Christine Merrill - A Yuletide Invitation - The Mistletoe Wager / The Harlot's Daughter

‘You realised?’

There was something in the sound of her voice that was almost like an accusation, and he could feel his carefully managed control slipping away. ‘It did not take you long to make up with the man. Less than a year. The quarrel that parted you would have mended easily had you been willing to wait. It was really most annoying to listen to you complain, at the end, about my lack of devotion. For you have been so clearly devoted to another. Did you expect me to remain for ever the benighted fool who had married you? In the face of your continued indifference? In time one learns to harden one’s heart, Elise.’

He was almost shouting by the time he’d finished. And then he laughed again, at the shocked expression on her face. ‘Although what you expect by accompanying your lover to our home for Christmas I cannot imagine. Did you hope to create a dramatic scene for the diversion of my guests? Is it not bad enough that you have finally worked up the courage to be unfaithful to me? Must you parade it in front of me as well?’ He shook his head, and his voice returned to normal. ‘I never in all these years felt you to be so cruel. Perhaps I did not know you as well as I thought.’

Which was foolish, for he had known all along that that was what she would do. He had wanted her to come with Tremaine, had planned for the eventuality. And now he was angry to the point of shouting because his plans had come to fruition. It made no sense at all.

But it was too late to call back the words, or to explain that he wished to discuss things with her in a rational manner. Elise’s cheeks had grown hot with anger and shame, but no words were issuing from her lips, and she was staring at him as though she no longer knew him.

As he waited for her response, a part of him wanted to beg her forgiveness, forestall her reaction. But why should he take all the blame when she was the one who had left? It was long past time for her turn to be hurt and frustrated and embarrassed.

It did him no good to feel sure that he was in the right on this. Instead of vindication, he was suddenly sick with the taste of truth. He had spoken too much of it, all in one go, and it sat in his stomach like an excess of Christmas dinner.

Did she expect him to swallow his pride as well, before she was willing to come home? If the silence went on much longer she would see him on his knees, begging her to return.

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