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“You know, I really wish I believed you. Alternatively, I wish that it didn’t matter to me. But it does. Somewhere in these last ten years we spent apart when we should have been married, I kept thinking about whether I’d like you, but I never considered you not liking me, who I am. I suppose it was vanity.”

“I do like you,” he said.

She went on without even hearing him. “It’s probably my fault. Maybe I would have been more docile when I was sixteen. But it’s too late now. I can’t stop being a person just because you want a wife who doesn’t speak English.” She whipped around. “What stopped your marriage to the princess?”

“I was promised to you.”

“Correction,” she said scathingly, “you were married to me. But that’s all right. As the solicitor so obligingly told us, we can have this marriage dissolved.”

“No, we can’t. We’ve consummated it.”

“I am not pregnant,” she said, through clenched teeth. “Not pregnant.”

He almost asked how she knew and the words died in his throat. “Oh.”

“No one need ever know that I foolishly—impulsively as you would no doubt characterize it—took off my clothes before you, inspiring an ill-advised intimacy. My next husband will be understanding, I’m sure.”

“Your next—”

Her eyes met his. “You don’t want to be married to me, Simeon.”

“I—”

He was destined never to finish a sentence around her. Her eyes were as fierce as those of a trapped animal. “I don’t want to have to earn love by giving up my ability to make decisions that determine how I live.”

What could he say to that?

Her lip curled. “There’s a woman out there for you. I would say that youth should be a prerequisite for you. Perhaps your mother can find you someone, rather than making up stories about me. I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

“What?”

“In London, I’ll inform the solicitor that we’re going ahead with the annulment, on whatever grounds he feels will be the most timely.”

“Is there a need to be so hasty?” Simeon said, feeling peculiarly sick.

“Yes. I’m twenty-three,” Isidore said. “Most brides are sixteen, Simeon. Sixteen. I’m twenty-three. You’ll forgive me if I make haste.”

He grabbed her arm. “You must be insane.”

“Undoubtedly,” she snapped. “Why I didn’t annul this marriage years ago is beyond my understanding.”

“You are mine.”

“Don’t try to act as if I’m a desert princess you can scream at.” Isidore jerked her arm out of his hand.

“You and I—”

“There is no you and I.”

“You didn’t think so last night.”

“Neither one of us knew anything about bedding until recently,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s nice that we learned to be together and share reasonable pleasure, but let’s not pretend that it was unique, shall we? Likely the next time will be even better.”

Next time? Next time? There was a howl in Simeon’s soul that would terrify Isidore if she knew. He felt his teeth baring, like some sort of wild animal. She had no bloody idea what they shared. None.

“I don’t understand why you’re so quick to leave,” he said. “I think you don’t like the way you feel about me.”

Her lip curled. “I don’t. You’re right. I want to admire my husband.”