Page 13 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

It took an exceeding amount of effort to avoid another person living in the same house. Being a married man was hard work. Ian kept himself busy between exercising his horse and closeting himself in his office. During the latter, he sent letters to rally support for altering criminal law, sent ever more letters to learn what was already being done, and generally did whatever was required to dodge his wife.

Not for his sake, of course. He wasn’t at all nervous about running into the woman who confused boundaries and broke terribly specific rules. Not completely nervous, at any rate, but he would continue to lie to himself until he believed it. He told himself he avoided her because he didn’t care to be in her way. This house was to be hers now. A promise was a promise. Besides, the men in his family had never been ideal social companions. Their failings were not isolated to one or two faults, which was unfortunate for anyone who had to put up with them.

And perhaps there was a small secondary reason. He didn’t care to admit it even to himself, but the truth kept interrupting his thoughts despite all his efforts to the contrary. Ian feared feeling something again when Amie came near him. He had to believe that if he didn’t give in to the sensation of wanting a woman, he wouldn’t succumb to the possibility of the accompanying temptation to live an immoral life, as his male relatives had done. He had only to think of the heartache his mother experienced year after year as his motivation to hold his ground. Distance from Amie was the simple, viable solution.

This left him and Tiny to hold down his office, not unlike a military fort protecting them from the enemy. His enemy being Amie, of course. An attractive enemy who had made surprise attacks at his wedding and permanently dismantled his presence of mind.

“I know.” Ian sighed. “We aren’t enemies; we’re partners. But it’s not so bad, just the two of us, is it?”

Tiny looked up at him from his posterior position with sad, bored eyes.

“We’ll survive,” he said. “A man can do anything for a fortnight.”

The following week passed with agonizing slowness and death might have been preferable. He was acutely aware of Amie’s presence at all times. She was like a phantom, leaving her scent behind in every room, humming tunes that remained in his head long after she finished, and laughing in just the right way so it carried through the corridors. He’d never known any of the staff to have a sense of humor, but Amie had discovered what he had not.

Out of good manners, he and Amie ate together every evening and talked a little about their days. He kept a business tone and sat on the opposite end of the table. Amie didn’t seem to mind. She had adopted her own routine. She took a morning walk each day in a new direction. In the afternoon, she read from the collection in the library, alternating genres. He hadn’t meant to watch her movements, but she was a curious thing.

By the beginning of the second week, he observed that she was coming home later and later from her morning walks.

“What is keeping her?” he asked Tiny, pulling back the drapes to peer out the window again. Tiny yapped a response, then Ian said to him, “I know you’re concerned. She’s hard to predict.” He took out his pocket watch and checked it for the hundredth time. Was she meeting with someone? She couldn’t have made friends so quickly. Was it a man? He rubbed his eyes. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath. What nonsense was he imagining now? Amie wasn’t the type of woman to gallivant around the countryside wooing the neighbors. Though with her hair tamed and gowns fit properly to her shape, she wouldn’t have to do anything to attract attention.

The men would come to her.

He folded his arms across his chest and turned to his only companion of late. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Tiny. I’ll ask her at dinner where she’s been. It’s the perfectly responsible thing to do.”

With a solution prepared, he could finally work again. Eventually, Amie returned, and the hours waned until dinner. As soon as they were both seated across from each other, he stared intently at her between the silver candelabras. She was wearing a pretty white muslin and her hair was coiled on her head with a single delicate curl just above each ear. Her creamy skin appeared a little rosier tonight, no doubt from the warmer spring weather. Her neck ... he blinked. He shouldn’t be looking at her neck.

He cleared his throat. No use procrastinating business. “Amie,” he hedged, “are you enjoying your walks?”

Amie removed her gloves and set them in her lap. “I am.”

“They aren’t too long or tiresome?”

“I’ve always enjoyed regular exercise and fresh air.”

He leaned into the arm of his chair. “And where is it you go?”

She gave a dainty shrug. “All over.”

He clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to sound like he was hounding her, but her vague answers were extremely trying. He kept his tone as conversational as possible and asked, “Nowhere specific?”

“Oh, just here and there.”

She was being impossible. “And no one walks with you?”

The footman held a plate of steaming mackerel out for her, and she helped herself to a small portion. “I was not aware that I needed a chaperone. A married woman is generally free to come and go as she pleases.”

“Chaperone? No, I suppose you are right.” He couldn’t think of another question that did not also include an unfounded accusation. It was settled. If he wanted to know what she was about, there was one simple solution: He had to follow her.

And no, he was not losing his mind from locking himself in his office for over a week and primarily speaking to a dog. Once he had assured himself that she was well and safe on her walks, he could leave her to herself. It was the least he could do ... as her husband. Weren’t husbands supposed to be protective?