My Honourable Viscount - Lords of Reluctance Book 2

Chapter Twelve

Breathing a sigh of relief, Lord Markham wished his mother and sister goodnight and let himself into his room. Lady Ashington largely ignored him, but that was not entirely unexpected. During the carriage ride home, the chill emanating from that lady nearly froze him solid. It was a wonder Emily had not noticed and commented, as it was so blatantly obvious. No matter, his sister was just grateful he had saved her from a fate worse than death. Marriage to the lecherous St Albans.

 Peter decided he must speak to his father on the morrow about his mother’s rather underhanded ways of finding Emily a husband. He doubted his heart could cope with any more close calls, such as the one he had averted this evening. Perhaps, he could encourage Captain Smythe to declare his intentions. Discreetly of course. Peter just found it strange that Lady Ashington did not approve of the match, considering she had tried to bring about an alliance between the two families for years.

All of his remaining brain cells, however, ceased to function when he noticed the thin strip of light shining underneath his wife’s door when he had accidently wandered into their shared sitting room. His mouth went dry and he found sudden difficulty in swallowing. She had waited up for him. He had not thought she would. Hastily, he went back to his room and began divesting himself of his clothing. He had given Travers the night off as he could quite easily prepare himself for bed, but on his nightstand was some fresh water and he noticed his robe laying on the bed waiting for him. Without bothering with a nightshirt, he slipped the robe up his arms and over his shoulders and secured the gold brocade ties. His unruly body had already responded to the tender morsel awaiting him in her room in the most primitive of ways. He could barely restrain himself as he quietly entered her room. Had in fact barely restrained himself all evening. It was a wonder he did not take Lady Darnley up on her most generous offer, but he found he could not. Strange.

The only woman he currently wanted lay in her bed—fast asleep.

He stood by the bed for several moments, his gaze fairly caressing her face. Her hair tumbled in a silken fall over her pillow. Sooty lashes stood out in stark relief against creamy, white cheeks. Cherry red lips pursed in a perpetual kiss. Her nose wrinkled. Did her dreams cause her to do that? He reached out a gentle hand to sweep a chestnut curl off her face.

He knew well this emotion he was feeling at the sight of her. Lust. Most definitely lust. His desire for Lady Darnley had evidently ceased to exist, and he had somehow transferred that desire to his wife. That—he did not mind so much. However, this other emotion he was feeling he did not know and did not like. Could it be—pity? He supposed any person would if they had learned all that he did about his wife’s guardian. It had affected him the entire night. However, it was as annoying as it was unwelcome.

For it was this emotion that waged a constant battle with lust within him, and it was pity that was the victor. He could get into his wife’s bed. He should get into his wife’s bed. He should damn well wake his wife up and do what he had come in here to do in the first place. Consummate his marriage. But he could not. He could only remove the novel she still held in her grasp, kiss her gently on the forehead, blow out the candle she had accidentally left burning and had drawn him in here like a siren song, and return to his room to spend the most uncomfortable night of his life. Alone. Unsatisfied.

Damn it all to hell!

* * * * *

For Sophie, finding breakfast the next morning proved to be an exercise in futility.

As she made her way down the hallway from her rooms, she had to resist the urge to turn the other way and take the servants stairs, rather than the main staircase down to the lower levels. Well-learned habits were hard to break it seemed. Once in the entrance hall, she proceeded toward the dining room. However, when she arrived she found no evidence of the morning meal. She frowned. True, it was still early morning, but surely, the servants should have laid out a repast by now. Thoroughly confused, she slowly returned to the entrance hall where she found the butler, Crawford, coming from the rear of the house.