Page 105 of Better Love Next Time
“I am glad to hear this. And your mother and father? Did you tell them of our marriage?”
“My mother is still a saint. And no, I did not.”
She did not ask why he kept their marriage a secret to his family. She was too relieved. “Perhaps, you should never tell them.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, and had the sense that he wasn’t hiding. What stood in front of her was the man he had become, and while she had been deluding herself that one day his love would return, she had lost him. She had lost him before London, before the woman. Had it been when he hadtaken her over the bed? Had he fully realized then there was no pleasure to be had with her, even the basest pleasure?
She forced a brightness in her voice. “I let a house.”
“You did?” He frowned. “So soon?”
“Yes, I didn’t expect to find one so quickly.” She would not throw it in his face that he had been gone for five weeks when he had planned for three at the most. She explained the circumstances, and he grudgingly agreed she had done well in accepting Lady Pierpoint’s offer.
“I met with Gilbert,” he said.
“Did you?”
“Yes, and he had great hopes I would marry his daughter. Being the scoundrel I am, I was tempted not to rectify his error.”
“Of course you were. You told him you were married?”
“Happily,” he said with a wink.
“You are a scoundrel.” She was proud of her reply. “He is coming to see the yard?”
At his jaw, a muscle flexed. “No. Not at present.”
“But he will. It is a tactic of negotiation, to make you wait. And he will wait. No matter how much we need him, we won’t write to him. Do you have your receipts? I should like to record them.”
“Now?”
“If it pleases you.”
He cocked his head, appraising her for long moments, excused himself, and departed the office. When he returned with his portefeuille, a scruffy tan terrier with a black mask followed at his heels. He set the portefeuille on the desk and scooped up the dog.
“Ollie,” he said, “this is my lovely wife. You will refrain from eating her underclothes, do you hear? And Kitty, this is Ollie. Who is a female, by the by. A long story.”
Kitty eyed the dog back, charmed by its pert tail whipping back and forth. She shook Ollie’s paw and looked up at her husband. “How long of a story? I have time.”
“Well…” He inhaled. “I was walking home, and this little flea-bitten minx sidled up to me begging for a bath, food, and a drawer of hosiery to destroy. Her wishes were not in that order, but I obliged.”
“And you named her Ollie.”
His throat bobbed above his white cravat. “My brother approves, and so do my nieces. They spoiled her rotten.”
Kitty suspected there was more to the story, which was quite short.
He motioned to the portefeuille. “You’ll find all accounted for. Shall I sit and await your verdict or may I meet with Sam and our men?”
Kitty made light of his sarcasm. “Of course you should leave me. Everyone has missed you, though they didn’t dare say so to my face. Your presence is inspiring and your guidance always wise.”
“Ah, Katherine,” he said, cracking a one-sided grin, “you believe those words?”
She did without a doubt.
He left her to her figures. Methodically she sorted each expenditure between business and personal.
