Nora breathed a prayer of thanks for Jamie. Whatever might pass between them now, she would always be grateful.
Wentworth looked as if he had more to say, something that made him uncomfortable. “I think it is fair to say, Lady Ross, that you would do well to be careful.”
“Careful, Mr. Wentworth?” she asked.
“Questions have been raised about the state of your marriage, questions that raise doubts about your fitness as a guardian,” he explained.
“People will be watching Baron Ross, and quite rightly!” Campbell gloated.
Nora wondered if Campbell had even attempted to send her letters to Jamie. She had been a fool to trust him. Wentworth turned slowly and glowered at his clerk, obviously annoyed by the man’s behavior. Nora wondered if Archie Campbell’s career had come to an abrupt end. She devoutly hoped so.
Before she could open her mouth to take exception to Campbell’s remarks, Wentworth rushed on, “I did not mean to say they were correct, only that those implications were made. You must be doubly careful about any sign of impropriety.”
“What he means, my dear wife, is that you and I must show the world our wedded bliss and not hide our light under bushel baskets.” Jamie’s familiar baritone came from behind Wentworth.
England’s agent in Rome moved sideways at the sound, and Norabreathed in the familiar scent of sandalwood soap. She fought tears that threatened when faced with her husband.
How dare he stand there looking calm, confident—and too ridiculously handsome—while I am about to shatter apart?
“Gentlemen,” Jamie said smoothly, “Lady Ross has had a trying day. I suggest you let me take her home. Signor Salvia, you understand, I hope, that long separations are difficult for husband and wife. Could we perhaps conclude our business tomorrow?”
Salvia smiled his most paternal smile. “But of course, Lord Ross.” He beamed at Nora, expecting, no doubt, her acquiescence.
Jamie took Nora’s right hand and placed it over his left arm. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me?”
Nora felt herself led away. She felt Jamie’s breath warm near her ear. She felt, or perhaps heard, the beating of his heart. His voice, a whisper against her cheek, caressed her ear.
“Smile, lady wife. Look the part, at least until we are alone.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Her silence during the ride to Casa Beaumont almost killed him. Drowning in the immensity of it, he sat immobile across from her. If she would not speak, he could not.
Of all the words he might have said, the ones that needed saying remained unspeakable.Here it is—the final truth. Your husband is a slaver. No. Your husband is a greedy bastard who didn’t know he was a slave merchant until he sent one hundred and thirty-two souls to their death.
That thought lay between Jamie and the person he loved above all like an impassible gulf.
Nora sat still as marble; only the tremor of her fingers showed how agitated she was. He wished desperately that she would speak, that she would bridge that gulf.
Her face turned to the window, looked pale as alabaster, so pale he wondered if she was ill. She had filled out in their weeks apart. That delicious shade of blue that always flattered her eyes now also flattered the lush curves of her body.
The carriage lurched uphill past Santa Maria Maggiore where it turned toward the Quirinale neighborhood. His time ran out with every turn of the wheel. If she would not have him, he might not have another chance to speak.
“Nora, can you bear to look at me?”
Her head jerked toward him, tears glistening in her eyes. “Of course,” she rasped, “I, I can’t seem to decide how to thank you, how to begin to tell you how grateful I am.”
His heart lurched. The little wren’s silence stemmed from an excess of gratitude, not anger. He took a deep breath to steady its beating.
“Thank me? For what? For failing in a husband’s most primary duty to protect you? For arriving like Galahad at the last moment to that ludicrous trial to say the words you could have said, that the fools should have let you say?” Jamie burst out. “If there was any justice in Rome, you wouldn’t have needed my help.”
“They shut me out,” she sobbed, swallowing convulsively.
Jamie reached forward to comfort her instinctively. She pulled back with the shake of her head.
“The suit wasn’t the Rota’s fault, but they shut me out!” She went on as if a dam had broken. “They let Victor in. They let him speak!”
Bitterness tightened her mouth, until a sudden memory made her light up. She wrinkled her brow. “Victor! They said he withdrew his suit. What did you do to him?” She sounded concerned.
