Page 35 of Taken to the Grave
Hugh slid her from his lap, leaving her bereft. And a little perturbed.
“It is my duty to protect my wife. I take that seriously.”
His duty? Gracious now he truly did sound like Michael. Audrey folded her arms, her temper rising. “You weren’t serious about protecting me before?”
He moved to sit across from her, snatching up his tossed glove on the way. “Of course, I was.”
She shrugged. “Then nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed,” he said, his voice deepening and rising. “You will be my responsibility. If you were to come to harm?—”
“You would be at fault?” But then, another notion popped into her mind. “Or are you only worried that others will view it that way?”
Hugh tightened his jaw. His eyes flashed. “You know I don’t care what other people think.”
“Then what is this all about?”
He leaned forward, bracing his arms on his thighs as he pulled on his glove. “I want you safe. I don’t want to have to worry that you’ll be shot or abducted, for Christ’s sake.”
She felt her temperature increasing. “I don’t want to worry those things will happen to you, either.”
“They haven’t happened to me. Theyhavetoyou.”
Audrey straightened, all electrical warmth from his hands and kisses now having vanished. “You’ve been stabbed,” she pointed out, recalling how Delia Montgomery had plunged a blade into his forearm.
He rolled his eyes. “It was hardly deadly.”
“It could have been!”
The carriage began to slow, and Audrey worried her exclamation had been heard by Carrigan and Greer. Frustration brimmed hot and fast. Why was he doing this? “You said we would be partners. In everything.”
Hugh leaned forward and gripped her hand. “We are.”
“But only if you think it is safe enough.” She pulled her hand from his. “Maybe I’m not the right woman for you, if you want a wife who will simply sit back and do whatever you ask.”
Hurt and then aggravation charged across his face. “That is not what I want. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Clearly.”
A soft cough came from outside the carriage. They’d drawn to a stop, she realized, and Carrigan was waiting at the door.
Feeling sick with disappointment, Audrey blinked back the sting of tears. “Yes, we’re ready, Carrigan,” she called to him, unable to look Hugh in the eye.
Her driver opened the door, flooding the interior with light. She took his hand and descended, her stomach curdling with regret.
Chapter
Eleven
Hugh brought his fist down upon the door. There was a brass knocker provided for a more civil approach, but he wanted to hit something. Hard. Had he been able to flog himself without looking like a maniac, he would have.
How in hell had they gone from kissing, his hand slipping under her skirts, to Audrey questioning their engagement? When his fingers had slid over the ridge of the scar caused by a bullet, he’d wanted only to bring her closer. The bullet discharged from Robert Henley’s pistol last summer could have struck her somewhere fatal. She’d been lucky. But when Audrey had reminded him of the other scar left behind by yet another bullet, which she’d received during their first investigation, a heavy weight had come down onto his chest.
When would her luck run out?
They waited at the door to the Gower Street residence, neither of them speaking. Or looking at one another. An invisible wall had gone up between them and it left him with an irritable, prickly sensation under his skin.
