The Scoundrel's Score by Mara Shaw

Author:Mara Shaw
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2019-05-01T16:00:00+00:00

After what had potentially been the longest night of his life, Cedric made his way to the breakfast room with eyes that felt sandy and a chest that felt hollow.

Memories of Rose’s lush body, how tight and hot she’d been around his finger, had plagued him well into the small hours. Somehow, knowing that she resided under the same roof with nothing between him and her soft curves but a thin chemise and nightgown had made the wanting for her all the more maddening.

Christ, he’d taken himself in hand thrice and it still hadn’t been enough to sate him…

The sight of his wife seated at the dining table, looking as fresh and lovely as her namesake, was like a handful of salt smeared over an open wound.

It wasn’t until her eyes met his own, however, that he realized she was not quite as well-rested as she seemed. Faint shadows circled her wide gray eyes, and the sight of them—the physical proof of her distress—caused a twinge in that hollow place within his chest.

That he should feel so much as an ounce of pity for her when she was to blame for their predicament was ludicrous, but there it was.

“Good morning,” he murmured, as he made his way to the sideboard. Though he had little appetite, he piled his plate with kippers and coddled eggs as was his custom. He was unnervingly conscious of Rose’s presence at his back all the while.

“Good morning,” he heard her say softly. A courtesy she reciprocated by rote, no doubt.

“We haven’t much time before the train departs.” He took the seat a young footman held out for him at the head of the table. “I trust your maid has all your belongings in order?”

An unaccountably lengthy silence greeted his enquiry. Lengthy enough to give him pause.

He gently placed his fork and knife at the sides of his plate as he studied Rose, the kippers and coddled eggs he’d scarcely desired promptly forgotten. Though he was no connoisseur of women’s fashion, even he knew that the delicate, sky blue day dress Rose currently donned was a far cry from the darker, sturdier traveling gowns most women were wont to favor for a trip to the continent.

But then, one did not need to be a connoisseur of any kind to read the look on her face.

He watched her. And waited.

To her credit, she did not squirm under his scrutiny—though the unease he saw in her expression was unmistakable.

“I believe it would be best if we postponed our trip,” she finally said.

“You believe it would be best if we postponed our honeymoon?” he retorted, careful to keep the foreign panic from edging into his words. He’d never regretted having broken with tradition more than he did in that moment. Had they left for the train station directly after the wedding breakfast, they’d have spent the night free from Carlyle’s pathetic pleas on behalf of his scapegrace father.

Free from this damning tension that now plagued them.

But it seemed that he was destined to pay a steep price for his eagerness to have Rose beneath his roof and in his bed.

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