///
She might have been able to find some contentment in the delicious food. Unfortunately, she had no appetite. Unable to do more than pick at the meal, she slid little bits around here and there, so no one would suspect she was barely touching her food.
Jack noticed, however, his mouth disapproving as he glanced over at her plate. "Why aren't you eating?"
"I'm not hungry."
He shared a smile with one of his cousins, who raised his glass in a silent cheer. Then he bent his head toward her. "I find that hard to believe. Particularly since I understand you didn't take so much as a cup of tea this morning before the ceremony."
"I wasn't hungry then either."
"Have a few bites anyway. You're pale enough already. We don't need you fainting as well."
She sent him an insincere smile. "Not to worry, my lord. I won't do anything to embarrass you."
"This has nothing to do with embarrassing me. I don't want you ill."
"I'm quite well," she lied.
He ate a forkful of kipper. She couldn't help but grimace as he chewed the delicate fish. Washing it down with a draught of wine, he patted his mouth dry on his napkin. "You aren't with child, are you?" he asked in an offhand tone, low enough that no one else could hear.
"No!" she shot back, her startled gaze flashing to his. "Most certainly not."
How dare he ask me something like that, here in front of all our friends and family!
He studied her with probing azure eyes. "You're sure? It's only been a few days since-"
"Quite sure." Blood pumped swiftly in her veins. Smiling sweetly for anyone who might be watching, she reached for her own glass of wine, then drank, hoping the spirits would ease some of her irritation. Steadier, she set down the glass.
"At least that put some color in your cheeks," Jack remarked. "I think you could use a little more, though."
Without giving her time to consider what he meant, Jack leaned across and kissed her, taking her lips with a familiar, sultry demand that sent sparks of pleasure whizzing through her system.
At first, she sat motionless, too stunned to react. Breathing in the intoxicating scent of his skin, her eyelids fluttered downward, and for a few brief moments, she kissed him back. But suddenly memories of the divide between them came rushing back. Eyes popping wide, she broke their kiss.
Reaching up, he smoothed the edge of his finger over one burning cheek. "That's better," he murmured softly. "Healthy and pink. Now, why don't you eat a few bites of your meal and prove to me that you don't have morning sickness after all?"
Only the knowledge that everyone in the room must be sending them looks kept her from giving him a good hard box to his ears.
Apparently aware of the violent direction of her thoughts, he arched a warning eyebrow. Forced to restrain herself, she curved her fingers into a fist on the arm of her chair.
Leaning back in his seat, he lifted his wineglass again and drank. Some of the male guests tossed out a few ribald comments. Nodding, Jack sent them a good-natured grin.
Her throat tight, she stared at her plate, wishing she could toss her napkin onto the table and storm out of the room. But that option was denied her today. Only a few hours more, she reminded herself, and she would be able to stop this playacting. Until then, there was no choice but to keep pretending she was a blissfully happy new bride. Tipping her head at an intimate angle, she leaned toward him. "You are detestable," she whispered.
"Eat your breakfast, Grace."
"Or what?"
He gave her a long look that dared her to find out.
Lowering her lashes to conceal a glare, she stabbed a small piece of ham, put it in her mouth and chewed.
"Have another," he suggested, when she was done.
Her fingers clenched against her fork, but at length, she obeyed.
"The almond biscuit with the cream on top is quite good," he remarked in a gentle tone. "I'd try it next, if I were you."
She was about to refuse when her stomach gave a very distinct, yet luckily inaudible, growl. To her consternation, she realized she was hungry. Ravenous, in fact.
Nonetheless, the idea of giving in to his tyranny went against every instinct inside her. Better to go hungry, she thought, than to give him even an iota's worth of satisfaction.
And yet, by refusing to eat, whom was she really hurting?
A full minute passed while a battle raged inside her. Staring down at the suddenly appetizing fare on her plate, she abruptly decided that hunger trumped pride. Let him gloat if he wished. What did it matter?
///
Still, she started with a tiny orange cake instead of the almond, the pastry melting like ambrosia against her tongue.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile.
"I hate you, you know," she whispered.
His smile faded. "Enjoy your meal. It's going to be a long day yet before we can depart."
Knowing he was right, she dug into her food.
Hours later, cheers and congratulations rang out from the crowd of well-wishers gathered to see Jack and Grace off on their journey.
After assisting his new wife into the coach, he climbed in and took a seat next to her. A footman put up the coach steps and closed the door. Less than a minute later, they were on their way, both he and Grace leaning forward to call out a last good-bye. Through the window, he watched his mother wipe a tear from the corner of her eye before she waved her handkerchief, her face wreathed in smiles.
The house disappeared swiftly from view. The instant it was out of sight, Grace stood and moved to the seat opposite. Settling herself as far away from him as possible, she turned her head and gazed out the window.
He sighed.
This is going to be a delightful honeymoon. One month of newly wedded hell.
Deciding there was no point trying to coax her out of her sulks for now, he gazed out his own window. Good thing he'd packed a few books. Based on present circumstances, he would be enjoying lots of quiet time alone.
He knew she had a right to be angry, and he would give her some latitude in venting her disappointment and distress. But angry or not, they were married now, and they would have to find a way to deal with each other.
In the meantime, perhaps he should catch up on his sleep. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes.
How dare he sleep, Grace thought ten minutes later. Shooting him a fulminating glare, she considered scooting close enough to kick him, but decided the act was unworthy.
Everything about this situation is unworthy. Of both him and me.
She knew her anger was doing neither of them any good, but she couldn't let it go. Not now. Not yet. Because deep inside she knew that if she stopped hating him for what he'd done, there would be nothing left between them at all.
Wiping away a tear, she gazed out the window at the passing landscape, the late-afternoon sun winking off the snow-covered fields like hidden diamonds. She stared at them until her eyes hurt. Squeezing her eyelids tight, she tucked her face against the luxurious upholstery and wished for oblivion.
A few minutes later, the rhythmic movement of the coach did its work and sent her to sleep.
Burying her face against his shoulder, she snuggled closer. Warm and relaxed, she was content in a way she hadn't been in days.
"Jack," she sighed, still caught inside her dreams.
"Hmm hmm," he murmured in the low, rich tone she loved. "Keep sleeping. I'll carry you inside."
How nice. But why was Jack carrying her? Scowling, she came partially awake.
What had he said about going inside? Inside where?
Just as his arms began to slide beneath her knees, she roused, jerking against him. "What are you doing? Where are we?"
"We're at the cottage. I'm helping you out of the coach."
Remembering everything, she smacked at his hands. "I don't need your help. Let me go."
He sighed. "Grace. Don't be like this."
"Like what?" Awake now, as if he'd dumped a bucket of snow over her head, she stiffened and struggled against him. "I told you not to touch me. What part of that do you not understand?"
His gaze met hers for a long moment, his jaw rigid. Abruptly, he set her back down on the seat and climbed out of the coach.
She took a minute to collect herself before following, allowing the footman to help her down, since Jack was no longer in sight. Standing cold and stiff with residual sleepiness, she gazed at the night-shrouded cottage. Even in the darkness, she was able to make out its quaint shape and size. Ordinarily, she would have found it charming. Tonight, it only made her sad. Sighing, she walked inside.
The house was warm, courtesy of the cozy fire burning in a large stone fireplace in the main room. On the opposite side of the central hallway stood a small study, with a dining room and kitchen taking up the rear.