Page 89 of Secrets of the Marriage Bed
She stripped off her hat and gloves. ‘I was accompanied. And besides, Grindle knew where I was. I received notice of a meeting of the committee.’
‘Grindle,’ he said, trying not to clench his jaw and to sound reasonable, ‘is visiting his sister, as he does every Wednesday afternoon.’
She frowned. ‘You know it really doesn’t make sense to give all the servants the same half-day off. If you spread them out, you would not find yourself so shorthanded.’
He dragged his fingers through his hair. ‘That is not the point. I asked you to leave the house with a minimum of two footmen.’
‘I had John Coachman and Matthew. Two men. And here I am safe and sound.’
His temper subsiding, he noted an odd note in her voice, a sadness, and peered at her closely. ‘Is something wrong?’
She lifted her chin. ‘What could possibly be wrong? We have barely spoken for days. We might as well not be married.’
Those last few words she flung over her shoulder and marched into the drawing room.
It seemed another discussion about the state of their marriage was at hand. He followed her in and shut the door. ‘We are married.’ There was no getting around it.
‘To your deep regret.’
‘Julia, do not put words in my mouth.’
‘I do not need to. I see them in your face. In what you do. Actions speak louder than words and right now they are shouting that you wish you had not married me.’
‘I do wish it.’ If he had made her his mistress they could have been perfectly happy. Perhaps for the rest of their lives, because at least then he’d be free to love her without this weight of guilt bearing down on his shoulders.
He froze. Did he love her? Heaven help him, he did. And by marrying her, he’d likely ruined her life by denying her the warmth and family she so obviously wanted, not to mention putting her very life at risk.
She was right, she would have been better off without him.
He clenched his fists.
Julia saw the movement and stilled.
Damn, didn’t she know by now he would never raise a hand to her? Before he could speak she whipped off her bonnet and took a deep breath. ‘Our marriage is a farce. I think it is best if I leave.’ The pain in her eyes was hard to see.
‘You cannot leave. You are my wife.’
‘Then Iama prisoner.’
He raked his fingers through his hair. Wasn’t this the conclusion he’d come to a couple of days ago? Then why would he not simply agree? ‘I don’t want you to leave.’
Sorrow filled her gaze. ‘I—care for you, Alistair. I really do, but I want a proper marriage. Children, if at all possible.’
Wounded to the quick by her expressionless tone, he stared at her. ‘I can’t. You know that. You know why.’
‘Then there is nothing in this marriage for either of us. Nothing. Will the dissolute Duke be happy to spend his life as a monk? Or will he be dashing off to find his pleasure and entertainment elsewhere? Or perhaps you will find a different way to be rid of an inconvenient wife.’
He flinched at the bitterness in her tone. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Someone was putting laudanum in my tea. Why not you? You were quick enough to spirit Mrs Robins to parts unknown when I discovered the plot.’
Fury coursed through his veins in a red-hot wave. He curled his lip. ‘If I wanted rid of you, believe me you would be gone.’
‘As your fiancée was gone?
Blankly, he stared at her.
‘The woman your brother married on your behalf. You abandoned her.’
