They had done well enough together, Elise supposed. But he had never given her an indication, in the five years they had been together, that he would not have done equally well with any other young woman of the ton, or that his marriage to her had been motivated by anything other than the fortuitous timing of his need for a wife when she had desperately been in need of a husband.
When night came, there had been no question of why he had married her—for his passion had only increased, as had hers. It had been easy to see what he wanted, and to know that she pleased him, and he had taken great pains to see that she was satisfied as well. To lie in his arms each night had been like a taste of paradise, after days that were amiable but strangely empty. Even now she could not help but remember how it had felt to lie with him: cherished. Adored.
Loved.
It was all she could do to keep from throwing open the door between them right now and begging him to hold her again, to ease the ache of loneliness that she had felt since the moment she had left him.
But what good would that do in the long run? She would be happy at night, when he thought only of her. But at all other times she would not be sure what he thought of her, or if he thought of her at all.
He would be pleasant to her, of course. He would be the picture of good manners and casual affection—as he was with everyone, from shopkeepers to strangers. But he did not seem to share many interests with his wife. While he had always accompanied her to social gatherings, she did not think he’d taken much pleasure in them, and he’d seemed faintly relieved to stay at home, even if it had meant that she was accompanied by other gentlemen. He had showed no indication of jealousy, although she was certain that her continued friendship with Nicholas must have given him cause. Her husband had treated Tremaine with a suspicious level of good humour, although they should be bitter rivals after what had gone before.
In time, Nicholas had forgiven her for her hasty parting with him, and his level of flirtation had increased over the years, overlaying a deep and abiding friendship. She’d enjoyed his attention, but it had worried her terribly that she might be a better friend to another man than she was to her husband.
But if Harry had been bothered by it she hadn’t been able to tell. He’d either seen no harm in it, or simply had not cared enough about her to stop it.
Most important, if their lack of children had weighed on his mind, as it had hers, she had found no indication of it. In fact, he’d flatly refused to speak of it. The extent to which he’d appeared not to blame her for the problem had left her sure that he secretly thought she was at fault. Her own father had always said that girl children were a burden compared to sons. She dreaded to think what he would have said had his wife provided no children at all.
It had been hard to avoid the truth. She had failed at the one thing she was born to do. She had proved herself to be as useless as her family thought her. Harry must regret marrying her at all.
And on the day that she had been angry enough to leave she had shouted that she would return to her old love, for he at least was able to give her an honest answer if she asked him a direct question about his feelings on things that truly mattered.
Harry had blinked at her. There had been no trace of his usual absent smile, but no anger, either. And he had said, ‘As you wish, my dear. If, after all this time, you do not mean to stay, I cannot hold you here against your will.’
Elise had wanted to argue that of course he could. That a real man would have barred the door and forbidden her from talking nonsense. Or called out Nicholas long ago for his excessively close friendship to another man’s wife. Then he would have thrown her over his shoulder and marched to the bedroom, to show her in no uncertain terms the advantages of remaining just where she was.
But when one was in a paroxysm of rage it made no sense to pause and give the object of that rage a second chance to answer the question more appropriately. Nor should she have had to explain the correct response he must give to her anger. For if she must tell him how to behave, it hardly mattered that he was willing to act just as she wished.
So she had stormed out of the house and taken the carriage to London, and had informed a slightly alarmed Nicholas that there was nothing to stand between them and a much closer relationship than they had previously enjoyed.
And if she had secretly hoped that her husband would be along at any time to bring her back, even if it meant an argument that would raise the roof on their London townhouse? Then it was positive proof of her foolishness.
CHAPTER SIX
AFTER a fitful night’s rest, Nick Tremaine sought out his host to say a hasty farewell. He found Anneslea at the bottom of the stairs, staring out of the window at the yard. Nick turned the cheery tone the blighter had used on him at the club back upon him with full force. ‘Harry!’
‘Nicholas.’ Harry turned towards him with an even broader smile than usual, and a voice oozing suspicion. ‘Did you sleep well?’
The bed had been narrow, hard where it needed to be soft, and soft where it ought to be firm. And no amount of wood in the fireplace had been able to take the chill from the room. But he’d be damned before he complained of it. ‘It was nothing less than what I expected when I accepted your kind invitation.’
Harry’s grin turned malicious. ‘And you brought a surprise with you, I see?’
Nick responded with a similar smile, hoping that the last-minute addition to the guest list had got well up the nose of his conniving host. ‘Well, you know Elise. There is no denying her when she gets an idea into her head.’
‘Yes. I know Elise.’
Anneslea was still smiling, but his tone indicated that there would be hell to pay if Tremaine knew her too well. Just one more reason to bolt for London and leave the two lovebirds to work out their problems in private.
He gave Harry a sympathetic pat on the back. ‘And, since you do, you will understand how displeased she shall be with me when she hears that I’ve had to return to London.’
‘Return? But, my dear sir, you’ve only just arrived.’ The other man laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I would not think of seeing you depart so soon.’
Nick tried to shake off his host’s friendly gesture, which had attached to him like a barnacle. When it would not budge, he did his best to ignore it. ‘All the same, I must away. I’ve just had word of an urgent matter that needs my attention. But before I go, I wanted to thank you and wish you a M—’
Anneslea cut him off in mid-word. ‘Received word from London? I fail to see how. It is too early for the morning post, and, given the condition of the road, I doubt we will see it at all today.’
Damn the country and its lack of civilisation. ‘Not received word, precisely. Remembered. I have remembered something I must attend to. Immediately. And so I will start for London and leave Elise in your capable hands. And I wish you both a Mer—’
‘But surely there is nothing that cannot wait until after the holiday? Even if you left today you would not arrive in London before Christmas Day. Although you might wish to be a miserable old sinner for this season, you should not make your servants work through Boxing Day to get you home.’
Nick sighed, trying to manage a show of regret. ‘It cannot be helped. I have come to tell you I cannot stay. Pressing business calls me back to London. But although I must toil, there is no reason that you cannot have a Merr—’
Before he could complete the phrase sliding from his lips, Harry interrupted again. ‘Ridiculous. I will not hear of it. In this weather it is not safe to travel.’
Damn the man. It was almost as if he did not want to win his bet. Which was obviously a lie, for he had seen the look on Anneslea’s face at the sight of his wife. The man was as miserable without her as she was without him. Nick stared out of the nearest window at the snow lying thick upon the drive. ‘It was safe enough for me to