Page 42 of Not his Marchioness
She exhaled, her shoulders dropping. “Good. I am glad.” She nodded.
Her gown, a light peach color, suited her well. Though in his mind’s eye, he still saw her in the scarlet gown she’d worn to Lady Swanson’s soirée.
“I thought you were eager to go,” he murmured, stepping further into the room.
“I accepted the invitation out of politeness. They have made it clear they will not help me with my venture. Still, it would have been good for us to be seen together. We must get that out of the way.”
“Our first appearance as husband and wife? Indeed. Well, Lady Swanson will be hosting a ball soon. I dare say it would be a good chance to do so. And we would be returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak.”
She smiled a little, her face brightening. “I will have to be on my very best behavior, lest the ton expect me to make another shocking announcement.”
He grimaced but followed it with a smile. “I will have to be on my guard, lest you say something that would shock even me.”
“I did not think you were easily shocked, My Lord.”
“I am not, but you have managed it once, and I am not the sort of man to allow myself to be taken aback twice,” he said. “And I do wish you would call me Rhys, as I asked before. We are in our home.”
Again, she smiled. “Indeed, we are. Rhys. I forgot. I shall remember.”
This was… odd. They were not arguing or making snide remarks. It was almost as though they were getting along.
“Well,” she spoke. “If we are not expected anywhere, I shall spend the evening in the library, reading, if you do not mind.”
Did she wish to end the conversation? It seemed that way.
Rhys noted with some dismay that this bothered him. He’d wanted to continue their conversation, wanted to talk in this more peaceful, amiable way. But she did not wish to.
Pushing away the uncomfortable feeling of disappointment, he cleared his throat. “Very well, I shall leave you to your reading.”
He bowed and turned.
As he walked away, a lump formed in his throat, and he cursed himself for having allowed his walls to lower, even just a fraction.
CHAPTER 17
Charlotte heard his footsteps retreating and was about to return to her book when—without her bidding—her feet moved toward the door. Then, once more without her permission, her lips parted.
Her body, it seemed, had a mind of its own, not obeying her strict instruction to stay away from Rhys as much as possible. Ever since that afternoon with the insufferable ladies, her body had done as it pleased when it came to him.
If she saw him at breakfast, she willed her legs to walk away, but instead, they carried her to him. Her mouth insisted on smiling at him, and sometimes entire conversations ensued before she could regain her composure and walk away.
It appeared this was the case tonight.
Why can’t I stay away from him? All he did was bring me flowers…
“Rhys,” she called, tasting the name as it left her mouth.
He turned back and looked at her, while the storm continued wreaking havoc outside.
The hall was lined with windows, and a sharp, bluish light from the lightning illuminated him where he stood.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“Thank you… for bringing some of your books from the country estate. I do enjoy reading them, and there are some that are quite interesting, indeed.”
Why do I sound like a girl fresh out of finishing school, confronted with a dashing prince?
He walked back toward her. Charlotte wasn’t entirely certain whether this had been her intention or not, but it was too late to call the moment back. He was heading toward her.
