Page 53 of The Mister I Married

“Oh, Cook’s trifle was marvelous this evening, wasn’t it?” Tess said. “I can’t eat another bite. Father, would you like the rest of my trifle?”

“No, thank you, my dear. Too much sugar keeps me up at night.”

Tess turned to her brother. “Alex? Would you like my trifle?”

He grimaced and held his hands out as if warding off an attack. “Absolutely not. I shouldn’t have finished mine, but it was so good I couldn’t help myself.”

Emmy glanced down at her own empty plate then back at her husband. “Nor could I,” she said sheepishly. “Your cook is dangerously adept with desserts.”

Alex gave her a small smile, which told her absolutely nothing of his mood, but still, a wave of guilt washed over her. She reminded herself that there was nothing to feel guilty about, that she was upholding her end of the bargain like she’d promised, but the feeling stubbornly persisted, bringing with it the urge to act, to do something to please him and ease her own conscience.

“Will you play chess with me tonight, Emmy?” Tess asked, pushing her plate away. “I often play with Father and Alex, but I nearly always beat them. I would relish the chance to go up against a new opponent.”

Emmy gave her a regretful smile. “Perhaps tomorrow. I’m too tired tonight.” She set her napkin on the table and drew in a shallow breath. “In fact, I think I would like to retire early this evening. If my husband is amenable, perhaps he would escort me to my chamber?”

She met Alex’s gaze across the table and gave him a tentative smile. Her husband was not entirely pleased with her right now, but perhaps she could make it up to him.

After all, there were no boundaries in their bedroom relations.

Alex had no idea what to think as he cupped his wife’s elbow and escorted her from the dining room.

After what happened this morning in her bedchamber when she’d summarily dismissed him without warning—not to mention, her invitation to visit the village, which she’d extended to his sister instead of him—he had no blasted idea what was going on inside Emmy’s head.

Or why she’d asked him to escort her to her chamber.

He waited for her to speak, to volunteer an answer to that question, but even now, as they climbed the stairs leading to their rooms, she did not break the silence.

Curiosity prodded at him, compelling him to speak, and he cleared his throat. “Was there something you wished to discuss with me, Emmy?”

She looked over at him, and he caught the flicker of wariness in her eyes just before it vanished behind a smile. “No. Nothing at all.”

He nodded, more confused than ever, but there was no sense in pressing her on the subject. Perhaps she simply wanted his escort. This was only her second day at Bristlewood, and the house could be difficult to navigate at first.

“How was your day?” she asked a bit awkwardly as they entered the dimly-lit corridor and ambled up the Persian carpet toward her bedchamber door.

“Uneventful,” he said with a shrug. “I spent much of it going over the accounts.”

She nodded. “I saw you through a window this morning, walking with Gracie and Prescott. Do you walk with them every day?”

“Yes. Nearly.”

And he nearly invited her to join them tomorrow, but he stopped himself before the words could escape. He didn’t entirely understand why but she seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length and he was doing his best to respect her wishes, even though he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to be kept at arm’s length. He wanted her to want to spend time with him. He wanted her to ask him to escort her to the village tomorrow. He wanted her to ask if she could join him on his walk with the dogs.

He wanted her to want to be with him.

But we do not always get what we want, do we?

“Well,” he said, as they approached her chamber door. “Good night, Emmy. I hope you sleep well.”

She blinked up at him, her hand going still on the doorknob. “Are you not—do you not intend to join me?”

His brows rose. “I…did not like to presume.”

She cocked her head to one side as if perplexed, as if she thought he should presume and it was silly of him not to. “If I am to conceive a child, we must fornicate frequently, mustn’t we?”

Fornicate. Frequently. She sounded so logical, so dispassionate, like a banker negotiating terms.