Page 103 of A Foolish Flirtation

She was growing comfortable and relaxed around him, even when he strayed into her personal rooms. She no longer seemed to resent him rehoming her friend. She wanted to know his favorite sandwich. That had to count for something, surely?

Inadvertently, he found himself wondering if her courses were over and done with by now. His eyes strayed from the page to wander over her shapely legs, currently obscured by the bedcovers.

Giving his head a quick shake, he returned to the plight of the tenants of Jennings Hall and suppressed his less noble thoughts. What was it his sister had urged him to employ? Patience and tact. Something along those lines anyway. Surely to God, he could maintain this equilibrium until Emmeline could learn to trust him a little.

The trouble was, he did not think she had ever trusted him much in the first place. How could she? He had never given her cause.

24

One Month Later

Emmie rolled over and contemplated the empty spot in the bed next to her. She sat up. It must be after eight. Jeremy would have gone down to the stables already. He was surprisingly disciplined when it came to spending his mornings there. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Things were still not quite right between them.

Ever since their falling out, her husband’s polite consideration had increased to an almost alarming degree. He even brought it into the bedroom now, the one arena where previously he had been wholly unbridled in his passion for her.

Not anymore. Her monthlies had been over with for a good week before he had courteously asked her if she had reached the end of her current chapter. When she had answered him yes, he had inserted her bookmark for her and set her book aside, asking her if she would be agreeable to his “husbandly attentions.”

She had answered the affirmative again, somewhat bewildered by his manner. Then he had rolled on top of her and, well, you could not describe what followed as polite precisely, but it had certainly been the most “hands off” approach to proceedings that he had ever employed with her.

He had not sworn once, and he did not even squeeze her posterior, or mouth her breasts as he normally did. From what she could tell, his eyes had been closed for most of it and his mouth tight shut. He had barely made a sound, and this had so constrained her that Emmie had stifled her own, an unnatural proceeding that had frustrated her and made her feel quite out of step with her own body.

Worst of all, after they were both breathless and spent, he had apologized, as though what they had done was something she might not have enjoyed. Then he had climbed out of the bed and disappeared to his own rooms, leaving her a mass of confusion.

Half an hour later, returning from the bathroom, she found him once again sat up in her bed, reading The Haunting of Jennings Hall as though the strange interlude had never occurred. Odder still, he was wearing a nightshirt, something she had not heretofore known he so much as possessed.

Before extinguishing the light on his side of the bed, he had kissed her cheek, wished her a good night, and turned his back to her. The next morning, she had put it down to a mere aberration, the result of some strange mood or him not feeling quite right, maybe something like indigestion.

Then the same thing had happened the following night, and two nights after that. And now it had been the pattern for a whole month. She did not know what to think. Was it simply that they were settled now into married life? Had he grown so accustomed to her person that he no longer wished to fondle and fuss over her as he had done before?

Did her charms no longer torment and please him as once they had? The thought was a lowering one, and besides, somehow, she could not quite believe it. There was still his vast Venus collection for one thing. Those hefty beauties did nothing more than hang on his walls all day and he had never tired of them. No, it could not be that, surely.

It was not even as though she could turn to anyone for advice. Dearest Pinky, in addition to be quite caught up in homemaking at present, would be flummoxed by such a predicament. Moreover, Emmie did not think she could embarrass her oldest friend by broaching such an indelicate subject.

There was no one else she could ask. Strangely, Lord Atherton flashed into her mind for an instant. He had imparted some very interesting information about Jeremy at their wedding. His words drifted back into her head, making her flush. You embodied his every physical ideal.

She found herself hoping he was still coming to Vance this summer. He had said a few things she could use further elucidation on. That throwaway line about Charlie Symonds for one, and something else… What had it been?

Suddenly, she sat up, remembering the other thing Atherton had told her about Jeremy. I never suspected it as a callow youth, but I think he has always been…left out in the cold. Emmie caught her breath. So, she was not the only person such a thing had occurred to. Had she been right that day on the beach, when she thought he looked like a little boy, looking in on a party he was not invited to?

If so…then Jeremy Vance was lonely. He must have been lonely all his life. That was why he had taken his supper in the nursery with his son. It had seemed so strange to her when Teddy first told her that about the sophisticated and urbane Jeremy but now it made perfect sense. So, he did want companionship from a wife, even though he had not asked for that.

She supposed that, really, his actions should have revealed that to her since they had come home to Vance Park. The book club, the sleeping in her bed, the unlocking of the connecting door, the private dining room, all of them should have been clues for her to solve the puzzle.

This excessive civility, though, what had brought that about? She couldn’t even explain why it bothered her, for he had always been attentive and courteous in his manner toward her. No, she corrected herself firmly. That was not strictly true. That was more of a recent development. He had not always been polite.

He had not been polite when he led her into that conservatory and kissed her so hard he had bruised her lips. He had not been polite when he had made her the talk of the season by monopolizing her attention and cornering her at every ball. He had not even been polite when he had turned up at Winkworth Street that day and proposed to her with such casual assurance.

He had known she was over a barrel, and he had been almost gleeful of the fact. Gleeful, because he had her where he wanted her, cornered into a trap of her own making and desperate for escape. Escape that he could offer her on a golden platter if she became his wife.

Emmie gave her head a faint shake as she tried to make sense of it all. He still bewildered her. The man was so confusing. She had thought, after his engagement to Lady Amanda Liversedge, that his pursuit of her must have been a cruel sort of jest. That he had chosen to alleviate his boredom by making sport of her, only to drop her flat and leave her broken-hearted at the end of it.

But now… Suddenly, she was not so sure. She was not sure of anything. Taking a deep breath, she allowed herself to think of…that night. She touched her lips remembering the desperate way he had kissed her in that conservatory, how afterward he had buried his face in her neck, his grip on her, almost painful, when he had held her so tight, as though he never wanted to let her go.

Then she remembered his face at the top of the staircase as his engagement was announced. His eyes glittering and hard, that cold, brilliant smile. She had thought the contempt she could see blazing there was directed toward her, even though he had not so much as glanced her way. But what if—she caught her breath—what if his contempt had been directed toward himself?

It was true, he had kissed her since that night with urgency, with passion, and with need. Not recently, it was true, not now he was being all measured and civil with her, but on their wedding night, he had trembled when he touched her. He had been desperate for her, but it had still not approached that level of…of… Words failed her.

Anguish. Could it have been anguish? she wondered now, tears springing to her eyes. Just for a minute, she allowed herself to consider the possibility that Jeremy Vance had been in pain that night at the Hawfords’ ball when he knew what was about to unfold. When he knew that after that night, they would never be together again.