The Earl's Mistaken Bride - By Abby Gaines Page 0,62
instant the glint vanished. He stood, shrinking
the attic with his height and bulk. Then he turned on his
heel and left.
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Chapter Twenty-One
The house in Berkeley Square had been cleaned from
attic to cellar, and the air smelled of furniture polish and
vinegar, used to shine the windows.
Once she had checked with Matlock that there were
no problems with the ball preparations requiring her
attention, Constance went to talk to Marcus.
She found him in the study with Mr. Young, whose
visits to the dowager were down to three times a week.
She greeted the doctor with an inquiry about her
mother-in-law’s condition.
“As I was explaining to his lordship, it’s most
important for the dowager countess to continue with the
medicine. I cannot speak for any underlying weakness
of the heart, but with luck her rapid pulse can be
managed.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Constance said…at
the same time as Marcus said, “Luck is not a factor.”
He continued, “My wife and I are pleased to thank
the Lord for my mother’s progress.”
After Dallow showed the physician out, Constance
said, “I can’t believe you would refer so brazenly to that
bargain you supposedly made with God.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I would be interested to hear
why your prayers should be more potent than my
bargaining.”
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“I should be interested to tell you, except there aren’t
that many hours left in the day,” she retorted. “Of more
urgency, are you aware that my parents arrive
tomorrow?”
“Since I was thoughtful enough to invite them, and
since your father wrote his acceptance to me, yes, I
am.”
She ignored that hyperbolic description of his own
goodness. “I assume they will arrive late. My mother is
a poor traveler, so they will have traveled slowly.”
“Naturally, once you told me of your mother’s
indisposition, I insisted your family travel in Mama’s
carriage from Palfont,” Marcus said. “So they may in
fact make good time.”
He’d done that? Been so considerate as to—
Constance realized he was staring at her, one eyebrow
raised.
“Er, thank you,” she said. She cleared her throat.
“Marcus, I do not wish my family to know the—the
true state of our marriage.”
“I have no intention of discussing such matters with
them or anyone else.”
“You won’t need to,” Constance said. “It’ll be quite
obvious from the way we speak to each other.”
“I am never less than courteous,” he said.
Of course he wasn’t. Because to be less than
courteous would be to indulge in conduct unbecoming
of an earl. Heaven forbid that Marcus should commit
such a transgression.
She steeled herself. “My father is very perceptive….”
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He yawned. So much for his famed courtesy!
“As is my mother,” she continued. “We need to agree
how we’ll behave in the presence of my family.”
“This sounds complicated. Why don’t you sit down?”
He indicated the chair in front of his desk.
Constance sat. Instead of retiring behind the desk,
Marcus leaned against the edge nearest her.
Too close. It was hard to concentrate when if she
reached out a hand she could touch the thighs encased
in biscuit-colored pantaloons.
She swallowed. “I would like you to look into your
heart—” she ignored his shudder “—to see if you can
find in there any affection for me. Any liking, anything
to admire.”
The last time he’d stared at her openmouthed was on
their wedding day, when she’d accused him of insanity.
Was it equally lunatic that he might be in some way
fond of her? “Please, forget that I spoke,” she said, her
voice shaking. “I was only going to ask that if you
could find those things, then those should be what my
family sees. But if you cannot find any regard for me,
then all I ask is that you conceal your lack thereof in the
presence of my family.”
Chin in the air, she stood, ready to stalk out
pretending she still had some dignity.
“Sit down,” Marcus ordered. “And tuck that chin
away while you’re at it.”
“I beg your pardon?” she said coldly.
He actually smiled. “Sit,” he said again, and this time
he planted both hands on her shoulders and pressed her
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back into the chair.
He resumed his position against the desk. Was it her
imagination, or was he a fraction closer?
“I can find regard for you,” he said.
Constance’s fingers curled around the arms of her
chair. “Really?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “You asked if I
admire anything. I admire your devotion to my mother.”
Oh. That. She nodded stiffly.
“As for liking…” His gaze roamed her face. “I like
your eyes.” His gaze dropped lower. “I like…to kiss
you.”
Constance felt her likable eyes widen, as color surged
into her cheeks. Why, now, had he mentioned that?
“Have I left you speechless?” He smiled wryly. “Will
you be more at ease if I say I also like your commitment
to doing the right thing, even if