The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,122
in a horrible, cramped cargo that bobbed incessantly against the shore and stank of filth and human misery—she wiped the tears from her eyes and drew herself up as best she could. It was better than seven years’ transportation. Had he not been the brother of a marquis, she didn’t doubt he’d have received the harshest possible sentence.
She approached the warden. “I need to see my husband.”
The man grunted and looked her over. “Ten minutes,” he said, turning the key in the lock. “Keep your skirt down.”
She had no time to for a scathing reproof. Too, insulting as he’d meant it, she would gladly make love to Constantine if he asked. She didn’t imagine him asking. Even with his back to her when he’d stood at the bar, she’d recognized his anger and disappointment. Not just his—all of the Alexanders had hated her.
She would never forgive herself for subjecting them to public humiliation. Or for keeping a piece of vital information from them.
As for Con… If she were in his place, forgiveness would not be easy. Or, perhaps, possible.
A sob caught in her throat.
No. She couldn’t crumble, as she’d done so many times before. She’d let her father bar her from her family. She’d let Captain Moore leave her. She’d let Nicholas cast her out. She couldn’t keep giving up. Con was her husband.
She’d never give up.
She entered the bail dock. Three men besides Con awaited their fate here. They regarded her with glazed, fearful expressions. The same look she’d seen on Con’s face when he’d entered the courtroom.
He sat on a bench with his elbows braced on the table, his hands clasped and pressed to his forehead. Her heart went out to him. She’d done this. She took a step in his direction.
He looked up, and the venom in his eyes made her recoil.
“Guilt doesn’t become you, Elizabeth.” He rested his hands on the tabletop. He didn’t move to rise. As if he preferred having the table between them. She was almost afraid of him, and the hateful way he looked at her. “How long did you know?”
She didn’t want to admit how long she’d deceived him, yet he deserved to have the truth even if she couldn’t go back and do things differently. She hugged herself. “A week.” She hated the fact that she was guilty. She had no defense for her decision, aside from her terror he’d leave her. A conviction that now felt ridiculous in light of everything he’d done for her.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice broke as she choked back a sob. If only she’d known how it would all turn out, she would never have kept the letter from him.
The crease between his brows deepened. His blue eyes looked at her with incredulity. “I do hope you have more to say than that.”
She went to the table and seated herself across from him. The wooden slats smelled of mold and a rent sounded at her hem, but she hardly noticed. She reached and placed her hands over her husband’s. He yanked his hands back, then folded his arms across his chest. “Well?” he demanded. “What have you to say?”
She swallowed. How to explain when she had no excuse? None that withstood the test of time. “I meant to tell you,” she said feebly. “I planned to tell you, after you proposed. I wasn’t keeping it from you on purpose—” She pressed her lips together lest she lie to him again. “I did keep it from you. I felt I had to. I didn’t know you were going to propose. You’d just been arrested on my account. I thought you’d surely leave, and we’d never see you again, and I’d lose my baby and you both, all at the same time…” She bent her face into her hands because she couldn’t stand the stony expression on his face. “I couldn’t lose either of you. Not again.”
She took several deep breaths. Then she wiped her eyes and looked up. Con gave no appearance of softening toward her. He said nothing, silently seething, and watching her with those hard blue eyes. “You didn’t trust me.”
“How could I?” Her voice broke at the hurt that flashed across his face. “I should have. I should have. I didn’t know you would propose. How could I think you would? I’ve given you no reason to believe I’d bring you anything but trouble.”
He offered her no comfort. She didn’t deserve any. She was the worst possible wife, one who deceived her husband.