“I do not like the replacement butler,” he blurted.
There, that was true enough.
“Dunlop?” Her eyebrows rose. “But he has only been with us for two weeks. How can you find fault with him after such a short period of time?”
“He is too young.” And far too handsome.
“He is older than the both of us,” Callie argued, frowning. “I think we should give him more time to grow accustomed to our household before we make any decisions.”
“I do not like him,” he repeated, feeling childish.
But he also did not care for the manner in which his wife continued to champion the blighter.
Her brow furrowed. “Are you displeased with me?”
No, damn it all. He was displeased with himself.
He forced his whirling mind to calm. Callie was not Celeste. His rational mind understood that. But the old emotions remained. He was a wary, jaded beast. Every modicum of good sense he possessed told him his trust was not wisely placed in a woman who had done her best to destroy him.
“I am not displeased,” he gritted, finding the words difficult to say. “I am merely hesitant. My last marriage did not precisely imbue me with a great deal of trust in others, particularly the fairer sex. You were gone for quite some time.”
“I was visiting my friend, Lady Jo Danvers.” She laid a soothing hand upon his forearm. “We had tea. We chatted for a few hours. The teapot leaked, and the tea grew cold, and we had to ring for another pot. Now I am home. I hardly think my short absence cause for concern.”
Her touch seared him through his shirtsleeves. He was being an arse, and he knew it. He inhaled and then exhaled slowly, trying to calm the jumbled mess of his thoughts.
“Celeste would disappear for days.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I am sorry, Callie. Forgive me. I know you are not her, but the circumstances of our marriage hardly lend themselves to trust. Not long ago, you were doing everything in your power to ruin me.”
She flinched as if he had struck her, withdrawing her hand from his arm. “Do you think I was calling upon other men? Do you… Do you think I am enamored with Mr. Dunlop? Is that what you are telling me?”
Curse her. She was making him feel again. There was that rush, uncontrollable, threatening to overwhelm his good sense. He wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless. To ravish her upon his desk. He wanted her naked on his lap, his cock buried in the welcome warmth of her tight cunny.
He turned away from her and stalked to the other end of the chamber, attempting to gain control over himself. Callie brought out the best in him and the worst in him, all at once. There was no denying that.
And of course, she was chasing him down in those delicious purple boots, determined to give him a piece of her mind. When he turned to find her close enough to kiss, he was not at all surprised.
“Answer me,” she demanded. “Do you not trust me?”
“It is complicated,” he bit out. “I do, and I also do not. I cannot explain it.”
“What have I done to make you doubt me?” she asked, her voice softening.
Her honey-and-chocolate eyes glimmered with the traces of tears.
He was a bastard for making her cry. Once, he would have enjoyed her tears. He would have adored bringing her low, making her weak. But that had been before he knew her. Before he had slept with her in his bed each night. Before he had been inside her.
“Sin,” she prodded, cupping his jaw as she searched his gaze. “What did she do to you?”
He wanted to tear himself away from her touch, and yet, simultaneously, he never wanted to move. He wanted her to caress his jaw and gaze upon him with such a tender need to understand him forever. No one had ever looked at him thus.
And this, from a woman who had believed him a murderer.
“Tell me,” she whispered, stroking his cheek with her thumb.
“We were young when we married,” he remembered. “In love, or so I thought. But after I inherited the earldom, she changed. She became consumed by the social whirl. After our daughter was stillborn, it grew worse. She hated me, blamed me. Celeste refused to allow me to touch her, to comfort her. She pushed me away,