It was a new structure, built in the current architectural style. She liked the simple lines and balanced proportions very much. She turned to tell Drake so, but her words died in her throat at the coldness in his eyes.
He introduced her to her household staff, instructed the housekeeper to show her to her room, and disappeared. He did not reappear for dinner, and she discovered he had left the house. When he had not returned by midnight, she gave up waiting for him and made ready for bed.
Although the events of the day had exhausted her, she could not sleep. Too many things competed for attention in her mind.
She had met her father for the first time. He hadn't looked like a monster, but then she knew he wouldn't. The thing that surprised her, the thing she couldn't get past, was the vulnerability she had seen in his eyes when she spoke of her mother. As if he had a wound that hadn't healed.
In his concern for her, Drake had rushed her out of the town house before she'd had a chance to see if her brother had attended the breakfast with Langley. Had he been there? The thought she had been within touching distance of her brother and not known it tormented her.
But nothing like her conversation with Drake in the carriage. It kept repeating over and over again in her head. At first the constant repetitions had served only to fuel her anger at her husband. Then memories had started to intersperse with the harsh accusations she had made against Drake in her mind, and she began to feel wretched.
The fact that he had planned to marry a paragon high in the ton was neither here nor there. As he had said, he'd chosen her, Althea Selwyn, and no one could accuse her of being a paragon. Accusing him of wanting her to make peace with her father for his own ends had been a direct hit against pride that had been forced to withstand years as the illegitimate son of a man who would never acknowledge him.
She shuddered at her own needless cruelty.
Even if he did have ulterior motives for pressing her to get to know her father, Drake wasn't aware of them, and making the accusation had hurt him. Besides, he had made his intentions toward her clear aboard ship, long before finding out that she was the daughter of an earl.
She rolled over and punched her pillow, trying to vent some of her frustration and anxiety.
What if he couldn't forgive her? Had she doomed her marriage with her sharp tongue and accusations? It wouldn't be the first time that she had delivered such a strong blow to his pride. Would she ever forget the look of pain on his features as he knelt naked before her, having asked for her hand and been bluntly rejected?
Then she had kept right on refusing, not giving in to his desires or her own. Still, he had persisted. Had insisted on doing right by her and the child they may have created.
He had also helped her in her investigation just as he had promised, arranging for men to watch Uncle Ashby and the London warehouse. Not caring that the investigation took him away from his own business, he had pursued the thief as if it were a matter of his considerable personal honor.
After all that, she had to go and accuse him of marrying her for her place in society and her half of Merewether Shipping. She almost laughed aloud. Drake was wealthier than she'd ever dreamed of being, and once society learned of her father's duplicity, her connection to him would not improve her or her new husband's standing in the ton.
He'd certainly gotten no prize in his bride.
If he could not get past her latest attack on his honor, she did not know what she would do.
She slid her hand between the sheets along the other side of her bed. The side that he should be occupying. It was their wedding night, after all, but he wasn't there. She lay, lonely, longing for his presence, not even sure when he would return to their home.
What was the matter with her? Why had she behaved so abominably toward him?
The truth hit her like one of Whiskey Jim's bottles.
The love she was so afraid of acknowledging made her vulnerable to her own insecurities. She loved him so much she would die for him, and it terrified her that he did not love her even a little in return. That fear muddled her reasoning, and she had struck out and hurt him as surely as his lack of deeper feelings toward her had made her heart contract in pain.
Love did not always make one kind, she realized.
Her depressing thoughts were interrupted by sounds from the next room that indicated her husband had finally returned.
It was about time.
Despite her remorse for her treatment of him, indignation rose in her. Didn't he realize how inappropriate it was to desert his wife on their wedding day?
She would certainly tell him so. She would also humbly beg his pardon for casting aspersions on his honor.
She pulled on her wrapper and approached the connecting door between their rooms. Should she knock? What if it was locked? That prospect held her paralyzed for several seconds, but taking a deep breath, she put her hand on the knob and turned.
It moved easily under her fingers and the door swung inward. Drake had already doused the light, and the only illumination was a pale stream of moonlight filtering through a small crack in the heavy draperies.
* * *
Chapter 18
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