A Momentary Marriage(13)

It did not take long to hire Mrs. Mitchell and her half-grown son, then pay the apothecary and butcher. Whatever misgivings she might have about marrying Sir James, her spirits grew lighter with every step. The day seemed brighter, warmer, more sweet smelling. She felt wonderfully freed; she had not realized till now how much her father’s debt had weighed on her.

While Mrs. Mitchell and her son worked upstairs, Laura started again on her father’s study. Demosthenes thoroughly investigated every nook and cranny before sprawling in the center of the room and watching her with grave interest. Laura found herself addressing him now and then as she pondered what to toss, what to keep, and what might be worth selling.

As she worked, she thought about the man she was about to marry. Had James really paid off Merton with the intent of pressuring her to agree to his proposal? She had taken his statement at face value. But the fact was, he had done it without any assurance she would be his wife. He could not have forced her to marry him if she chose not to. Perhaps it really had been, as she first thought, an act of kindness—but in that case, it seemed peculiar that he had tried to convince her otherwise.

What if she had misjudged him all these years? Maybe he was not as cold as he wanted everyone to believe. After all, it wasn’t as if he had set out to hurt her eleven years ago. She could hardly fault him for doing whatever he could to save his cousin. The fact that he could have done it in a gentler, kinder manner didn’t make him wicked.

Mrs. Mitchell and son had finished up and returned home to fix supper, and Laura, her work in the study finished, was in the parlor practicing her violin when Demosthenes suddenly raised his head, then jumped up and trotted out of the room. Laura set aside her instrument and followed. She had left the front door open to admit the evening breeze, and the mastiff bounded out, loping across the yard toward James.

James bent to greet the dog, whose dignity had given way to all the wriggling, wagging enthusiasm he had refrained from till now. James smiled, talking to him as he scratched behind Dem’s ears, and even laughed when Dem ended his greeting by giving a full-bodied shake that flapped his jowls wildly and sent saliva flying.

If the ladies of London had thought him handsome before, Laura thought, heaven help them if they could see James’s features now, laughing and warm. As if he’d sensed the thought, James turned toward the door and saw her. He started forward, and as he walked, the laughter faded from his face, revealing his weariness.

“Miss Hinsdale.” James bowed, sweeping off his hat. “I take it you and Dem survived the experience.”

“We had a very nice time. I hope your trip was not too tiring.”

He shrugged. “More boring than anything else. I did little but sit about.”

She didn’t dispute him, though the lines of his face said otherwise. She had seen enough of her father’s patients to recognize pain. But clearly it was not a topic he cared to discuss.

“Please, come in. Will you have some tea?”

“Another cozy family gathering about the kitchen table?”

“No, I thought we would sit in the parlor.” She was determined to remain pleasant. “However, I have made some soup, so if you would like to have a—”

“Miss Hinsdale, there is no need to play nursemaid. I assure you, neither tea nor soup will cure what ails me.”

“I beg your pardon,” she replied in a chilly voice, her earlier cordial feelings about the man having fled. Sir James had an extraordinary ability to irritate. “I did not mean to presume.”

“Egad, don’t turn missish on me now.” They had reached the door of the parlor, and he stopped, propping his shoulder against the doorjamb in a pose of negligent lounging. Laura wondered how much was a pose and how much a need for support.

She crossed her arms. “Perhaps you should delineate the rules of our marriage so I’ll know what is too concerned or too missish. I wouldn’t want to play my role incorrectly.”

Surprisingly, he chuckled and slanted a teasing look at her. “Ah . . . now there you have it. No retreat. No quarter given.”

There it was again, an odd little rippling sensation in her core. Laura turned her face away. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

James grasped her chin between his thumb and fingers, turning her face up so that she looked into his eyes. In this light they were the color of pewter. Her flesh tingled where he touched her, anticipation welling in her chest.

“I have no need for any role from you. I know you, and that is all I ask.” He dropped his hand and took a step back. “I shall put a lump sum of money in a bank account in your name when we return home. That way you’ll have money to buy whatever you like.”