Page 30 of Crying Wolfe
Though she flinched at the word acquisition…she added her hope to that of Crompton’s, as he straightened and nodded to her husband.
“I shall have my secretary contact yours to schedule further discussion,” he said stiffly. “Perhaps it would behoove you to bring your new bride.” With that, he waddled away, his round belly proceeding him by several inches.
Rosaline wanted to sag with relief, but a new dawning anxiety wouldn’t allow it.
The arm beneath hers remained rigid as steel as he did an abrupt turn, forcing her to step quickly in order to keep up.
“If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen,” she rushed as Eli strode toward the balcony on the other side of the sideboard, leaving her no choice but to let him go or be dragged along.
Trotting to keep up with him, she nearly crashed into his back when he stopped abruptly to swipe a glass of champagne from the refreshment table and finish it in one gulp before draining another in two.
That accomplished, he marched out the balcony doors and into an afternoon swiftly fading into evening. His pace never faltered until he reached the balcony railing and gripped it with both hands, eyes affixed to the London skyline painted the same dark tone against the vanishing sun.
Rosaline released his arm to allow him space to take the air as deeply and desperately as he’d downed the champagne. His breath slowed after a moment, and he even covered a mild, closed-mouth burp as the champagne bubbles executed their escape.
Eventually, he let out a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes as if asking God why he’d cursed him with such cruel misfortune.
“Please don’t be cross,” she implored. “I didn’t intend to—”
“The pretentious ass is right, you know.” He squinted in the direction of the dying light, his jaw working as if he chewed on something bitter. “You might have just saved me a mountain of work and even more money.”
Rosaline didn’t understand. His dark tone didn’t match his expression in the least. “And…that is a good thing, yes?”
He leveled her a sidelong look. “In what world would it be a bad thing?”
“Well, you seem as if you were just forced to chew glass and then drink the juice of lemons.”
He barked out a harsh, caustic sound that might have been a laugh. “My entire life, men like that have tried to crush me beneath their boot heel. They compete for my money, all the while trying to remind me that without it, I’d be nothing more than a stain they could wipe from the bottom of their shoe. I’d give my left—er—eye to throw them down the pit I cut my teeth in and watch them blister their soft hands in order to dig out. Hell, I’d chew glass just to spit blood in their faces.” To elucidate his point, he spat over the railing as if ridding himself of a foul taste.
Impulsively, Rosaline stepped beside him and did the same, her own imitation of his curt spit falling pathetically short of the masculine gravitas his had conveyed.
“I understand how you feel,” she murmured, instantly regretting that she’d spoken her innermost thoughts out loud.
Looking up, she found him watching her with a peculiar expression, as if truly seeing her for the first time. “Yeah… Yeah, I bet you do,” he said, his voice softening to a low rumble.
His gaze didn’t rest upon her for long, and they stood there at the balcony in a strangely companionable silence, their breaths synchronizing as they studied the broken horizon.
This man.Her husband. He never ceased to surprise her. When she’d expected him to take out his ire upon her, to punish her for stepping in front of him in an altercation, to be furious that she’d admitted his ignorance to an entire crowd of men, he’d not even mentioned it.
In fact, his words had almost sounded like gratitude.
“I need this fucking day to be over,” he rumbled as if to himself.
This day. Their wedding day.
Smothering a flicker of hurt, Rosaline smoothed a hand down her bodice, stopping to fidget with one of the sparkling beads adorning the waistline. “I’ve been thinking,” she ventured. “I realize this isn’t the marriage either of us pictured for ourselves. But perhaps you and I could attempt something like you and Lord Crompton will. A summit of sorts, and you could convey your stipulations or requirements of me. If I had more of an idea what you desire—of what sort of woman appeals to your tastes… If I knew what I could do or learn to make you more…attracted.”
“Attracted?” He said every syllable of the word as if he’d never heard it before, staring at her like she’d gone quite suddenly mad. “What tomfuckery are you talking, woman?”
Squirming beneath the intensity of his confounded regard, she fervently wished she’d said nothing. “The other night…” She made a gesture that she hoped would lead him to the memory of their kiss without having to say it plainly. “I must have insulted you, repulsed you, even, and I realize I’d never—kissed anyone before. I wasn’t certain what to do with my tongue and I was hoping with a bit of practice I might improve and—”
“Jesus Josephat Christ,” he growled, seizing her arm and propelling her toward the far left of the balcony, out of eyesight and earshot of any guests. “There’s no possible way you thought I was disgusted by that kiss,” he hissed rather aggressively, in her opinion. “Couldn’t you tell by how—was it not physically obvious what that did to me?”
Wrinkling her forehead, she shrugged her lack of understanding. “I thought we might have established a rapport, if not a fondness for each other. But you haven’t so much as acknowledged my existence since then. Nor have we spoken since.” A wave of emotion threatened to erupt from her, and she swallowed convulsively so as not to humiliate herself further.
He slapped the brick with the flat of his hand and then leaned on it, using his other hand to dig at his eyeballs in acute frustration. “This right here is why I shouldn’t have a wife. I’ve no idea how to explain this shit to you.”
The ache of tears turned into a sting, welling so quickly into her eyes she choked down a sob with what little remained of her strength. “Be honest with me. I can take it. What did I do wrong?”
