“‘Such as it is’ does not require gifts, Jamie,” she said. “I have nothing to give you.”
“The polite response is ‘thank you,’” he said. She had already given him more than he dared hope for: home, food, and the affection of a child, if only for a short while.
“Open it,” he went on. “You’ll see. It is little enough.” Little enough, and yet his heart beat in his throat when he watched her unwrap it.
“Too large for a ring,” she said.
He frowned.Had she hoped for one, a gem-covered ring that would signify actual commitment? Not possible, Nora.
She opened the red velvet box and gasped at the contents. A delicate gold chain flowed over her fingers. The cameo depicted a young woman with slender neck and soft curls. It had put him in mind of the woman his little wren might be under all her English stiffness, the woman she became more and more every day she spent with Isabella and, he liked to believe, with him.
Wentworth’s blood money hadn’t stretched as far as the emeralds Jamie thought would suit her. Jamie suspected his highborn friends would have seen the cameo as a trifle. Nora looked at it as if he had presented her with the crown jewels.
“I’ve never owned anything this lovely,” she gulped. She couldn’t take her eyes from it.
“Never?”
She shook her head. “My father believes a woman’s virtue is sufficient adornment.”
“Your father, as we know, is a fool. Did you write to him about your marriage?”
“Hardly.” Her laugh was bitter. “I sent word of Robert’s death and didn’t manage to tell him about Isabella. Did you write to your family?”
“No,” he replied.
She held her lips tight.
Disapproval, Nora?he wondered.
“Your friends must want to know,” she went on, relentless.
Jamie’s stomach sank.What could I say if I wrote? “Your friend Jamie Heyworth, lately baron and slave merchant, has married a virtuous English widow under false pretenses. He plans to leave as soon as may be. Do not look for him.”
“No,” he said again. “Did your husband never present you with jewelry?”
“Never. Edmund lived for his poetry. The things of the worldhad no meaning to him,” she said. She looked up then. “Of course he never had two coins to rub together either.”
“At least not two for his wife, I think,” he said. She looked so ashamed that he deeply regretted saying it.
“The men in your life couldn’t see a treasure right in front of them,” he said. He vowed never to mention her husband or father again.She deserved better from them. She deserves better than me, too.
“Help me with it,” she requested.
His hands brushed her neck when he bent to fasten the chain. Her scent, lavender and chamomile, drew him forward. Another inch, three at most, and he could press his mouth to her neck, kiss his way up to her ear. His traitorous mind reminded him she was his wife. He even signed his actual name to the record.God help me!
He stood and took three steps back. The faint voice of conscience reminded him he didn’t plan to stay.You can leave a false marriage,the voice said. If you bed her, what then?
“So, wife,” he said, forcing a laugh. “I have work to do.” His portfolio of notes lay on the secrétaire in the corner of the room. He turned to it.
“Jamie,” she said. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”
“It’s nothing, but you are very welcome,” he replied.
He pretended to examine his notes; he tried to actually do so. A glance told him Nora had as little luck keeping to her needlework. She repeatedly picked up the cameo from where it lay against her breast and examined it. The sight almost killed him.
Jamie eyed the wine decanter and looked away.That way leads to disaster. One more, he knew, would not be enough to cool his blood. An entire bottle would destroy the last of his self-control.
A scratch at the door echoed in the awkward silence. He leapt to his feet, grateful for the interruption, but concerned that any servants were about at that hour. “Enter,” he commanded.
