Page 17 of The Best Husband Money Can Buy

Depressed by the thought that the odds were against her and her husband developing a long-term affection, Emma slipped away while the party was still going strong. No one would miss her, least of all Anthony, who was spreading his charm lavishly about the gathering.

She made the long climb to the tower room through silent passages. It was a welcome surprise to find a small fire burning when she arrived. The Harley coal bill for this fortnight would be astronomical.

After changing to her heaviest nightgown and a matching robe that went over it, she sat down at the dressing table and pulled the pins from her hair. As she was lifting her brush, the door opened and Anthony entered.

Their gazes met in the mirror. Voice carefully neutral, she said, “I thought you would be downstairs longer.”

He closed the door and leaned back against it. “I made my excuses when I saw you leave. It took me a few minutes to break away, or I would have escorted you up.”

She wondered if he’d come because of the sensual promise that had been between them when they dressed for dinner. Unfortunately, she was no longer in the mood to consummate her marriage even though Anthony looked almost irresistible. Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair waving over his forehead and his piercing eyes, he was a man too splendid to be the husband of Emma Stone. He was any young girl’s dream. He’d been her dream.

She began brushing out her hair. Deciding that it was time for an inane comment, she said, “It was lovely to see everyone again.”

“You’re wondering about Cecilia,” he said quietly.

She had not expected him to broach such a delicate subject. “As a matter of fact, I am.” Looking in the mirror rather than at his face made it easier for her to ask, “Are you still in love with her?”

He hesitated. “No. At least, I don’t think so. But seeing her again was a shock. It brought back what it felt like to be twenty.” His mouth twisted. “I’d forgotten how wretched a time that was.”

She turned to look at him directly. He was doing his best to be honest with her, and for that she was grateful. But she was not very reassured by the fact that he “didn’t think” he was in love with Cecilia. “Brand looked as if he wanted to do murder.”

“I really don’t know why, since he got what he wanted—Cecilia. He hardly has cause to be jealous when I haven’t laid eyes on her in nine years.” Anthony sighed. “I always thought of him as having an easy disposition. Perhaps I didn’t know him as well as I thought. There is a lot I didn’t know.”

Emma suspected that when a woman came between two men, the emotional equation could change dramatically. Certainly Brand appeared to have changed from the young man she remembered. But what did she know? She was just an aging spinster who had bought herself a husband. She began to braid her hair. “Perhaps when Brand gets over the shock of having you here, his mood will moderate.”

“Perhaps,” Anthony said, clearly unconvinced.

Emma tied the end of her braid, then rose and went to the bed. Outside scattered flakes of snow were falling. She hoped they would continue. She’d always love the beauty and silence of new snow. After taking off her robe and laying it over a chair, she slid under the covers.

His voice as neutral as hers, Anthony said, “Can you spare a blanket? I’ll make up a bed on the floor.”

It would be much easier if he wasn’t near her, but she couldn’t be so selfish. “You’ll freeze on the floor,” she said in her most practical, governessy voice. “The bed is quite large enough for two.” Then she rolled onto her side away from him, pulling the blankets protectively around her in an unmistakable sign that she would not welcome any amorous overtures.

She heard the rustling sounds of undressing. Before dinner, she would have peeked so she could admire him. Not now.

He put out all the candles except the one in the window, which had a tin reflector that sent most of the light outdoors. Then the mattress sagged as he lay down.

Though he didn’t touch her, she was acutely aware of his nearness. Her husband. It was entirely within her rights to roll over and cuddle up against him. Perhaps he would draw her close and tell her how lovely she was, and how he was much happier to be with her rather than Cecilia…

She shouldn’t have thought of Cecilia. Now the image of her husband and the woman he had loved was burning in her brain. He had never looked at Emma like that. With brutal honesty, she recognized that he probably never would.

It had been a mistake to try to build a new marriage at Harley. They were surrounded by too many ghosts, not all of whom were dead.

Swallowing hard against the painful lump in her throat, Emma closed her eyes and ordered herself to sleep.

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