“Go to your wife. Make up. Say things she wants to hear, not the numbskull things you’ve been tossing at her.”
Harris had been right, and he’d wrestled with the idea on the soggy trek home. He needed to make the first move. It was during that long walk that it had smacked him in the face like a wet cloth.
He loved her. He truly did.
It was that simple, and amazing how it all fell into place after he admitted he did not want to spend his life without her. She was his wife, but instead of ordering her to return home, he would woo her. Show her how much he cared and wanted her for his marchioness.
All the reasons he’d given himself as to why he didn’t want to marry and have children seemed like excuses to avoid the commitment when he’d dug deep enough to be honest with himself. His sisters showed no nasty streaks, and he had every reason to believe any child of his would be loved and cared for, because he was nothing like his father in any way. He even found it in his heart to forgive the man. He’d been a miserable human being and had foisted all his anger and disappointment in life on his family. The late Marquess of Campbell was to be pitied.
As they rode through the heavy London traffic, he remembered the curiosity in her face at his sudden arrival at the house. He smiled at the memory of her puzzlement, feeling more lighthearted than he had in days. Hell, in weeks.
Once they came to a stop in front of their townhouse in Mayfair, he jumped from the carriage and turned to assist her. He took her arm and then ascended the steps to a smiling Dobson, who held the door open. “Good afternoon, my lord, my lady.”
“Good afternoon. Please have Cook send in a light repast to the library.” Cam took Bridget’s hand after she was freed of her coat and bonnet. With their fingers intertwined, they walked the short distance from the entrance hall to the library.
Cam led her to the settee in front of the cozy fire and returned to his desk. With the shaft of papers he’d been working on for a couple of days, he joined her. “I have some ideas here.” He took a quick glance at her. “If you like them, that is.”
Bridget continued to stare at him as she took the papers from his hand. “You have been working on this?”
“Yes. As I told you, I want to help. But you are in charge,” he quickly added. He waved at the papers. “These are some ideas about needed furniture and where to obtain it.”
She studied the documents, flipping the pages as she read it all. “Impressive.” She smiled and laid the papers on her lap. “Frankly, I could use the help. I’ve been so busy trying to do everything and remember all that is necessary to get the house up and running that I haven’t had time for much else.”
“Do you have a budget?”
“Budget?”
He tried not to smile. Bridget’s heart was definitely in the right place, but at least she acknowledged that she needed help. After years of managing his various estates and overseeing his stewards and man of business, he had quite a bit of experience and ideas on how to go about setting up the house.
No matter how many mistakes she made, he would still allow her free rein and support her. This was her dream, her project, and he would never again threaten to take it away from her. “Perhaps we can work on one together?”
She seemed relieved. “Yes. That is a good idea. I am quite adept at hiring staff, because I did that duty for my father when he was alive. I might also have some skill in decorating and furnishing, but the finances baffle me. We also need to come up with an idea on how, and who, to approach about donating money. And how to keep the house hidden from unwanted visitors.”
He rested his back against the settee and casually rested his arm along the top. When she didn’t move away, he began playing with the hair that had fallen from her chignon. Bloody hell, even that little bit of contact made him hard.
Take it slow.
They put their heads together while enjoying the light meal Cook sent in and worked out a reasonable budget. He had to try very hard to keep quiet and let her discover things he saw right away.
The long clock in the corner struck seven. They both looked up, surprised. “Oh, my. I had no idea it was that late.”
He took her hand and held to it his mouth, brushing his lips over her knuckles. “Stay for dinner?”
She hopped up and shook out her skirts. “No. I think it best if I return home.”
He climbed to his feet, holding in his temper. “This is your home.”
“Don’t do this, Cam.”
He took in a deep breath. She was right. Rushing her would not serve his purpose. “May I offer a suggestion?”
“What?” Her eyes narrowed.
“It is apparent we need to discuss much more. Also, you will be busy with the contractor. I can help, if you allow me to seek out furnishings. Even though the prior owner left some items, you will need many more beds to accommodate all the women you hope to help.”
“I would accept that.” She stretched. “Can you arrange for your carriage to return me?”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I have never been comfortable with you spending the night in that neighborhood, Bridget.”