Page 93 of Marry in Scandal

She continued talking. Ned wasn’t really listening. He’d had a shock. He’d thought he was immune, could keep himself separate and independent.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms. His wife. Her hair blew about in the breeze. Without thinking he stroked it back off her face. And kept it there, cupping her head protectively.

What had he done?

His horse ambled along. Birds squabbled in the hedgerow. Overhead, a hawk circled.

“Are you happy?” he found himself asking. He hadn’t intended to ask such a thing. He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

She turned her head and gave him a smile he could not doubt. “Very happy.”

He rode on in silence, his heart full of things he had no words for, things he did not want to feel but could not help.

• • •

When they returned to Tremayne Park, there was a letter waiting for Edward. He broke open the seal and scanned the letter. His face turned grim.

“What’s the matter?”

“I have to go to London.”

“When? Now?”

He nodded.

“Very well, I’ll start packing at once.” She hurried toward the stairs.

“No, you stay here. You don’t need to come.”

She turned around and stared down at him. “To London? Of course I do. I’m not staying here without you.” She met his gaze. “There’s no point arguing, Edward. I’m not staying here without you.”

He stared at her a moment, then made an impatient gesture. “Very well, if you insist on coming, we’ll leave in the morning.” He disappeared for the rest of the day.

She questioned him over dinner, and all he would say was that it was nothing, just business, men’s business, and was she sure she didn’t want to stay here?

She was adamant that she didn’t. What was a honeymoon without the groom?

He came to her that night, and made love to her with slow, intense deliberation, lavishing every part of her body with the most exquisite attention. She wasn’t sure whether it was a benediction or a farewell. Whichever it was, her climax—climaxes—came with tears because of the power of the feelings he’d engendered.

He dried her tears tenderly. And made love to her again. And for the first time ever he slept the night in her bed, curled around her body like a big protective watchdog, warm and strong. And in his sleep he gathered her to him, holding her against him, skin to skin, so tenderly Lily felt like weeping.

Something had changed that morning at the beach, when her horse had thrown her. Something was different in her husband, she was sure of it. She could feel it.

“Trust your instincts,” Aunt Dottie had told her.

She did, and she didn’t want this, this honeymoon, this magical private time together, to stop. Especially not now, when they seemed on the brink of something wonderful...

Shortly after dawn he woke her, and two hours later they were on their way to London.

Chapter Seventeen

I speak what appears to me the general opinion; and where an opinion is general, it is usually correct.

—JANE AUSTEN,MANSFIELD PARK

The carriage pulled up outside the very grand Pulteney Hotel. “Why are we here?” Lily asked.

“It’s where we’ll be living for the next few weeks.”