Return of the Viscount Read Free Page B

pride.”
    He bowed his head gravely. “You do me honor. But you also seem to believe I will meekly acquiesce to whatever you want, regardless of how reckless it is. No, I will not reside in the dower house.”
    She tensed, but he spoke before she could reply.
    â€œI am your legal husband, and I assume all of your friends and neighbors know. It would cause a terrible scandal and harm your reputation if you were to cast me off.”
    â€œI would not be casting you off,” she insisted, striving to be calm. “If my lawyers say a proxy marriage is invalid, then we would have to abide by it.”
    â€œYou’d be making the marriage invalid by treating it that way. Now that I’ve met you in person, I know something must be drastically wrong for you to marry a man sight unseen, even if I do write interesting letters,” he added dryly.
    Her mouth opened and closed, but her brain couldn’t seem to settle on the right response. This man was insisting he knew what was best for her.
    â€œI would be happy to continue this discussion at dinner,” he continued, “but first I should change out of these damp garments.”
    â€œOf course. I will have Talbot show you to your bedchamber. I hope you understand that you will not be sharing mine.”
    â€œI assume you have a spacious apartment, Lady Blackthorne. Give me whichever of your rooms you’d like. I would never force myself on you. I will gladly give us time to know one another. And it is no one’s business but ours.”
    She let out her breath. “Thank you. I will see you at seven when we dine.”
    He bowed. “Until then.”
    She watched him limp across the drawing room, and it wasn’t until she glimpsed him meeting with Talbot, that she stumbled back to sit on the sofa and close her eyes. Oh God, what have I done?
    M ichael, Viscount Blackthorne, followed the butler up into the mansion that had obviously once been a cavernous castle. Part of his mind memorized the route to his bedchamber, as any good soldier would, but another part of him was still stunned by his first encounter with Lady Blackthorne.
    His wife.
    For the rest of his life, he’d never forget his first sight of her, the lightning illuminating her beautiful, bewildered face, surrounded by a blond crown of hair. He’d been stunned, having convinced himself that only a truly ugly woman would need to marry as she had. Instead, he’d been astounded by her flawless features, the high cheekbones, the golden tones of her skin that hinted she was a woman of the outdoors. Her eyes reminded him of the petals of the Indian blue poppy, so vivid that he could have lost himself in their depths. Her figure was just as captivating, curves barely contained by her corset. He was still amazed he’d managed to speak to her coherently.
    Talbot opened a door, and Michael preceded him into a spacious bedchamber, the chill of disuse now combated by a fire in the coal grate. The massive four-poster bed dominated although it was complemented by a wardrobe, writing desk, washstand, and several different chairs. He wondered if the door at the far side led to a dressing room—or his wife’s chambers.
    â€œMy lord, a maid will arrive soon to unpack your bag,” Talbot said, apology in his voice.
    Michael nodded, barely noticing the butler’s departure as his thoughts returned to his wife. His very reluctant wife—he could see that now, and it surprised him, after the desperation that had hovered beneath each word she wrote. He couldn’t blame her for holding him off. They truly didn’t know each other but for words on paper. The instant connection he’d felt with her made them seem more intimate than they really were. If she felt it, she was fighting it, for he saw no hint that she might be as instantly smitten as he was. Her letters over the last two years had been the bright point of each month. He’d read them