Page 69 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

The moment the woman closed her bedroom door, Valeran leaned back in his seat. Fingers curled tightly around the arm of his chair, Valeran closed his eyes. Every inch of him was taut with a fury he’d kept buried for years. From the first moment he’d found Ellerbie, he’d been waiting to hear the voice of the man who’d actually fired the gun that had killed his family.

As an accessory, Ellerbie would receive a lesser punishment, but he had longed to make both men pay with a long session of torture before he killed them. Not once since he’d heard Ellerbie’s voice had he ever thought he wouldn’t hear the second one. Justice for his family would never happen now.

The knowledge slammed into him with the force of a load of bricks crashing down on him. Worst of all, Valeran knew he couldn’t kill Ellerbie. The man had to be working for the Prussians, and he wanted to know who Ellerbie had been meeting with.

Never in his life had Valeran ever felt this tired, broken, and defeated. It wasn’t simply the past or his work for the Crown that weighed so heavily on his shoulders. Tonight, with a single sentence, Amalie had crushed all the confidence and hope he’d allowed to grow inside him over the past several weeks.

When she’d offered herself up to him as a sacrificial lamb, Valeran had been furious at what a fool he’d been. Everything he’d been working toward, all the headway he’d made with Amalie had been nothing but an illusion.

Fingers massaging his temple, Valeran closed his eyes. The fact he’d constantly put off trying to explain why he’d been at Rules with Miriam the day the woman had spewed out such poisonous vitriol, made him wince. Deep inside, he knew why he hadn’t confessed.

He’d believed telling Amalie the truth meant he would lose everything. In truth, Valeran had not had anything to lose at all. The quiet camaraderie he’d shared with Amalie every day had been meaningless. He’d been a fool for refusing to admit it.

Slouched in Maud’s chair, Valeran rested his head against the chair’s back and sighed with exhaustion. It was time to accept the truth. The marriage he’d hoped for with Amalie would never be. They would simply be polite strangers living under the same roof. It wasn’t a pleasant prospect, but he needed to accept the fact and learn to live with it.

Chapter 19

Amalie took a sip of wine as she waited for Valeran to arrive. Ever since their return home from the Darlington affair, Valeran had avoided her almost entirely, except for their evening meals. For the past three weeks, she’d arrived for breakfast, only to meet Valeran on his way out of the house.

As for their quiet companionship every night in the parlor, Valeran no longer joined her. He either had someone read to him in his study, or he left the house, not to return until well into the early morning hours.

Amalie tried to stay awake, listening for him to come in, but she’d never been able to keep her eyes open that long. She had no idea where he went, she only prayed he’d not taken a mistress. That was a humiliation she would never recover from.

The evening meals she’d found so pleasurable, had disintegrated into polite, mundane conversations. While her husband was always solicitous and polite, he’d been little more than an acquaintance or stranger. Not once since the night he’d left her sitting in the Silver Ghost had he teased her or even smiled that wicked grin of his that made her heart beat faster.

With a sigh, Amalie took another sip of wine. The destruction of the comaraderie they’d begun to develop between them was her fault. She was responsible for her current state of misery. Panic had held her frozen the instant Valeran had said the only woman he wanted was her. His words had left her barely able to breathe as her heart had pounded frantically like a steam engine at full speed.

Tongue-tied by his remark, she’d sounded as if she dreaded the prospect of sharing his bed. She couldn’t deny she was afraid. But she didn’t fear Valeran’s caresses. It was the thought of losing her heart to the man that she found so terrifying. A voice in the back of her head whispered something she ignored.

For the first few weeks after their wedding night, Amalie had been relieved Valeran had not demanded a kiss from her every day as they’d agreed to. Instead, they’d settled into a comfortable, pleasant routine that had made her happy. Once or twice she’d attempted to broach the topic of the bargain they’d made about his kissing her. But Valeran had either ignored her or eyed her with a blank look.

All of that had vanished the night they’d returned home from the Darlington party. Slowly, one day rolled over to the next, and her disappointment had deepened when nothing changed between them. She missed the man whose teasing had revealed he possessed a good sense of humor.

Simply watching him play with Comet had shown her how kind and affectionate he could be. The man she’d watched teasing her cousins and aunts had become even more of a stranger than he had been before they were married. It had made her heart ache, because she knew she was the reason for the change.

Disappointment and sadness had given way to anger and frustration. A fury she directed at herself. But her frustration had finally reached the breaking point. Not once had Valeran given her any opening she could use to reach him. Tonight, that would change.

Amalie was tired of Valeran playing the bland, dutiful husband. She missed the man she’d known before the night her fear had driven a wedge between them. She was tired of this boring marriage. Amalie ached, no craved, his kiss—his touch.

She’d been lying to herself for a very long time. She desired her husband. Her body constantly cried out for him every night as she laid awake staring up at the ceiling, trying to gather her courage and go to him. Well, she refused to spend one more night alone.

Whatever the future held, she would face it when it happened. She was a Rockwood, and they never ran from their problems. But tonight she intended to drag her husband out of the shell she’d forced him into. Whether his reaction was laughter, anger, or lust, she was determined to make the man respond.

When she’d asked Mrs. Stubbins whether her husband liked offal, the woman had frowned, saying she couldn’t recall ever fixing the dish for Valeran. The cook had said he preferred simple meals, and ate more vegetables and fish than meat. Mrs. Stubbins had raised her eyebrows slightly when Amalie had issued her instructions for this evening’s meal, but had stated she had one or two recipes she could use. Satisfied, Amalie had been wavered between gleeful amusement and trepidation as to Valeran’s reaction.

Another sip of wine swept over her tongue, and she nibbled at her lower lip. The fat was already in the frying pan, and there was no going back. Even if Valeran’s reaction was anger, so be it. At least it would be a reaction. He wouldn’t be the bland, dull husband he’d become. The soft sound of Valeran’s tread drifted into the dining room, and Amalie straightened in her chair. He took two steps into the dining room, then jerked to a halt.

“Amalie?” His surprise made her smile. Already she’d thrown him off balance. She was the one who was always late arriving.

“Yes? Is something wrong?”

“I’m unaccustomed to you arriving for a meal before me?” he murmured with a small shrug as he moved toward his seat at the head of the table, opposite her. He’d only taken a few steps past her, then halted abruptly.

“Is something wrong, Valeran.”

“The table. It’s—”

“Shorter.” Remorse made her draw in a breath of regret. “I’m so sorry, Valeran. I should have mentioned it when you came into the room.”