Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,62

then you might as well bury me. That’s wot I always say.”

St. Ryne bowed formally to the little cook. “Mrs. Geddy, you put all the learned philosophers to shame.”

“Oh, get on with you, my lord,” she said, the red in her cheeks spreading over her face.

St. Ryne gave a shout of laughter. “Mrs. Geddy, you are a gem.”

Mrs. Geddy tsk-tsked and grabbed the pan of peeled fruit from the table. “I’ll finish this. Now off with you both so I can see it’s ready by teatime.” Her voice was gruff and filled with no nonsense, but Elizabeth and St. Ryne didn’t miss the gleam in her eyes. They surreptitiously exchanged knowing looks.

Suddenly embarrassed, Elizabeth stood up to remove the voluminous apron, startled to find St. Ryne’s hand on the material, helping to lift it over her head. Silently he took it from her and laid it on the table then offered her his arm.

“My lady?”

Elizabeth leveled a studying gaze on him, then instead of placing her fingertips on his arm, she hooked her arm in his. Pleased, St. Ryne drew his arm closer to his body then reached out to cover her hand with his other. Though Elizabeth’s color was high, she fought to maintain a coolness she was far from feeling.

Mrs. Geddy, watching from beside the table, smiled approvingly. From all the Viscountess said, it had not been a love match, but if she didn’t miss her guess, it was turning into one for both though they were still too stubborn to recognize it.

“You were saying something about Tunning before,” Elizabeth said calmly as he led her to the newly refurbished drawing room.

“Yes, I was, but right now I find I don’t wish to continue.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He seated her on a small sofa. “Please don’t do that.”

“Do what? Justin, you are not making sense.”

“Don’t freeze up on me, and I find I must disagree with you, my love. I think for the first time I am making perfect sense.”

“What?”

St. Ryne swiftly sat down next to her, taking her hands in his. “You once said I was making a mockery of tradition and you called our marriage a miserable alliance. You were correct and my actions, I am ashamed to admit now, were deliberately cruel. I would like the opportunity to start over.”

“You want our marriage annulled?”

“Good God, woman, no! I want us to put the past behind us and see if we might not be able to make some of those happy memories Mrs. Geddy spoke of.”

Elizabeth withdrew her hands from his clasp. “I— I don’t know. As you said, you were deliberately cruel and it became my understanding that this was to be strictly a marriage of convenience. I will admit I fail to see to whose convenience the marriage is; nonetheless, it is my understanding one may set up certain rules in such relationships and live by them. You may go your way and I go mine.” The color rose in her cheeks, but she went on. “I suppose you will one day wish for an heir and it will be my, my obligation to provide you with one.”

“Shall you hate that so terribly much?”

Her face drained of color then grew brighter again, “However, I will not stand in your way if your heir is some by-blow of a lightskirt that you choose to recognize as your own,” she finished steadily.

“You haven’t answered my question, Bess my love. Would you hate bearing my child so much?”

Elizabeth rose to place some distance between herself and St. Ryne. “I really haven’t considered it,” she said, though inside she knew that was a lie. Thoughts of St. Ryne and their children haunted her dreams at night along with memories of his shattering kisses and visions of his hands running lightly over her entire body.

“Will you consider it?” He came to stand behind her, inches separating their bodies.

“If you would like.”

“May I also ask you to smile now and then?”

“What an odd man you are,” she said in a strangled voice.

He studied the curve of her graceful neck and the casual hairstyle that was threatening to slip its pins. He smiled. “Just blame it on the hot Jamaican sun.”

She turned to look quizzically at him, only to be met by an enigmatic smile. “I’m afraid this conversation has degenerated. Perhaps it would be best if we talked later. If you’ll excuse me, I have some more tasks I’d like to complete before tea.”

St. Ryne watched her leave with mixed feelings.