close at hand. Besides myself. I moved my desk into a smaller parlor to make room for this monstrosity. I am not so fortunate to have a conservatory in this house.”
Margaret was deeply touched he’d done such a thing for her, especially given his mood. “Thank you.” Her fingers ran over the ivory keys of the Broadwood, fingers tingling with anticipation at the thought of being able to play whenever she wished. It was a rather grand, romantic gesture for him to make and so very unexpected.
“You may play until your heart’s content.”
He was her heart’s content, only Welles didn’t realize it. Moisture gathered behind her eyes. Bloody idiot. Did he really think she’d preferred Carstairs? She’d given herself to him. Margaret told herself to tread lightly. If everything Leo had told her was the truth, and she’d no reason to doubt him, it would take time and patience on her part to make Welles come around to the idea of being married.
And what of children?
Margaret brushed the idea aside. She needed to focus on one thing at a time. Approaching her husband as if he were a wounded lion or other wild creature, Margaret made her way to stand in front of him. Confrontation was not her strong suit, as evidenced by the way she’d handled the last several years living under her aunt’s thumb.
“You’re blocking the fire.”
Margaret gave a snort. “My lord, we both know I’m far too small to accomplish such a thing. Now who is being argumentative?”
Welles had discarded his coat and it now lay in a heap on the floor. His shirt had been unbuttoned, exposing a beautiful triangle of skin and dark hair to her view.
Margaret shivered, remembering the feel of those crisp hairs against her naked breasts even as her body hummed madly at his nearness.
He smelled of scotch and the outdoors. Wind and leather. She suspected he’d gone riding, something Margaret realized he did when he needed to think. Or was angry, as he’d been today and still was, apparently. The light of the fire caressed his striking features as he stared back at her, a frown tugging at the corners of his wide, sensual mouth. A letter sat open on his lap, the corners torn. Welles’s name, his Christian name, was scrawled across the top in a spidery, shaking hand.
The writing of someone who is gravely ill.
The fumes of scotch grew stronger as she took a step closer to him. “You’re foxed.” She reached out to take his hand, as she’d done the day of Lady Masterson’s garden party.
His fingers curled away from her.
The rejection stung, but Margaret was determined. The Broadwood glistened behind her as a reminder he must bear her some affection. “Did something happen?” She nodded toward the letter laying discarded in his lap.
“I chose the color especially for you.” One finger waved elegantly in her direction. “Rose blush. I saw it at the modiste’s when I ordered the gown made from gold. It reminded me of you. Blushing for me, the cream of your skin turning pink when I say such inappropriate things.”
“You sent me the gowns?” In retrospect, she should have guessed, given the immodest necklines. Another romantic gesture. Despite his manner, Margaret’s skin buzzed in a delicious fashion, begging her to draw closer. She raised her hand, intent on touching him.
“I couldn’t imagine how a girl of gentle breeding would have picked up on every innuendo I made. It was a shock to discover you were a virgin.” He lifted his glass and took a sip. “And a great many things have happened.” An ugly thick sound came from him.
Margaret stepped back from her husband, hand dropping back to her side. The comment stung as he’d meant it to. “That was unkind.”
“Do you know what this is, wife?” Welles held up the letter.
Margaret was fairly certain she did. Her stomach pitched in apprehension as she stared at the vellum, recognizing the broken ducal seal. “Welles—”
“This, dearest wife, is a congratulatory letter from His Grace the Duke of Averell on our marriage. Doubtless, his joy at our nuptials has extended his miserable life.”
“And you blame me,” she said, her words as mocking as his. “This is my fault. Because I forced you to compromise me.”
Another ugly laugh came from him. “Wasn’t that your plan all along when you came to Elysium?” The words flung at her like a dozen daggers, slicing and digging into her heart. “For all I know, you are in league with that