Page 87 of The Rules of Matrimony
His voice lowered to a near whisper. “I don’t trust myself.”
He meant it. Those humbling, self-deprecating words. She should have stepped away. She should have let bygones be bygones. But she shifted closer, reaching for his hand. “But I trust you.”
Her fingers grazed his, and he froze. She wouldn’t let the matter go this time. How could she ask this of him? She’d known from the start where he stood. He couldn’t give in. He couldn’t hurt her. But despite his well-meaning intentions, he was already wounding her more than he ever dreamed.
Her touch was gentle and hesitant. She was being so brave, and he wanted to reward her efforts with his own and say all the reassuring things she deserved to hear. But what if he tried and failed? He wasn’t like his friends. He’d always known that. He was gruff and surly and meant for arguing politics, not growing a family. One mistake and the innocence he loved about Amie would disappear forever.
Along with her beautiful smile.
He snatched his hand away from her, hating himself for causing the vivid pain to fill her eyes. This was who he was. A little hurt now would prevent far more later. It had to be done. Her trust wasn’t enough to save him from himself. “I married you for one reason, Amie. For my inheritance.Nothingmore.”
He stepped away from her, slowly yet purposefully.
Her eyes begged him to come back to her, to want her, to love her. How he longed to do just that. But what she didn’t know was that hedidlove her. And this was how he was proving it to them both.
Chapter 42
Ian sat at his father’sdesk, staring at a blank spot on the wall, lost in his thoughts. He couldn’t bring himself to ride to the club in Town to meet Sir James. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything. Not when he’d bungled everything with Amie.
Blast his temper. Blast his insecurities. Blast the deuced ache in his chest.
He’d done just what he’d sought to avoid—he’d hurt her. He had to fix the rift between them, but how could he when he didn’t know how to fix himself?
He didn’t know how long he’d sat there before Mother knocked on the door and peeked inside. “I brought you some refreshment. May I come in?”
He didn’t answer her, but her skirts swished inside the room, where she set the tea tray on the desk between them. Without a word, she proceeded to fill a plate with some finger sandwiches, which she set before him.
“I’m not particularly hungry,” he mumbled, pushing the plate back.
“I saw the carriage leaving when I returned home.”
He nodded. “Amie’s mother is in town. It is right that they spend time together.”
“I thought I saw Amie crying through the window,” Mama hedged.
He hated when she cried. “Leave it be, Mama.”
“I tried to,” she said, “but when I checked on your father, he told me what happened this morning.”
Ian’s stupor faded, and he glanced sharply at his mother. “He did?” That couldn’t have been easy for her. Concern for her surpassed his feelings of self-loathing. “Are you all right?”
“Am I all right?” She gave a nervous laugh, and that was when he noticed her fingers shaking. “The question is, Are you?”
“I will be.” If he could ever forgive himself for making Amie cry. All he’d wanted to do was avoid this, and yet staying away from her had hurt her anyway. Could he do nothing right? And now he couldn’t even bring himself to aid Sir James.
“Your father would like to speak with you.”
“I know.”
“Eat a little, and then, please, talk with him.”
“Must I?” He dreaded another confrontation, especially now when he was still reeling from his conversation with Amie.
Mama poured him some tea and set it beside his untouched plate. “It would mean a great deal to me if you would.”
Why did she push so hard for him to get along with Father when she knew he couldn’t respect the man? But that pleading look and the love he had for her won him over. “Very well. I will be up shortly.”
A small smile appeared. “Thank you, Ian. You are the best son a mother could ask for.”
