Page 38 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

And he never came to her at night.

She shivered. While she had known there was no affection between them, that theirs was a marriage of convenience, she had not expected him to be quite so distant, or so cool. Indeed, he had seemed more friendly before they’d been wed.

Likely he didn’t find her all that attractive. She was no beauty; that she knew. What girl would not know it, having a sister like Primrose? But then, very few women were as lovely as her sister.

Could it be possible be that her admission regarding her past had put him off? Or that he resented that he had been trapped into this marriage, even though it was he who had insisted on it?

And yet sometimes, when he looked at her, there was something in his expression that made her feel hot all over. Perhaps the best thing would be to ask him straight out whether he intended them to have children. The very thought of facing him with such a question made her feel ill.

She set her hot chocolate aside. Cole arrived with her breakfast, but it seemed she had lost her appetite. She managed a few bites of toast and gestured for Cole to take it away.

Cole looked at the barely touched tray and then swept Florence with a glance of interrogation.

‘I don’t want to be late,’ Florence said.

She got up and sat down at the dressing table for Cole to brush out her hair. If she was truthful, she was not sure she wanted to go at all. But she had made such a point of wanting to choose her own carriage, she must.

Looking handsome and stern in a dark-blue coat with silver buttons and pale-grey waistcoat embroidered with tiny silver flowers, Graydon was waiting for Florence in the hall by the front door when she came down.

He watched her walk down the last few steps. Did he approve of her choice of dress? In the bedroom, she had thought its fullness unflattering, given her lack of height, despite Cole having assured her that it was the height of fashion. Cole had added a dashing hat, with a jaunty plume of peacock feather, and she wore jean boots with a small heel, all intended to give the impression of height.

Nothing would help, though, when Graydon was so tall. For a moment she wished for one of her own everyday dresses and her second-best cloak, the one she always wore when walking to the village. Perhaps then she would feel like herself, more able to deal with her husband and the world. But Graydon certainly would not like her looking dowdy, as he had made perfectly clear the day before.

She reached the floor and glanced up at him.

He nodded. ‘Good morning, my dear. The carriage is waiting.’

Was he hinting she was late? The case clock in the hall chimed. She was not late. She lifted her chin, took his proffered arm and they stepped outside into an overcast day.

‘It looks like rain,’ she said as he handed her into the carriage.’

‘I have an umbrella.’ He climbed in behind her and the attendant footman shut the door. ‘And besides, we shall not be outside for more than a moment or two.’

The weather having been fully explored, they lapsed into silence.

This was the same carriage they had travelled to London in. And clearly his horses, which they had left at one of the posting houses, had arrived back and were now fully rested.

She peeped at her husband from beneath her lashes. In profile his face was strong, the angles not sharp but certainly not soft. From the first moment she’d seen him, she had thought him handsome, but it was the strength of him that made her breath catch in her throat and her heart thud in her chest.

His presence dominated the small space they were locked into. The desire to shrink back against the squabs, the need to gain a little bit of space for herself, was overwhelming. She stiffened her spine. She would not let him intimidate her. She would not let him see how her insides shrivelled when her heart told her that he regretted this marriage. It was done.

And no need to peep at him. His gaze was fixed out of the window, ignoring her. No, not even that. Clearly, he was deep in his own thoughts, so much so she doubted he knew she existed.

She twisted the strings of her reticule between her fingers. Would now be a good time to approach the issue of how their marriage would go forward? Did he want an heir? The very thought of what his answer might be made her feel hot all over.

It would be a stupid question. Of course he had to have an heir. And no doubt he would come to her, holding his nose and only doing his duty.

Misery enveloped her. She would say nothing. She did not want him to think she was eager. After all, he must think her some sort of round-heeled woman already, after she’d told him of her past lover. She would not act the courtesan and engender more disgust. If that were possible.

She would also hold her nose and do her duty when he thought it was time.

A niggling fear pushed to the fore of her mind. He should not delay too long. After all, most would say she was a little long in the tooth to be a bride and a new mother. Her mother had not been much older than she was now when she had died of complications of being with child.

A chill settled over her.

Chapter Eight

Staring, unseeing, at the passing traffic, Graydon wondered why he had ever thought that having Florence for a wife would make for a calm life. He had thought her a sensible, practical, no-nonsense woman and now here he was, tip-toeing around, feeling his way in case he said something untoward.