The Marriage Act Read Free

position.
    “Lady Welford.” His tone was cool, flat and mocking. “So you’ve heard I’m back in England.”
    “Yes. I heard two weeks ago, not that I expected it would make any difference in our domestic arrangements.”
    He looked bigger than she remembered—and decidedly more handsome too. Though she’d once considered him old, or at least too old for her, she must have been viewing him through the prism of girlhood, for despite the nearly five and a half years that had passed he was fitter and younger than she’d imagined. There wasn’t a trace of silver in his dark hair, and his face with its arresting bone structure remained unlined. But then, he was only thirty-one. Not so old at all. She’d lost sight of that, somehow, picturing him throughout the long months of her banishment.
    He raised one black eyebrow. “Well then, to what do I owe the honor of this late-night call? Have you perhaps taken some new lover you wish me to make jealous?”
    She deserved that. She’d expected no less, not from a man as cold and self-important as her husband. “I need your help.”
    His dark eyes narrowed slightly. “And why should I wish to help you?”
    She swallowed down her pride. “It’s not for my own sake. I would never come here if it were. Do you think I don’t know how much you hate me?”
    He didn’t bother to deny it. “Then what is this about?” He sat forward, a flash of concern crossing his face. “Is it Ronnie?”
    “No. Your brother is fine.”
    He leaned back again, his features resuming their former hauteur. “Half brother.”
    “Very well, then, your
half
brother is fine. He’s downstairs, in fact. He was good enough to provide his escort.”
    Welford frowned. “I thought my instructions were clear. He was to remain at Halewick. As were you.”
    “Your instructions are always clear, but that doesn’t make them reasonable. I understand your wish to punish me, but why you should insist on confining a restive nineteen-year-old who—”
    “You’ve said quite enough on that topic. Pray come to the point and tell me what you’re doing here.”
    Oh, God, this was hopeless. What had made her think he might have mellowed in the years since she’d last seen him? He would never forgive her, and they were better off apart.
    Except this once. This once, she needed his help. “It’s my father,” she said, a lump rising to her throat. “He’s dying.”
    For one brief moment the cool, disdainful mask slipped, and his face—her husband’s face—was the same one that had smiled down at her in church on that awful day she’d had to make good on her promise, the day she’d become Lady Welford. A caring face. A face that had made her wonder how she could have been so foolish and shortsighted.
    Too bad the caring had been mere illusion.
    “Your father is ill?”
    She nodded. “It’s his heart. He can’t even put on his vestments without pausing to catch his breath, or step into the pulpit without help. The doctors have bled him but the dropsy is only growing worse. They say he doesn’t have long left.”
    Welford ran a hand over his jaw. “What can I do?”
    He sounded sincere. So he wasn’t completely heartless, then. “He’s asked to see me one last time, and I want to go to him. But...I need you to come with me.”
    Her husband’s hand dropped to the bed. “Let me guess,” he said, his sarcastic drawl returning. “You never told him why you married me, or that we’ve been living separate lives. He’s spent the past five years convinced you’re the ideal wife.”
    “How could I tell him?” she flared hotly, stung that Welford had so quickly divined the truth. “He’s the best, kindest, most principled man in England. He’s devoted his entire life to the Church. And he loves me. It would break his heart to know—”
    “That you betrayed me from the first night of our life together?”
    She flushed. “That I made a mistake in accepting you.”
    “You ran away to another