The Marquess Tames His Bride by Annie Burrows

Author:Annie Burrows [Burrows, Annie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-11-03T19:15:30+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

It wasn’t long before they reached a market square. The Three Tuns took up one entire side of it. A rather inexpert layer of stucco had been pasted over extensions to the original building and if she hadn’t been so annoyed by the way he’d just spoken to her, she would have agreed that it did look rather pretentious.

But nothing, now, would force her to agree with his opinion, about anything. There was no need for him to speak to her in that odiously condescending manner. She needed to be dignified, indeed! Why, for two pins she’d...

Hang on a minute, though. Earlier on, when she’d told him she wasn’t ready to go into society because she didn’t know enough about the proper etiquette, he’d told her that he wanted her to be herself. That she had no need to worry about what anyone else thought. So why was he now saying exactly the opposite?

She ran over the content of both conversations as they crossed the market square. During the one about Almack’s he’d been trying to comfort her when she’d confessed to feelings of inadequacy. But just now, he’d acted as though she was letting him down by hugging him in the street. Which was inconsistent, to say the least.

It made her feel as if she’d tried his patience to the limit. That so far, he’d been remarkably forbearing, considering, but that hugging him in the street had been the last straw.

Although, he hadn’t minded when Betsy Woodly had hung off his arm, had he? What was it—different rules for wives than mistresses?

She got a sudden, vivid image of him holding a naked Betsy in an affectionate embrace. It brought such a sharp pang to her chest that she almost gasped out loud.

‘Is something amiss? Have you turned your ankle?’

She realised she’d stumbled slightly under the weight of her jealous image of how he’d been with Betsy, or how she imagined he’d been, all those years ago.

‘No, I...’ He was looking at her with concern. Genuine concern.

Which confused her. How could he have been so patient and kind when she’d punched him, then act so cold and cutting when she hugged him?

Was this really how marriage was going to be? Tiptoeing round her husband the way she’d had to tiptoe round her own father’s increasingly erratic temper? At least she’d been able to see her father’s moods brewing, and had known, for the most part, how to deflect them. But Rawcliffe’s behaviour made no sense to her at all.

‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘The cobbles are a bit uneven, just here, that’s all.’

‘Hmm,’ he replied, looking unconvinced.

But he didn’t pursue the matter.

Well, he wouldn’t. Because he would understand her need to guard her own thoughts, since he guarded his own so carefully.

She glanced up at his face as they mounted the single step and passed into the portico of the Three Tuns. It was set in the expression he normally wore. Shuttered. As though determined to keep everyone from guessing what he was thinking, or feeling.

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