Page 57 of The Mister I Married

“Mm.” His voice was thoughtful, almost languorous. “Well, speaking for myself alone, I’m glad you didn’t.”

Emmy’s brow puckered. “Why? Because I would not have been a virgin on our wedding night?”

In society’s eyes, a young lady’s greatest asset was her virtue. Men, of course, were not held to these same standards.

“Because I would have been the only virgin,” Alex said. “And I wouldn’t like to be compared with your past lovers.”

She smiled at that. “You might have been the best I’d ever had.”

“Highly unlikely, but I thank you all the same.”

She laughed, charmed by his self-deprecating sense of humor. “How is it you had never been with a woman before me?” she asked, turning onto her side to look at him. “I understand you did not wish to bed a courtesan, but did you never meet a woman who tempted you?”

He smiled, his gaze trained on the ceiling. “Of course I did. I’m not a saint. I enjoyed the odd flirtation in my youth, but beyond that…” He trailed off with a shrug. “I am my father’s only son—his heir—and I could not afford to be cavalier with my health or my future.”

Emmy nodded. She hadn’t considered that aspect of it, but as his father’s heir and only son, of course he must be careful. He had his family line to consider.

“Do you ever resent that?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Do you ever wish you were born a third son, or a fourth, one with fewer responsibilities and more freedoms?”

He considered the question for a moment then answered, “No. I don’t.”

“Did you used to? In your youth, perhaps?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

She regarded him in silence, uncertain whether she believed him or not. She didn’t think he was lying to her, exactly, but she did wonder if he might be deceiving himself without realizing it.

After all, didn’t everyone crave someone else’s existence now and then? It was inconceivable to her that he could have been so content with his lot in life that he’d never once longed to be someone else.

She considered herself a generally happy person, one with a great deal to be grateful for, but even she had indulged in the odd flight of fancy, fantasizing about a life as an independent widow, or a queen, or a man. She’d assumed everyone did that, but perhaps she was wrong.

“Does my answer surprise you?” Alex asked softly, and when she looked up, she found him watching her with interest.

“It does, actually,” she said with a rueful smile. “I think you are the only person I’ve ever met who is totally happy in his own existence.”

He rolled onto his side to face her, concern dipping his brow. “Are you not happy?”

She shook her head. “I’m happy, but I have had moments of discontentment, too. My life is far from perfect”—she shrugged—“but then, so am I.”

He raised one brow, his eyes growing heavy with sleep. “Now you tell me.”

Emmy laughed as she snuggled into her pillow and pulled the sheet up to her chin. Sated and drowsy, she closed her eyes, and as she drifted off to sleep, she thought of Alex, of how much she liked him, and how much she liked that he was hers and only hers.