Wicked Liaison - Meara Platt Page 0,155

his wine glass, the other gripping his fork so tightly his fingers had turned white.

As Hannah stared at him, she wondered for a moment what was causing him such ire. Was it that he didn’t want any harm to come to her while she was in his care in case he might be held responsible? For he couldn’t care about what actually happened to her – could he? She had thought he might be pleased to be alone once more, to be rid of her and the marriage he never wanted.

“I promise,” she said softly, and he nodded curtly before returning to his food. The rest of the meal passed in near silence, as it seemed she had stirred his anger and she worried about saying the wrong thing once more.

Dinner was somewhat improved, which Hannah knew was a result of Molly’s assistance with the preparation this evening. When they finished, Hannah stood and walked down the length of the table until she was closer to him.

“Are we still… reading the letters?” she asked, and he nodded.

“I told you we would, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Very well, then.”

Hannah reached deep into her pocket, wrapping her hand around the letters, which she had been carrying since she had found them earlier in the day, afraid to put them anywhere else due to fear that she might misplace them before she had the chance to read them.

She followed Edmund into his library, where they would apparently be settling themselves. Hannah was happy about it, for it was where Edmund seemed to be the most comfortable, and the one room that was actually furnished and had the slightest bit of warmth to it.

Edmund gestured toward the sofa near the window, but chilled, Hannah walked over to the fireplace, standing before it with her hands out in front of her. Suddenly softness curled around her shoulders, and she was shocked when she glanced behind her to find that Edmund had placed a blanket around her, though he was now walking away.

“Thank you,” she said, and he didn’t respond, though he lifted one shoulder in answer. Hannah smiled ever so slightly at his attempt to pretend that it hadn’t mattered – but it did. The man who seemed to want all to believe he cared nothing for anyone had noticed her chill. Now that Hannah thought of their conversation at the dinner table, she realized that his order had likely been due to fear for her, and the thought warmed her more than the fire ever could.

“Are you ready to read the first letter?” she asked, and he took a seat in the chair next to her, his long legs stretching out before him.

“If you are.”

She nodded, then sat down on the worn yet soft rug below her and reverently pulled out the bundle, sliding one envelope from the package.

He lifted a hand in silent supplication to take the letter, and she nodded, for it somehow felt right that he was the one to read it. He stood and walked closer to the fire for the light.

“I fear for you. The last time I saw Alistair he was in terrible spirits, his mind muddled and his actions incomprehensible. I despair of the thought of you there alone with him. Come visit, please? I will ensure that he will never know the love we have for one another, but at least here I can protect you. Always your love, Andrew.”

She slowly raised her eyes to her husband, finding him looking down upon her, his expression unreadable.

“Edmund,” she said, her voice just over a whisper. “That could have been me.”

“Yes,” he said, returning to her and slowly bending to sit and join her on the rug. “You could have been my brother’s bride.”

“Do you think—” she stopped, for she had never meant to ask the question. It had come to her unbidden, and she had voiced it before she had given any thought to it.

“What?” he prodded softly.

“Do you think that if I had married your brother, that you and I might have come to feel anything for one another?”

He averted his gaze toward the corner of the room.

“You and I hardly know each other,” he practically grunted, and Hannah eyed him.

“And whose fault is that?”

“I suppose my brother’s,” he said, resting his chin on top of his steepled fingers.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, playfully slapping his arm in a manner that seemed to surprise him. She wondered when was the last time he had allowed himself

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