Page 20 of A Wicked Kind of Husband

“So we do. How adorable we are.”

He lifted his own left hand and they both looked at it. His ring finger was bare, and the bulky ring on his little finger was clearly a signet ring.

“That’s not your wedding ring,” she said. “What is that?”

He dropped his hand into his lap. “Nothing. I mustn’t have a wedding ring then. Most men don’t.”

“Papa got matching rings for both of us, don’t you recall? He always wore one to indicate his devotion and fidelity to my mother.”

She lifted her chin, defiant and tense, challenging him to be cynical again, unwilling to entertain even the possibility of the truth. He could not mock her.

“It matters to you, doesn’t it?” he said quietly.

“As I said, fidelity is the cornerstone of marriage, and a strong marriage is at the core of family, and family is everything.”

But as she spoke, her gaze wavered and she looked impossibly young, lost, and vulnerable, like a newborn lamb just waiting for the foxes to tear her to shreds. If he were a different man, he would comfort her and keep her safe. But he was not a different man, she was not his lamb, and protecting her was not his job.

“Family is a nuisance,” he said, and turned his attention to his food.

* * *

Of the manydifficulties Cassandra had with Mr. DeWitt—his bad language, his roguish grin, his insistence on baring his chest—one of the greatest was his rapid changes in mood. She had grasped that he was a man who was swift in thought and deed, but he was also quick to anger, to humor, to empathy, to indifference. She could not recall meeting anyone who was so quick at everything, and feared she would sprain her neck trying to keep up.

He also ate quickly, though she finished her cake and pear first, and it dawned on her that she would have precious little time to argue her case again, before he cleared his plate and strode out.

Besides, while he was eating, he was not talking. This seemed a rare and wonderful thing.

“I am seeing my grandmother the duchess today,” she said. “It is important that I see her in person, because relations in my family have been a little strained since…” She considered. Since Papa married Mama. The duchess had not approved of her youngest son’s choice of wife, although everyone was always polite and civil, of course. “Not too long. Only for the past quarter-century or so. My hope and expectation is that Her Grace will take Lucy to live with her, oversee her debut, and guide her through society. If we are fortunate, Lucy will make a good match and be happily married by the end of the year. I assure you, I shan’t bother you at all. You will hardly know I’m here.”

He shoved aside his empty plate and grinned.

“How is that amusing?” she asked.

“You excel at polite-speak,” he said. “‘I shan’t bother you at all’ means ‘I don’t want to talk to you any more than necessary.’ ‘You will hardly know I’m here’ means ‘I’m going to pretend you don’t exist.’ Am I right?”

“How marvelous that we understand each other.”

“Which means, ‘Of course you’re bloody well right.’”

“Please, Mr. DeWitt. Your language.”

“You like my language. It gives you an excuse to scold me instead of making an honest response.”

“I don’t…I wouldn’t…You…Oh.”

Words failing her, Cassandra folded her arms and eyed him mutinously. To suggest that she was not honest! She was simply being civil.

“You should not mock politeness,” she said. “It’s our best defense against killing each other.”

“Our best defense against killing each other would be to return to our separate lives. We’ve gone a whole two years without even being tempted to kill each other, which is more than other married couples can claim. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mrs. DeWitt, trying to ruin our perfect marriage.”

“I assure you our marriage will be just as perfect if we go about our business and ignore each other completely.”

He heaved a sigh. “Have you ever heard of barnacles?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Barnacles. They are horrid marine creatures that cling to the hull of ships and slow them down. They are damn near impossible to get rid of, and there are men whose sole job is to scrape them off. You, Mrs. DeWitt, are as tenacious as a barnacle.”

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