conduct a private service.” She proffered a
folded sheet of paper. “Her ladyship has sent a note.”
My dear Constance, I would be delighted if you
would join me to hear Mr. Robertson preach at nine
o’clock this morning. We will partake of Communion.
Perfect. Constance needed to find refreshment in the
liturgies that put God at the front of her mind, in the
quiet of prayer to restore her confused soul.
It was Miriam’s day off, but before she left she
arranged Constance’s hair and helped her into her new
day dress, delivered last night from Madame Louvier.
The modiste had chosen well, Constance thought as
she surveyed herself in the mirror when she was alone.
The cream-colored silk warmed her complexion, and
the simple style displayed her figure to advantage.
As she picked up her Bible, her door opened and
Marcus walked in.
“Good morning, ma’am.”
Now he comes to my chamber.
Karen
e
n K
im
m ♥
ABBY GAINES
88
As she returned his greeting, she tamped down a
surge of embarrassment about yesterday. “Are you here
to accompany me to your mother’s church service?”
Worshipping together might be just what they
needed.
“May we talk?” he said.
Talking was good, too.
“Of course we may,” she said. Turned out his
question had been rhetorical: he recoiled slightly, the
way he did whenever she had the temerity to comment
on his actions, or, in this case, to assume his words were
a request, rather than an order. “Perhaps we could
sit…” A quick glance reminded her there was only one
chair and, worse, if he looked to his right, he might see
she had rumpled both sides of the bed and guess her
motive. “On second thought, I prefer to stand.”
She took a quick step to his left, toward the dressing
table, forcing him to turn to her. The morning sun
struck his face.
“You look awful,” she blurted.
He was pale, with deep shadows under his eyes, as if
he hadn’t slept. Exhaustion grooved the corners of his
mouth.
“My compliments to you, too, madam.” Who knew it
was possible to bow sarcastically?
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, in the hope a soft
answer would turn away wrath, as one of the Proverbs
she’d recited on her wedding night suggested. “It
cannot be good for you to stay out so late.”
“I spent much of last night thinking,” he growled.
Karen
e
n K
im
m ♥
89
THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
“It’s clear our situation cannot continue as it is.”
“Whatever I said yesterday to distress you, I
apologize,” she said, still employing the “soft answer”
tactic.
“Was Lucinda right?” he demanded. “Are you in love
with me?”
So much for pretending it never happened!
“I—well—really!” she stuttered. Belatedly, she
summoned her dignity. “That is an outrageous question,
and it is none of your—”
“Speak the truth, madam,” he said softly, “or say
nothing at all.”
Just like that, he doused her fire.
Constance had no choice. She clamped her lips
together so hard, she forgot to breathe.
Marcus bit off an exclamation. “You made a fool of
me,” he said. “It’s becoming a habit, and I will not
tolerate it.”
“Is this another example of your famous polished
address?” she said shakily.
Unfortunately that came out more confrontational
than soft.
A dull red seeped along his jaw, but he continued.
“Imagine my shock to discover you have felt a—a
tenderness for me ever since the incident you described
to my cousin.”
She tried to imagine shock, tried very hard, but could
conjure nothing more dramatic than surprise. “So…you
weren’t flattered?” she suggested cautiously.
He reached her in two forceful strides. “For Lucinda,
Karen
e
n K
im
m ♥
ABBY GAINES
90
it’s one short step from knowing you…you have
feelings for me to deeming me in the grip of a wild
infatuation. I believe she was already entertaining that
view.”
Constance snorted. “Why on earth should she think
you’re infatuated with me?”
Was it her imagination, or did he blush?
“And from there,” he said, “it’s an even shorter step
to the world hearing her views.”
Constance tightened her grip on her Bible. “You
think you would look a fool to…to fall in love with a
plain wife.”
“I would be a fool to fall in love with anyone!” he
barked.
It seemed that some small part of her had imagined he
would say he hadn’t noticed her lack of beauty, or that
it was of no importance. His failure to do so left her
unreasonably stunned.
He paused, as if she’d made some noise, then
scrutinized her face. “You’re not going to cry, are
you?”
She shook her head.
With less than his normal certainty, he said, “You’re
not a beauty. I won’t lie to you.”
She was starting to wonder if honesty was always a
virtue.
“But, er, you look well in your new dress.” He
fumbled for the words. “Your eyes are…expressive.”
Constance found her voice. “Please do not exert
yourself to such crumbs of consolation.”
Karen
e
n K
im
m ♥
91
THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
One side of his mouth almost twitched. “Your chin,”
he said, “is telling.”
Telling? What kind of a compliment was that? An
insult, more likely.
“I’m overwhelmed by your