Page 31 of The Rules of Matrimony
He stared at the ring. At her hand. At her.
Blasted logic.
And why did she have to look so beautiful? “I suppose I had better write down the particulars so there is no doubt in the future.” He would need the reminder.
She dropped her hand. “If you insist. For better or worse, I suppose you’re stuck.”
The carriage took a hard turn, no doubt avoiding an oncoming carriage, and Ian was jolted to the side. His arm came up, and he caught himself on the carriage wall before he slammed into Amie.
She was pinned behind his arm, and their faces were close. Even closer than before. Like the tide of the sea toward a raging sunset, her brown eyes captivated him, held his complete attention, and dragged him into their depths.
Stuck?Ian swallowed. They were far from stuck. He feared it was much, much worse than that.
Chapter 12
After staying the night atan inn in neighboring rooms, Amie learned firsthand that Ian meant to live by his three rules for the duration of their marriage. It was fine by her since her new husband made her increasingly nervous. The second day of their marriage proved to be just as awkward as the first. She carefully avoided looking across the carriage at him. It would do no good to remind herself how intriguing his aloofness made him or how strong his hands appeared as they rested on the seat next to him—she had to look somewhere, and his hands were supposed to be a safe appendage ... but apparently not.
If she had been intimidated before, it was far worse now that she had kissed him. Her actions had pushed him to reclaim his title as Lord Grumpy. He was more standoffish than ever. Keeping her distance seemed not just necessary but imperative.
Even if her heart had moved during the solemnity of their wedding vows and those exhilarating few moments of their first kiss—and their kisshadbeen exhilarating—breathtakingly so; she discreetly clutched her chest, the sheer memory of it causing her pulse to race—she was determined to respect their initial agreement forevermore. Though she feared her heart would never shift back to its previous protected position. Why did she keep feeling emotions—imagining yearnings—she couldn’t stop?
This was not love. To be loved was to be known, and no one had ever truly known her. Any dreams of such a future died the same night as Papa, her dowry and opportunities to marry gone overnight. Or so she’d thought. Without her permission, a sliver of hope hadbloomed somewhere deep inside her. Maybe somehow, sometime, Ian could learn to care for her. She shook her head. No, no, that was ridiculous.
Ian would never love her.
She had married the wrong person if she wanted affection.
“We’re here.” Ian’s tired, irritated voice more than solidified her thoughts.
Tiny’s yapping had further tried his patience, and blessedly, the little thing had finally fallen asleep on his lap. Her one goal for their marriage should be not to annoy him. Between her and Tiny, that would be challenging enough.
Ian hopped out first, waking the dog and setting him down to scamper about. Ian turned back and offered his hand to help her down. She reluctantly took it, hesitant to start her new life. Once her foot took purchase, he released his grip and stepped away from her like she had some contagious disease.
Focusing on her surroundings helped her not to take offense. They were deep in the North Wessex downs, outside of Marlborough, near a small town called Oakdell, far from anyone she knew. Through the filter of dusk, she took in the house. The two-story hunting box sat tucked against the edge of a forest. Ravens squawked from the trees, and Amie wanted to look everywhere at once. Green countryside stretched for miles on one side, broken up by a rambling road lined with a half dozen small homes and an occasional cluster of trees. She would make a point to meet their neighbors soon. On the other side of the house was a wooded grove, untamed, with wildflowers and ground cover reaching to fill the empty spaces. The unbridled beauty surprised her.
“Welcome to Oak End,” Ian said.
She swallowed. This was her home. Their home. Would her life be better now? Or had she made a terrible mistake? “It’s lovely,” she forced herself to say. “The wildflowers are breathtaking.”
He scratched the back of his head and stared at the flowers dotting the grass. Had mentioning the flowers been in poor taste? “Mymother likes the flowers here too,” he said after a moment. “She loves how the purple blossoms on the wild thyme and the small yellow horseshoe vetch look when brought together into a bouquet.”
“You know the names of the plants?” She had not expected it.
“Not all of them. Just her favorite ones. The blue round-headed rampions should bloom soon, and there are purple orchids around here, if you search for them.” Ian gestured with his chin toward the house. It seemed he was eager to end their conversation and hurry inside—away from her. She followed beside him up the path toward some short stairs to a broad door with a heavy brass handle.
They did not quite make it before it burst open, and the household staff bustled out. They were led by who she guessed was the butler and housekeeper. They formed a line followed by a handful of other servants. Ian led her to stand in front of the butler.
“Lady Reynolds.” Her new title clearly took effort for Ian to say. “This is Mr. Hamburg.”
Mr. Hamburg possessed an average face, but his friendly smile endeared her to him immediately.
After his bow, he said, “Welcome, my lady.”
“And this is Mrs. Hamburg,” Ian said. The housekeeper was a stern-looking matron with wiry black hair—an antithesis to her husband in personality, it seemed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the servant said, her words short but surprisingly not unkind.
Mrs. Hamburg had the other servants state their names and positions, and Amie tried to keep track of them all in her head.
“The lady is tired,” Ian said as soon as they were finished. “Please, show her to her room, Mrs. Hamburg.” He turned to Amie. “I will see Tiny settled in the kitchens.”
