Nicola Cornick - The Notorious Marriage

‘You do not need to explain yourself to me, my lord! You may do as you please!’

Kit was now looking positively thunderous. A little thrill of pleasure went through Eleanor at her ability to provoke him. She knew it was childish but just at the moment it was all she had.

‘Eleanor, I want to explain…’

Eleanor smiled. Even thwarting him in this small matter made her feel perversely better. It might be contrary but it was satisfying.

‘There is no need for explanations, my lord,’ she said coolly. ‘I think it would be better if we pretended that it had never happened!’

‘Confound it, Eleanor, do you simply not care?’ Kit sounded exasperated now. ‘Not ten minutes ago you were castigating me for leaving you! I thought you would at least wish to know the reason why!’

Eleanor fabricated a delicate shrug. ‘It was the suddenness of your reappearance that shocked me, my lord, rather than anything else. I have no particular desire for us to become drawn into descriptions of what each has been doing. That would be most tiresome! Far better to let the matter drop!’

There was a pause. She saw a strange expression steal across Kit’s face but she did not understand it. He ran a hand through his dishevelled fair hair and sighed heavily.

‘I understand you, I suppose! And for all my anger earlier I shall ask no questions of you. Truth to tell, I really do not want to know.’

Eleanor frowned a little. She was not quite sure what he meant.

‘Oh, I was not intending to tell you anything of my exploits anyway, my lord!’ she said brightly. ‘I have managed quite well on my own! I have had the status of a married lady after all, without all the tedious responsibilities of tending to a husband!’ She paused as she heard Kit swear, and finished sweetly: ‘Now that you are back we shall be a thoroughly modern couple—you have your interests and I have mine—’

‘And plenty of them—’

Eleanor ignored him. ‘And we may present a charming façade to the Ton—’

‘It sounds delightful,’ Kit said, with an edge to his voice.

Eleanor essayed a bright smile, though in fact she knew the tears were not far away. For all that she had manoeuvred the conversation in this direction, it was not what she truly wanted. If only he had swept her into his arms and told her he loved her, everything else, even apologies and explanations, could have waited. She had imagined a reunion with Kit a hundred times, and it had never been like this. This cold stranger, with an angry light in his dark blue eyes, was not a man she could reach.

She told herself sternly that she had been brought up to understand the concept of duty in marriage and so did not expect a husband to show her an unsuitable affection, the way that her brother Marcus did so unfashionably with his wife Beth. Her parents had preserved just such a chilly outward show, and whilst she had sometimes thought that love might be more fun, she had learned that that was not so. Nevertheless, something was hurting her and she did not intend to give Kit the satisfaction of knowing it.

‘After all, I hardly expect you to hang on my sleeve in a tediously slavish way!’ she finished lightly. ‘You shall go your way—indeed, you already have done!—and I shall go mine—’

‘As you also appear to have done,’ Kit concluded dryly.

They looked at each other in silence, and then Eleanor shrugged. ‘So there we have it, my lord! What happens now?’

‘We go up to our chamber, I believe,’ Kit said slowly. A mocking smile touched his mouth. ‘As you are so determined to maintain a pretence of normality, my lady wife, I do believe we should start practising straight away!’

‘This is ridiculous, my lord,’ Eleanor said in an outraged whisper as Kit, the candle clasped in one hand and his other firmly gripping her elbow, steered them up the rickety stairs to the bedchamber above. ‘Why can we not simply go back to London tonight?’

‘I do not care to do so,’ her husband said coolly. ‘It is dark and I cannot risk an accident to the wife I have so recently found again…’

Eleanor made a humphing sound. ‘I cannot believe that such matters can weigh with you, my lord! And if you think that I will get one minute of sleep in this flea pit—’

She broke off. It was not the fleas that were troubling her but the thought of sharing a chamber with Kit. She glanced at him apprehensively. His face was set, dark and brooding, and he did not look at her. Eleanor’s stomach did a little flip.

‘You may stay awake if you please,’ Kit said indifferently. ‘I assure you that I am tired from galloping across country to find you and will no doubt sleep as soon as my head touches the pillow. Ah, a charming room…’ He pushed the bedroom door open.

‘The scene of your seduction, I imagine!’

Eleanor wrenched her arm free of his grip. ‘Enough, sir! I do not wish to hear another word from you on that subject! If you think that it has been pleasant for me to suffer Sir Charles’s attentions and then to be subject to your scorn as well…’ She stopped, sniffed hard and pressed a hand to her mouth. Now she was going to cry. She knew she should not have said anything.

Kit was watching her. He passed her a handkerchief as she angrily dashed her tears away.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘You will perhaps feel better once you have had some rest.’

Eleanor glared at him. ‘If you think that I will have a moment’s rest whilst you are here you are far and far out! Can you not sleep in the parlour or somewhere?’

‘Or somewhere?’ Kit raised his brows. ‘Somewhere away from you, I infer?’

‘Precisely!’ Eleanor scrunched the handkerchief into an angry ball.

Kit shook his head. ‘I fear I cannot leave you unprotected, my love…’

‘Fiddle!’ Eleanor marched across to the bed and looked at it unfavourably. The curtains were full of dust and the bedclothes none to clean. ‘There is no one here to be a danger to me…’

Except for you. Scarcely had the thought formed when she realised that Kit had read her mind and she blushed to the roots of her hair. He smiled gently, coming across to take the crumpled handkerchief from her hand. His touch was warm.

‘There is the landlord. He looks a villainous fellow…’

‘You are absurd.’ Eleanor found that her voice came out as a whisper. Kit was standing close now, his hand resting in hers. She found herself unable to move away, unable to look away from that shadowed blue gaze.

‘Your dress is still damp.’ Kit’s voice was as husky as hers. ‘You should not catch a chill…’

Suddenly Eleanor was back in the house in Upper Grosvenor Street, remembering with exquisite pain the only occasion on which they had made love. The night before their marriage. And the morning…She ached at the sweetness of the memories and recoiled at the naïve trust of the girl she had been.

‘I can manage very well on my own, my lord,’ she said, almost steadily, taking her hand from his and stepping back. ‘You will oblige me by sleeping in the armchair if the parlour does not suit.’

Kit looked at her in silence for a long moment, then he inclined his head. ‘As you wish, Eleanor. Good night.’

Before she realised what he intended he had raised a hand and touched her cheek. The feather-light touch shivered down her spine and made her tremble.

‘Good night, my lord,’ she said, with constraint.

After Kit had gone out she locked the door, removed her damp dress and lay down on the bed, curled into a ball. She did not cry, but lay staring dry-eyed into the darkness. And she tried to tell herself that she was glad he had left her alone.