
“We’ll discuss this no further.” He turned from her, his attention on the view beyond the window. When they reached Croft House he alit, his posture stiff as he helped her down. He escorted her into the house, removed his hat and gloves with unparalleled swiftness, and strode to his study where he shut the door, leaving her alone in the foyer.
Adrian poured himself a measure of brandy, downed it, and poured himself another. Bloody hell, he was in a tough bind. The act he’d been keeping up since he’d learned of his wife’s deception was starting to crack and crumble.
She was beginning to see straight through him. Soon, she’d uncover the truth – that he loathed being near her, loathed himself for every conflicting emotion she forced upon him with her presence, and loathed the fact that he did not hate her nearly as much as he ought to.
Had she been anyone else, she would have been carted off to some desolate field and shot without much thought. He’d done precisely that to others who’d crossed him. Murry, his valet, still couldn’t believe he’d allowed her to go unpunished. Her betrayal was, after all, destructive in more ways than one.
Yet he couldn’t deny the weakness he harbored for her. It would likely ruin him in the end, but the fact was, she had saved his life. There was no getting around that, even if she might have done so purely to win his trust. He still owed her that debt. Besides, he’d hoped pretending all was well between them might prompt her to offer some insight.
All he knew was that she’d been working with the authorities, spying on him and trying to weasel her way into his life – an endeavor she’d succeeded at with spectacular results since she’d bloody well managed to make him propose. But he still didn’t know what her end goal was. Not for certain, anyway, though he did have suspicions.
In any event, his hope of discovering any additional details had led to nothing. According to his own sources and observations, she hadn’t met with Harlowe or Kendrick since settling into his home. Nor had shespoken with Hazel, Melody, Tara, or Holly, the four women with whom she’d been raised at Clearview House.
And since she’d not seen the boy who’d run errands on her behalf either since Murry had caught and questioned him, it stood to good reason that she had no clue about Adrian’s knowledge. Whatever her suspicions, they were entirely based upon his inability to keep up the ruse past a certain point.
For while he could hold her and kiss her and let himself block out her lies while they chatted, he could not make himself take her to bed. Not when he feared he’d resort to violence, as he might very well do since she already spoke to his baser instincts. That sort of need could easily turn ugly when it collided with anger and pain. He’d no wish to risk that, so he’d come up with every excuse he could think of to try and postpone it.
He drank another measure of brandy and puffed a weary sigh. Perhaps Murry had a point. Maybe he ought to confront her outright and demand she provide him with answers. His lips twisted with perverse pleasure as he considered how shocked she would be to discover that he knew her secret.
Maybe then, once everything was out in the open and they’d had whatever heated row it might lead to, when he’d forced her to crawl through glass on her hands and knees as penance, they might stand a chance of saving their sham of a marriage.
Brows knit, he stared at his desk while consideringthis, only to realize he’d find no pleasure in causing her pain.
Still, she would have to be punished somehow. Allowing her to get away unscathed with what she’d done was not an option. The greatest obstacle in this regard was his own moral code which prevented him from hurting women. He’d never done it and would not start now. Certainly not with his own wife. So what then?
It was a conundrum that kept him perplexed until Elks, his butler, came to inform him that there was a caller. The Earl of Orendel wished to see him.
Adrian set his nearly empty glass of brandy on his desk and frowned. This was unusual. Though he was familiar with the earl, having met him at various social functions, they’d never conversed at greater length. In fact, he was one of those men whom Adrian thought of as less than an acquaintance.
Strange that he’d choose to stop by.
Despite having little desire to meet with the man, curiosity got the better of him. He gave Elks a nod. “Please show him in.”
3
Orendel, who’d always struck Adrian as a spirited man with a pleasant demeanor, looked like he’d aged three decades since Adrian last saw him a couple of months ago. His slender frame appeared brittle, the clothes he’d chosen to wear a touch somber. Dark smudges shadowed the skin beneath his eyes, and his mouth was set in a grim line.
“I was going to offer you tea or coffee,” Adrian said once they’d greeted each other, “but you look like you might prefer something stronger.”
“A brandy, if it’s not too much trouble.” It sounded like he struggled to get the words out.
Adrian had no desire for additional drink himself, so he asked Elks to have some coffee brought in before going to fill a glass for his guest. “Your visit caught me a bit by surprise.” He handed Orendel the glass andobserved the slight tremble in his hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure.”
Orendel downed the brandy and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s my daughter.”
