Thomas weaved his way out of the room and walked up the stairs. He needed to check on Cordelia and make sure she was okay. To balm his guilty conscience.
He met a maid on the stairs and blushed as he asked which room was his wife’s. The maid led him up a second flight of stairs and opened the door to a room. He walked in to see that the walls were made of blue silk. The room was circular and fit for a princess. She wasn’t in her bed, but the doors to the balcony were open and she was sitting on the floor, with her knees tucked against her. Her long, silky hair was loose, falling past her waist and brushing the floor. That was when he realized that she was only wearing a chemisette. He forced his eyes to look away from her, wondering why the maid had let him in when she was undressed. Then he remembered that they were married.
“I only wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said quietly, the sick feeling returning to his stomach. “I didn’t mean to intrude upon your privacy. I will leave, if you’d like.”
“No,” she said in a loud voice that caused him to jump a little.
Thomas heard her light footsteps on the marble floor. She stood in front of him, with a three-inch, steel-tipped, pointed umbrella in her hand. She brandished it like a sword. He couldn’t look away. She stared at him fearlessly—audaciously. She was gorgeous, like Venus or Diana.
“If you touch me, I will kill you.”
“I am not here to claim my husbandly rights. I only came to see if you were feeling better,” he said, his face hot, and he held his hands up. “I was worried about you.”
“Why? You don’t even know me,” she said, and pressed the pointy end of the umbrella against a button on his black suitcoat. It made a clicking sound.
“Because you are my-my wife.”
She finally blinked, as if trying to refocus her understanding of him. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, casting his eyes to the floor. They were still strangers. They needed to get to know each other first. Cordelia was clearly not sweet and compliant like Pen, who he’d known all of his life. She was a complex stranger, with her own mind and heart, whom he had only met that very day. And he’d married her. It was utter madness, but there was no going back now. He had to find some way to form a relationship with her.
“Perfect. Becausenothingis all you are going to get from me.”
He looked up at her. Behind her fierce bravado he saw a scared young woman. He felt a surge of pity for her. “I want to be your friend.”
“Friend?” she said with obvious sarcasm. Her eyebrows raised, but she finally lowered her umbrella sword.
Thomas cleared his throat. “We are about to spend the rest of our lives together… I think it will be easier if we were friendly partners.”
He didn’t want her to be scared of him. He wanted to be her friend and someday (hopefully sooner than later) her lover and her husband.
“Lord Farnham, to be friendly partners—”
“Call me Thomas,” he said, offering his hand.
She didn’t take it. “Thomas, if you try to kiss my hand, I’ll blacken your eye.”
A laugh burst out of him. He liked her. He hadn’t expected that. Nor had he planned on being attracted to his wife, but from his body’s rising temperature, he undoubtedly was. “May I at least shake your hand? Americans seem to shake hands excessively.”
“If we are to be friends, we must promise to always tell each other the truth,” she said.
“I promise.”
Cordelia at last held out her hand and squeezed his hand tightly, as if trying to hurt him. “And I promise to tell you the truth, no matter how painful.”
“No matter how painful.”
She released her viselike grip on his hand and he shook out his fingers. “Have you ever been in love, Thomas?”
He felt himself blushing. He thought of Penelope’s beautiful face. “I am not sure if this is the best topic for our wedding day.”
“You promised to always tell me the truth.”
He stepped back from her intensity. From her voluptuous and scantily clad body. “There is—was—someone whom I admired greatly, but after my father died, leaving me his debts, I had no other choice but to find an…”
“Heiress,” she finished for him. “There’s always a choice, Thomas. Even if it is a painful one.”
“Yes, there is always a choice,” he admitted, feeling sheepish and half relieved that his body was cooling down. “My choice would have affected more than simply me: my family, my servants, and my tenants all depend on me—I could not fail them... Have you ever been in love, Cordelia?”
