“That would be all well and good, and I would not argue with it—if you weren’t planning to use my house for this deception.”
“I’m not using your house. I’m going to use my house. The one you promised me from the beginning.”
“What do you mean?”
She gave him a matter-of-fact look. “You told me I could go to Swanlea once I was pregnant. Well, I’m pregnant.”
Despite the early-morning darkness outside, for Ash the room was suddenly unbearably bright. Clocks ticked and the fire crackled, and the sounds were a clamor in his brain. He needed to shut them out. To shut everything out.
Oh, God.
Emma was absolutely correct. He had told her, in their first week of marriage, that she might go to Swanlea as soon as she was with child—and not before. And from that day on, she had worked quite diligently to make that pregnancy happen.
“So this isn’t a recent plan you’ve devised. You’ve been planning this from the start.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t fault me for having practical reasons for accepting your proposal, when you know very well you did, too. It was a marriage of convenience for us both, at first.” She rose from her bed and went to her dressing table.
He passed a hand over his face. “This explains everything. Why you were so keen to have Swanlea readied by Christmas. Why you peppered me with all your little endearments. You told me you were infatuated. Carnally attracted to my body, the freakish horror it is. God, how laughable. You must think me a fool.”
He was a fool. He should have known better than to believe any woman could see him that way.
Pacing the room back and forth, he made his voice light in imitation. “‘Take me to the theater. Come to Penny’s for tea. Let me dress you up in smart new attire. Oh, you’re so splendid and handsome.’”
“Ash, you are being absurd.”
“I let you call me bunnykins,” he growled. “Now that was absurd.”
“You think that was bad? Oh, I’m just getting started. You are such a wienerbrød.”
He sputtered. “That is the vilest thing I’ve ever heard. And I don’t even know what it means.”
“It’s an Austrian pastry.” She lifted her chin. “And it’s probably delicious, but if I had one right now, I would lob it at your head.”
“You are a clever one, aren’t you. All this time, you’ve been scheming. No wonder you were eager to spread your legs for me in every corner of the house. The faster you dispatched your duty to get pregnant, the sooner you’d make your escape. Isn’t that so?”
“It is not so!” Emma slammed her hairbrush onto her dressing table. “How dare you. How dare you imply that what we shared is tawdry and cheap. How could you even think that of me?” She fumed at a jumble of hairpins. “All this because I’ve asked you to take me to a ball.”
“If I wanted to attend balls, I would have married Annabelle and I’d be hosting one tonight. I married you expressly to avoid that ordeal.”
She wheeled on him with a glare that he richly deserved. “Lord, how I hate that woman. She made you feel like a monster, and ever since, you’ve devoted yourself to making it the truth. I can tell you a hundred times over how much I want you, how deeply I love you—and yet you still choose to believe her word over mine. She made you impossible to live with, and entirely too difficult to love.”
“Well,” he said stiffly. “Allow me to spare you any further difficulty.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I’m not certain I know you at all.”
Ash was well aware of the cutting edge in his voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to soften it. He was wounded, reeling, and that familiar, detestable impulse overrode his thinking. That need to lash out at her—to render her too occupied with her own wounds to look closely at his.
It wasn’t working, though. It never had worked, not on her.
“You are afraid,” she said.
“I’m not afraid.”
“You are afraid of everything. Of being loved. Of loving. Of being a father to your own child. And you are starting a row with me because you’re terrified of attending a godforsaken ball. Thunder all you like, Ash. You’re not fooling me.”
“You’re not fooling me, either. None of this nonsense you’re planning has anything to do with Davina Palmer. It’s all about you. Don’t pretend otherwise. By telling her to run from her father, you think you can settle a score with your own.”
They stood in silence for a moment, looking everywhere in the room but at one another.
“I’m sorry this all came as a surprise,” she said. “I should have told you about Davina. Not trusting you with the secret was my mistake. But I don’t believe I’m making a mistake in helping her.”
“Fine,” Ash said wearily. “Go to this ball. Lie to everyone. Take a vulnerable girl from her family and hide her in the country if you like. I won’t stop you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll go along.”
“I’ll go on my own if I must, but let’s not part in anger.”
“There’s no anger. Why would I be angry? You’re absolutely right. We had an agreement. You allow me to get you with child, and I give you a house.”
“I love you. You know that.”
Did he know that?
He heard her say the words, yes. But after the past quarter hour, he wasn’t certain he believed them anymore.
No, that wasn’t fair to her.
He wasn’t certain he’d ever believed them, or that he ever could.
“It’s late.” She approached him. “Let’s go back to bed. It will all seem more clear in the morning.”
He held her off with an outstretched hand. “I think it’s all clear to me now. I’ll send an express straightaway to Swanlea, directing the staff to prepare for your arrival. You’ll have the coach, of course. You may leave with Miss Palmer as soon as you wish. I’ll have Mary follow with the rest of your things.”
Ash knew he was about to go too far. Strike too hard, cut too deeply. If he were the man she needed, he would hold back—but he wasn’t a whole, healthy man any longer. A few parts of him were missing. Many others were twisted beyond recognition, both inside and out. He was too embittered to deserve her love, too misshapen to hold it.
And he was too damned ugly to stand at her side. In a ballroom, or anywhere.
This was the reason, he reminded himself, that he’d insisted on a temporary arrangement. This situation with her friend was a timely reminder. Their marriage was never supposed to last.
“Ash, don’t do this.”
He put his hand on the doorknob and prepared to leave. “As you say, our bargain is satisfied. You needn’t come back.”
You needn’t come back.
Emma stared at the closed door. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She’d been turned away like this before, and she recognized the feeling. As if her stomach had been tossed off the cliffs of Dover. Tied to a rock. Which was tied to an anvil.
But then, she had no one to blame but