Page 63 of A Dark and Stormy Knight
Morley pulled her off to the left toward the door to the back stairs. “I am your husband,” he hissed.
“Yes…” was her slow reply. “That’s been quite established.”
He turned her to face him. “You mustn’t keep important things like this from me.”
Her eyes worked from side to side, searching for his meaning. “Like…like what?”
“You went to the bloody doctor, Prudence,” he said in an exasperated whisper, drawing her through a hidden door and into an alcove full of dusty boxes. “I should have been there!”
Oh, they were picking up where they’d left off. “I-I didn’t think you’d want to.”
He sent her a bruised look as he resumed his pacing. “What…what sort of monster do you think I am?”
“The male sort of monster. Men never attend these things. It’s up to the purview of the mother to—”
“If there is medical news about my wife and child, I’ll bloody well be the first to know it.” He rubbed at his forehead and then flung his hand out as if hurling away stress. “I will never understand aristocrats. The distance squeamish men keep from their families for the sake of propriety. It’s patently ridiculous.”
She let out a short sound. “I could not be more astonished at you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are either being obtuse or cruel,” she accused. “Which is it?”
“Cruel? I’ve been nothing but deferential to you.”
“I don’t want your deference. I want you. Home. We’ve been married a fortnight and I’ve set eyes upon you perhaps thrice in all that time. You maintain a distance that surpasses the very idea of propriety. When in the past two weeks would I have possibly had the chance to tell you about this appointment?”
His shoulders fell a little and his chin dipped, reminding her of a chastised boy.
“You could have…left me a note,” he muttered.
“A note, he says!” She gestured to the boxes as if they’d still an audience. “Is that what our lives are going to be? The polite passing of notes?” She extracted an imaginary pen from her bodice and dabbed it on her tongue. “Dear Carlton,” she began. “Or should I call you Mr. Morley? Yes, I believe I should, that’s more proper.” She drew two strikes through her imaginary note. “I know we have not seen each other in several months, but I’m leaving this note to inform you that I’ve gone into my labors with our child. Please attend at your earliest convenience. All my kindest regards, Prudence Agatha Morley.”
She shot him a glare as she signed her imaginary name with a flourish.
“You’ve quite made your point.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the windowsill. “Your middle name is Agatha?”
“Argh!” She threw up her hands before reaching for the door, intent upon leaving.
He gripped her arm, whirling her around. “This isme, Prudence,” he growled. “This is who I am. Paperwork and late nights. Responsibility and distance, this is—”
She stepped closer to him, her face lifted in challenge. “You’rewrong. That isn’t you, at all.”
“You don’t know the first thing—”
“You forget, husband, I’ve met you already. That night in the garden.”
His eyes flared that quicksilver spark. “Thatwas not me. That was—”
“If you saya mistake, I will slap you.” She raised her hand in warning. “You were more yourself that night than I think you’d been in some time before, andcertainlysince. You were stripped of all this stalwart artifice. Bare and vulnerable. And yes, dark and angry.” Her hand landed on his cheek, but only with caressing care. “And you needed me just as much as I needed you. And I think…I think you still do.”
His chest expanded with short, rapid breaths as he held himself as straight and taut as a marble statue. His jaw, however, leaned slightly into her hand like a beast searching for comfort.
“You were so wonderful with me on my very first night,” she remembered. “So gentle.”
“Not bloody gentle enough,” he bemoaned.
“You were perfect.Wewere perfect.”
