Page 62 of The Mister I Married

Flustered, she pulled her gaze away, intending to leave, but then a gilt-framed portrait hanging on the wall caught her eye, and she paused, her curiosity piqued.

“Is this your mother?” she asked softly, moving closer for a better look.

“Yes.”

The woman in the portrait was small and elegant with dark hair and pale, luminous skin. Her eyes were dark, too; her lips rouged and unsmiling.

“She was very beautiful,” Emmy said. Even unhappy, Amelia Whitcomb was an uncommonly lovely woman.

“Yes. She was,” Alex said as he drew up beside her, his gaze on his mother’s likeness.

Emmy flicked a glance at his profile, though his expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. She hesitated, reluctant to ask the question hovering on her lips, but in the end her curiosity was too powerful to contain. “Do you resent your mother for what she did? For leaving you and your family?”

He was silent for a long minute, his strong jaw working as he considered the query. “No, I don’t resent her,” he finally said. “I pity her.”

She studied him for a beat, surprised by the answer, though she did not disagree.

“She felt trapped.” Alex looked at her, his eyes solemn. “She was trapped. It was an arranged marriage, a loveless one—on her side, at least. She was very young when they met, young and beautiful, and he was twenty years her senior but too rich for her parents to refuse.”

It was not an unusual story, a wealthy older man marrying a much younger woman, but that did not make it any more palatable. What hopes and dreams had his mother fostered before she was given to a man she did not love—a man who was old enough to be her father?

Was it any wonder she had run away?

Emmy’s gaze caught on the ring gracing the lady’s left hand, the same ring she now wore. She fiddled with it, absentmindedly turning the stone ‘round and ‘round her finger.

Her heart went out to the young woman who had fled, so desperate to escape her unhappiness that she’d abandoned a safe, comfortable existence for an uncertain future with the man she loved.

Emmy understood well the woman’s desire for self-fulfillment, but she’d left her children behind, and that was not so easy to understand.

“I’m so sorry she left you,” she said softly, her gaze on his mother’s eyes. The eyes she’d given to her son.

“So am I,” he replied. “Yet, I cannot bring myself to wish she had stayed. How could I, knowing how unhappy she was?”

Emmy looked at him, marveling at his kindness, his capacity for compassion and understanding. Not many men would be so forgiving of the mother who’d left them. Most would probably hate her, but not Alex. He was a remarkable man.

She slipped her hand in his, held it tightly, and Alex turned to look at her, his gaze locking on hers. They stood like that for several long moments, staring at each other, and Emmy could not look away. Those eyes of his…

Again they held her mesmerized, the greens and golds, so much kindness and intelligence.

She turned to face him, as if on an invisible string, drawn to his warmth, his strength. She tipped her chin up, her gaze dipping to his mouth, a silent yet unsubtle hint. She wanted those lips on hers.

He dipped his head, just a fraction, and then he went still. His hand slipped from hers and he stepped back.

“I should return to my work,” he said, his voice low. “I still have much to do.”

“Oh. Right.” Emmy swallowed and forced a smile. “And I have a party to plan.” She began edging toward the door. “I shall…see you at dinner?”

He nodded. “I will see you then.”

Emmy whirled around and strode from the room, her chest tight with disappointment, her lips still tingling with the promise of a kiss that never came.