Page 121 of Snowbound Surrender

Eventually, all of the guests blessedly left, and he was standing alone with her at the cusp of the entryway of his — their — country estate.

“Scarlett,” he began, turning toward her, but she remained resolutely stiff, looking out after the dirt kicked up by thecarriages as they trundled away down his drive. “I gather this is not quite what you had imagined. I?—”

“How did you gather that, oh, wise husband?”

He raised an eyebrow at her sarcasm. “By the petulant way in which you have conducted yourself since the moment you walked into the church.”

“Excuse me?” Finally, he had her attention. She turned and looked at him with those eyes that had befuddled him so when they caught his during that moment in which he said his vows. They were hazel, as light as the cinnamon pieces running through her hair but with flecks of gold that danced when she had watched him closely as he had spoken the words to her that bound them together for the rest of their lives.

“I said?—”

“I heard what you said. Is that any way to speak to your new wife?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. Who did she think she was, to snipe barbs at him so when he had done nothing but do as was expected of him, the same way she had?

“You have hardly uttered a word since you arrived in the village. You certainly have not spoken tome. You avoided me until the moment our wedding actually began. And now you are doing your best to push me away. Am I really so repulsive, Scarlett?”

She was silent for a moment, breaking their locked gaze as she stared out over the glorious gardens sweeping away from the front door, around the drive and out behind the house.

“I do not wish to be married,” she said, her words stilted and angry. “Not to you, nor to anyone else.”

“Then why did you agree to marry me?”

“I had no other choice. My father deemed this wedding to be, and so be it. It was that or try to make my own way in the world,and as much as I would like to, I simply … could not. And you? Why agree to marry me, a woman you have never met?”

“I had business to see to, as I always do. I did not have time to meet and properly court a woman. My father was anxious for heirs. He assured me that you were a well-bred woman who would fit well within my life. He may be a cold man, but he has always seen to my best interests and I trusted him in this.”

“You trusted your father to find the appropriate women with whom to spend the rest of your life?” She looked at him incredulously, and he shifted from one foot to the other. When she put it like that, it did sound rather idiotic, but at the time it had made sense. His father had told him she was beautiful, from a good family, and with a significant dowry. That had all been true. What he had never mentioned was her temperament.

Hunter was surprised when she was the first to break the ensuing silence.

“You have a beautiful home, at the very least.”

“Thank you,” he said, resolving to try to be civil with her. He had no wish to spend a life in conflict with his wife. He had enough of that in his day-to-day affairs, which he spent within the House of Lords. “I primarily live in London, but I have always loved Wintervale. It seemed the ideal place to hold the wedding celebrations. The village is lovely at this time of year, and I have known the minister since I was a child.”

“You don’t spend much time here?”

“Not really,” he said with a shrug. “It seems I have too much requiring my attention in London.”

“I see,” she said, a contemplative look coming over her face, and he wished he could read her thoughts.

“I thought perhaps we could spend a month or so here before returning to London?” he asked. “I know it will be well in advance of the Season but?—”

“Go,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Go?” he asked, confusion filling him. “We will travel together when the time comes.”

She looked at him now, her hands on her hips. “I will be honest with you, Lord Oxford. I have no wish to go to London. Not in a month, not for the Season. I think I like it here, and here I will stay.”

“But—” He desperately rifled through his mind for the right words to say. It would be rather untoward to show up to London without his wife for the entire Season. He must convince her to come, even for a short time. He took a breath. He was sure she would change her mind. She just needed time. “We will discuss it,” he finally said, and she quirked up one side of her lips — the first resemblance to a smile he had seen since he’d met her.

“Very well,” she said. “Now I wish to remove this monstrosity of a gown. If you will excuse me.”

And with that, she turned, calling for her lady’s maid. He followed her from a distance, studying her as she walked through Oak Hall, looking one way and then the other until she discovered the staircase at the end of the connecting Stone Hall. She lifted her “monstrosity,” which was, in fact, a beautiful pink gown, though a bit frothy for his taste, up from the floor and started up the grand staircase. He followed her with his eyes all the way up, around the balustrade, and down the balcony that hung over the great room beneath, where he stood, wondering what in the hell had just happened.

He didn’t see her again. Not through the afternoon, not even for dinner, despite persistent knocks on her door. “I don’t feel well,” she had called out. And when he tried her door that evening, to determine how she felt and whether she had any interest in a marriage night, it was as he thought.

The door was locked.