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The laugh that bubbled up in her throat at what she thought was teasing on his part in reverting to her formal name died a swift death as he extracted himself from her embrace and turned to face her. There was no humor in his expression. Rather, his eyes were somber, his scars standing out in harsh relief against the unnaturally pale cast to his skin.
“Daniel, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing at all.” But his eyes slid from hers as he said it. Clearing his throat, he made his way to the full-length mirror on the far side of the room and stared intently at himself. “I’m actually glad you’ve come. It seems we’ve lost track of the days, you and I. And the time for me to travel to London grows dangerously near.”
A chill began to creep through her. She clasped her hands tight before her to stave off the sudden shaking in them.
“I think it’s best if we put our focus once more on our original agreement,” he continued. His voice sounded distant, neutral. And like knives to her heart. He smoothed the front of his jacket, large, rough hands drifting over the impeccable material. “And I believe I’ve made a decision on whom I should court.”
Dragging in a deep breath, he looked her way. She felt as if she were watching him through a tunnel, the great roaring in her ears nearly blocking out what he was saying.
“I do think Miss Pickering will do just fine,” he said. “She seems a sensible girl, and would be more than happy, I think, to have a marriage of convenience. And I can provide her the space and privacy she no doubt requires for her studies.”
“Miss Pickering,” Margery repeated dazedly.
He nodded. “Really, I don’t know why I didn’t see her as an ideal choice from the start. There won’t be any demands for a deeper connection from her. And, as you’ve known from the beginning, I’m not looking for a romantic attachment. Quite the opposite, really.” He paused. Then, his gaze sliding to his cuff as he made some adjustment, he said, “No, friendship and love are the last things I want or need.”
Margery’s head spun. She thought she might be sick.
“This will, of course, mean an end to our affair.”
“Of course,” she managed through stiff lips.
He raised his eyes to hers. She felt as if she’d been slapped. There was nothing there, none of the warmth she’d come to recognize, no emotion. It was as if she were looking at a painting. No, less than a painting, for even an amateur artist could elicit emotion in art. And there was not a hint of emotion, either warm or cold, in his flat gaze.
“We had always meant it to be temporary, just that one night. It went on longer than we had planned.”
“Yes.”
He regarded her for a long moment. Then something shifted, emotion peeking through the veneer. His voice, when he spoke, was a mere rasp of sound. “I will never forget our time together.”
Which only made this worse. Self-preservation and pride and fury at herself for letting it get so far brought her shoulders back, forced the bright smile to her lips. “Certainly. And I shan’t forget it, either.” She let loose a laugh. “Goodness, but this is a relief. I had come here to suggest the very same thing. But I’ll send a note to the Pickerings immediately, shall I? Though I’m quite certain there won’t be any difficulty in securing something with them right away.”
Before he could answer she spun about, rushing from the room. Only when she was safe behind her own closed door did she allow herself to breathe. But there was no relief in it. Her chest felt tight, air barely wheezing through her suddenly dry lips.
Had she been so starved for physical affection that she would put aside everything she held dear once she finally tasted it again? She went to twist her wedding ring—and her heart dropped into her stomach to find her finger bare. It took her some seconds to remember she had removed it that first night she’d lain with Daniel.
Stupid, stupid woman, she berated herself as she hurried to her desk. All the care, all the caution, and still she had come to care for Daniel. She yanked open the drawer, retrieved the ring. Pushing it onto her finger, forcing it over her knuckle, she let it settle back where it had rested for so long. The coldness of the metal seemed to seep down into her very bones. And then, as a further reminder, she lifted out the miniature of Aaron she’d hidden alongside it. She traced her gaze over his features, the faint roundness still present in his cheeks, the unruly curl that never would lay flat no matter how he tried.
But, to her dismay, the connection she usually felt when gazing at his beloved features—the one and only painting she had of him—was just out of reach. She tried to remember the day the miniature had been painted. He’d been so embarrassed to sit for it; his family had never been well-off, and having a portrait done of oneself was the height of vanity and excess to them. But with kisses and pretty begging she had finally gotten him to agree to sit for Lenora, however reluctantly. They’d been newly married at the time, just learning the physical joys of one another, beginning to set up a home together in London. Though he’d tried to hold himself in what he deemed was a properly sober fashion for his forced portrait, he still hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from Margery as she’d sat beside Lenora. They’d drifted her way time and time again, the promise of love in his eyes. And Lenora, with her incredible talent, had captured the moment perfectly, the slight flush to his cheeks, the small smile on his lips, the affection in his gaze. One of the happiest moments of Margery’s life.
But though the memory was there, it wasn’t as clear as it typically was. She focused harder, but it was like trying to peer through a thick fog.
Suddenly frightened that she might be losing even the memory of him, she hugged the small framed portrait to her chest. Then, dragging in a shaky breath, she placed the miniature on the desk and ran her finger along the edge before, setting her jaw, she made her way from the room. Daniel had been right; time was quickly flying by, much more quickly than she’d realized. The blackmail money was due in less than a fortnight, and she didn’t have room for any more dalliances, any more distractions. It was time to get Daniel married.
Chapter 17
Your Grace, are you certain my Bronwyn cannot get you another scone?”
Daniel started, tearing his eyes away from Margery. Where they’d been for a disturbing amount of time all that hellish afternoon. Before he had a chance to answer Mrs. Pickering, however, the woman turned to her daughter, who was at that moment using a small item secured on a chain about her neck to peer at something on the ground.
“Bronwyn, dear, fetch His Grace a scone. Hurry up now.”
The girl let out a huff and stretched out inelegantly across the blanket to dig in the basket nearby, quickly removing the requested pastry. He thought for a moment she would chuck the thing at his head. Instead she reached across the blanket and, sliding a hooded glance her mother’s way, handed it to him with a smile.
Though to call it a smile was being much too generous. It was more a baring of teeth; together with the reflection of the sun on her spectacles, it gave her features a frightening cast.London, he told himself brutally.Think of London, and not having to search for a bride while there. And keeping the dukedom out of Gregory’s hands.
And yet, though those two things had been his driving force for so long, he could not dredge up the sense of urgency needed to begin courting the odd, slightly resentful Miss Pickering.
