Grace bristled at his patronizing tone.
"I have no issue with Irene," she snapped, feeling a rush of vindictive pleasure at the surprise on his face, knowing that he could hear the sincerity in her voice. The confusion on his face was almost soothing to her temper. She smiled thinly. "She came to apologize to me before she and Hugh left London. We're quite friendly now." That was stretching the truth a bit, but it was worth it to see the dumbfounded look on her husband's face.
"Irene came to apologize to you," he repeated, as if having trouble even comprehending the words she'd used. As if he was trying to figure out what sweet, favored Irene would have to apologize to Grace about.
Irene had always been a sore subject between them, and after Grace had overhead Alex talking to her father, she'd outright hated the other woman. One woman is as good as another - except for Irene. The young redhead had been so obvious in her adoration for Alex, and Alex had been devoted to her. He'd brushed off Grace's discomfort with Irene's behavior even when he'd been pretending to dote on her when they'd first been married. Then, when she'd listened to that blasted conversation, she'd realized that all women were interchangeable to Alex, except for Irene. She was a constant, a woman who stood out above all the rest, and Grace's bitterness had nearly overwhelmed her every time she'd been faced with the woman.
The apology had helped, and Grace knew it wasn't Irene's fault that Alex was the way he was, but she didn't know if things would ever truly be friendly between them.
Sudden comprehension seemed to dawn on him, and it was Grace's turn to blink in confusion at his expression.
"I see," he said, nodding. "Good, then."
Tapping her finger against the table, Grace looked away from him, wondering exactly what it was he saw.
"I'm sorry as well."
Her heart stilled. Those words could not have just come out of his mouth. Alex was never sorry. He was always supremely confident in everything that he did, sure of the rightness of it. Besides which...
"For what?" she asked, a bit faintly, still tapping away on the table. A little faster now as nervous energy tingled to life inside of her.
"I should have listened to you about Irene. I shouldn't have dismissed her behavior." Alex hesitated and then shook his head slightly. She could only stare in fascination as the facade of his stone face cracked, just the tiniest bit, and regret shown through. "Hugh and I spoke with her, and it's not something you'll have to worry about again."
******
That one slender finger, moving up and down, was the only sign of Grace's discomposure. Alex found himself fascinated with that small chink in her armor, wondering what it was she was thinking. Silence had never been Grace's natural state when they'd first married; she'd always been talking about something, enthusing over the latest play or book, or a story that she'd heard. It made the back of Alex's neck itch to be eating a meal with her at last, and to have her shutting him out.
She stared off into the distance, her pretty pink lips pursed, as if she didn't dare open her mouth for the words that might come tumbling out. Color pinked her cheeks as her mouth twisted, as if she was seeing the humor in the situation. Years after she'd been upset about Irene, he'd finally admitted that she was right and taken care of it. Alex saw the irony. Once Irene had thrown herself at him and forced his eyes open, he'd wondered if his friendship with the younger woman was part of why Grace had thought they'd been "foolish" when they'd married. Had she thought that his feelings for Irene were more than brotherly, no matter that he'd told her otherwise?
Perhaps. Although he still couldn't understand why, if so. The way he'd treated both of them had been worlds apart. Irene was the little scamp that he'd spent his life protecting like a little sister; Grace was his wife.
"Apology accepted," she said, finally. Yet, even then, he didn't sense any crumbling of the wall between them. Maybe Irene hadn't had anything to do with why Grace left him.
Which meant that he was just as baffled as before.
They'd ridden in the carriage together all afternoon, he'd spanked her, held her on his lap while she'd slept, and now they were sharing a meal, but she was as far away as ever from him. As if during their time apart she'd erected an invisible shell that kept him from truly being able to touch her. It made him ache in a thousand different ways, from his head, to his heart, down to his cock. What he wouldn't give to just strip her down out of her dress, strip off that invisible armor, and love her back into herself.
Somehow, he didn't think she'd appreciate the sentiment. He had no desire to force himself on an unwilling woman, even if he had been rock hard all afternoon after spanking her.
Besides which, in a few minutes she was going to be furious with him for a whole new reason. His stomach full, he pushed away his plate and sighed, picking up his jacket as he stood.
"Come," he said, walking around the table and holding out his hand. "I'll show you to your room."
Grace looked at his hand like it was a viper, ready to bite and poison her, and Alex let it drop. Part of him wanted to push her to at least accept a small civility from him, but right now he was too damn tired. He just wanted to go upstairs and get this over with. The perfect end to a frustrating, and what felt like a fruitless, first day of reconciliation with his stubborn wife.
She followed him upstairs and into the room docilely enough, proof, perhaps, of her own exhaustion. But Grace was quick of mind, and it took her less than a minute to take in the contents of the room and realize exactly what he'd done. By that time he was already locking the door and tucking the key into his pocket.
"No," she said, tersely, her hands clenched into small fists at her side. "No, no, no, no, no."
"Yes."
"I won't."
"Won't what? Sleep?" He walked past her, heading for his trunk. "That's your choice, but I intend to get some rest."
The itch on the back of his neck increased, he could feel her glare slicing into his shoulder blades as he dropped his jacket onto his trunk. There was no way he was letting Grace sleep in a different room. Even if he trusted her not to try to run, considering that she wasn't exactly traveling with him of her own will, one commonality that his friends had was a belief that their wives belonged in bed with them. Although he and Grace had had separate rooms, they'd always ended up sleeping in the same one. No more separation. Not in their marriage and not their beds.
He pulled off his cravat and tossed it onto the trunk as well, before he began to loosen the cuffs to his sleeve. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grace skitter to the door and test it. He hid his grin as she mumbled something under her breath, probably a curse, when she found it locked. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he nonchalantly ambled over to the pitcher of water and large bowl that had been left for them.