Page 158 of Rogue of My Heart

Albina cringed inwardly at the perfect, masculine sound of his detached voice. After five years, he might have come up with something a bit more to say. What is wrong with you! She wanted to shout at him, to ask if he even cared about her anymore, but at least she knew where she stood with him.

Now, if he had rushed to the carriage and dragged her into his arms and kissed her senseless…

But then, those were the fantasies of a young debutante, and not appropriate for a mature woman who had been married for more than two decades, who had shared everything from a bed, to children, to sorrow and happiness with this man.

At this point, Albina had to ask herself what was left.

She feared that the answer would be… nothing.

But then, that wasn’t true for her, was it? She wanted him as much as she ever had before. The instant she had set eyes on her husband it was as if they had never been apart. He was still just as handsome as ever, even if a bit of silver had colored his dark hair slightly at the temples. He still had the same chiseled lips and jawline; those eyes still the color of warm chocolate. More importantly, he still had the power to make her heart thump in her chest, even if he seemed blissfully unaware of it.

But then, she’d never encouraged his attentions lately either, so she supposed she couldn’t really blame him for something for which he wasn’t wholly to blame. They both had their faults.

* * *

Albina handed her gloves and cloak over to the butler, noticing that he was different from the one she remembered. “What happened to August?”

she asked Michael.

He had his hands in his pockets, regarding her evenly, with no apparent hint of any kind of emotion. “He died about three years ago. This is Jeffries.”

The servant bowed deeply. “My lady.”

As a footman came forward to take care of her things, Michael said,

“You always dressed in the height of fashion,” he murmured.

Albina looked down at her plum velvet traveling dress. Michael was eyeing it with a touch of admiration—or criticism, she wasn’t quite sure.

In turn, she wasn’t sure if she should take offense at his statement, but she decided to take it as a compliment. It wouldn’t do for their first night together to be spent arguing. “You know it’s rather expected in London, although I’ve had this dress for at least two seasons. I’ve just never had the occasion to wear it before now. I don’t normally venture that far from home.”

Home. Meaning Baine House and not Beauley Hall.

She winced at her slip, but he didn’t appear to notice, or else he chose not to comment on it. To break the awkward silence, she told him of her troubles since leaving London and the reason for her tardiness. She knew she was probably babbling, but he didn’t say a word, just listened.

At the end of her explanation, he said, “After such a harrowing journey I imagine you might want to freshen up.” He paused. “Your rooms are prepared, so I can have some tea and some supper brought up to your room if you don’t wish to come back downstairs.”

“Thank you, but that’s perfectly fine. I’ll join you in the dining hall shortly.” She turned to go, but his softly spoken words stopped her.

“Actually, I’ve been taking my meals in the parlor of late. It seems rather unnecessary to drag out all the fine china when I’m dining alone.

But if you wish to adhere to the formalities?—”

She turned back to him, trying to ignore the fact that she suddenly felt like a stranger in the same house that had given her so many pleasant memories, the same place that had always felt like more of a home than Baine House ever truly had. “The parlor is fine, Michael.”

This time she did go, for she feared if she remained any longer, he would see the well of tears filling her eyes.

Michael watched his wife’s curvaceous figure climb the stairs until she disappeared from view. He blew out a breath before going to his study where a slightly used bottle of brandy waited for him. He only drank on certain occasions, and tonight was certainly turning out to be one of them.

He poured a finger’s worth of amber liquid into the glass and slammed it back in one swallow, savoring the burn of alcohol and hoping it would manage to numb his senses, if only for a little while. Damn, but that was awkward…

Even during the early days when he’d been courting Albina, had he ever felt so out of place, and at such a loss of what to say? Then again, she had been an innocent girl who’d hung on his every word, whereas now…

needless to say it was going to take quite a bit more coercion on his part to woo her again — if that was even possible.

Either way, he knew that they might never be as close as they were back then, but at least he had to try. It had nearly killed him to leave her five years ago, but he’d always been under the impression that when someone was loved enough they should be set free. So that’s what he’d done. But as he’d lain awake at night, the opposite side of his bed cold and lonely, he found he’d hated himself for it. More than once he’d nearly ordered his horse to be saddled when the pain in his chest had become too tight to bear, the long separation from Albina making it hard to breathe, but then he’d come to his senses and remind himself that he was doing all of this for her.

He would recall the strain about her mouth and the sadness that tinged those beautiful eyes in the months leading up to his departure, and it would tear him up inside. Albina had done her duty to her parents, to society, and even to him and their children, so it wasn’t fair to demand even more of her.