20
When Dante had told her that they would spend their entire honeymoon in bed, Lydia had laughed. However, it turned out he hadn’t been joking, and they truly did not put on a stitch of clothing for three solid days. ‘Twas too bad she’d spent so much time choosing what to pack for their trip.
They made love in bed, ate their meals in bed, read to each other in bed, played cards and chess in bed—Dante had thought of everything—and talked about their lives up to the point where they’d met, in bed. They did manage to get out of the bed to take a few baths, but they did it together and ended up making a mess on the floor each time since Dante thought the warm water of the bath would be great for making love.
He paid the maid the first day she came to clean the room to not come back until they checked out. Lydia had been almost embarrassed to leave the hotel, sure all the staff were talking about them.
But it had been, without a doubt, the best three days of her life.
They sat next to each other, holding hands as the carriage pulled away from the hotel and headed to Hunt’s townhouse. Despite their rigorous activities, Lydia felt anything but tired. A tad sore, perhaps, but otherwise she was ready to begin her new life.
“Do you have more residences for us to look at as a potential lease?”
Dante squeezed her hand. “No. Only those few I’ve already looked at. How do you feel about living in London all year? Because of the Rose Room, I need to stay in Town.” He shifted to look at her. “I know you left every year to either visit friends or reside at your father’s estate in the country.”
She gave his question some thought. London was a horrible place to be in the summertime when the smells and heat could choke one. “I guess I never gave it much thought, since it was something I did automatically. But it doesn’t matter since it’s necessary for us to say here.”
“I could purchase a small estate in the country that you could retire to each summer.”
Alarm bells went off in her head and the deep feeling of contentment slowly faded. Did he want her out of London so he could return to his rakish ways? Would he be willing to spend the money on a house he would never visit? Just to keep her out of the way?
“What are you thinking, my love? You look upset.”
“Nothing.” She attempted a smile. She would never tell him her thoughts. They’d made love numerous times but he never once uttered the words she wanted to hear. A married man never visited other women’s beds if he loved his wife. Did he love her?
She hated to think about becoming a jealous suspicious wife, but her confidence had dipped just a tad. She shrugged her shoulders. “It matters not if I stay in London. Perhaps it’s not as bad as I’ve heard.”
Once the words left her mouth she studied him carefully. Did he look disappointed? Annoyed?
She had to stop this craziness, because that’s what it was. Then her mind continued to torture her. Dante spent time around other women by merely working in the club. And not the best sort of women, either. And what about all his past lovers? Wouldn’t they expect him to resume his old ways since many married men continued to maintain a mistress?
The lovely breakfast they’d eaten before leaving the hotel threatened to make a re-appearance on her shoes. Once again she told herself this entire line of thinking was ridiculous and she had to turn her thoughts from it.
“I would like to continue working at the club.” Now where had that statement come from? Was it because she wanted a sense of contributing, or was she hoping to keep an eye on her husband?
“No.”
She stiffened, suspicion raising its ugly head again. “Why not?”
“Now that I am back to work, Driscoll can return to his duties, and we won’t need you.”
She felt as though he’d slapped her in the face. He couldn’t have said anything worse. We don’t need you. Like in I don’t need you?
She turned her head to look out the window, the quickly appearing tears she refused to release almost choking her.
“Lydia?” Dante placed his finger under her chin and turned her head toward him.
Oh, God, please don’t let these tears fall. “Wh__” She cleared her throat of the frog that had taken up residence. “What?”
“Something is troubling you.”
She tightened
her lips and shook her head. And to her dismay one tear dripped down her face. Angrily, she swiped it away. Mad at him, mad at herself and mostly mad at what a cake she was making of herself. Another tear broke loose. She drew in a shuddering breath, and then the floodgates opened.
Dante drew her into his arms and rested his chin on her head. “What’s wrong, Lydia? Is it working at the club? If you feel that strongly about it, perhaps you could work on the books again. Driscoll could probably use a night off on a regular basis.”
She pulled back, wiping her cheeks. “Truly?”