Marquess of Malice (Lords of Scandal 2)

“I’ve already told you what I’ll need.” He sat up then. “I need an heir. And I’ve agreed that I will not leave you in the country, we will remain together as a committed couple. A concession on my part considering my past.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, her long lashes resting on her cheeks. “You’ll need more than an heir. I do believe that you will need my affection. It’s the only thing that heals wounds like you have.”

She didn’t open her eyes but he started to speak several times and then stopped again. Was she serious? Her solution was to give him more affection? Part of him rebelled. He’d only hurt her. But another deeper part cried that she was right. The only solution was to bask in the glow of her affection.

He’d have to work doubly hard to keep up some barriers between them. If he didn’t, he’d only hurt her in the end, or even worse, wound their child, when he couldn’t return the sentiment they so willingly gave.

* * *

Three days passed without incident. More precisely, Cordelia reflected, not one single thing of any interest whatsoever had happened. She let out a loud sigh that no one heard, of course. She’d been in her room. Alone.

That wasn’t entirely true. Her sisters had been in and out for several visits but they were busy and their stays were often brief.

Diana was acting strange to be certain, disappearing for large chunks of time, and Grace kept a full social calendar.

At least another letter had arrived from Emily. The couple was on their way home to explain their elopement. Relief flooded Cordelia at the knowledge their eldest sister was returning home. As she’d married an earl, her mother would most definitely forgive the offense and already planned to host another English ceremony to see the union recognized. Her father was furious but he’d come around. Her mother would see to that.

Cordelia picked at the covers and, finding them stifling, tossed them off and climbed gingerly from the bed. She was tired of laying around doing nothing.

The ache in her hand was slowly receding, which was nice, but she still couldn’t use the blasted thing for much.

Crossing the room, she pulled the cord to call her maid. She desperately needed a bath and to dress in real clothing. And she needed to find people, or if everyone was occupied, lose herself in a story. She could read one, or have someone help her to write?

An hour later, she was dressed in a simple high-waisted gown of French cotton in a soft pink color. It was one of her favorite shades, bringing color to her face. The dress made her feel fresher even if her arm ached.

Picking up the quill with her left hand, she sat for an hour, not writing her story but making notes about the next several scenes. She knew the story was about her courtship with Chad but what she hadn’t decided was whether or not the ending would mimic the truth. Despite her feelings, she doubted Chad would ever profess his undying love. Would her heroine get the happily ever after that Cordelia might never experience?

Her thoughts, along with the laborious task, soon sapped her of energy and she pushed back from the desk. All the same, she was satisfied with the results. She used the feather tip of the quill and brushed it along her cheek as she pictured Chad. He hadn’t been to see her since he’d left the morning after her injury.

H

is absence did little to improve her mood. She should be happy—she was engaged—but the truth was, she was far from secure in the knowledge. She’d meant what she’d said. She would try her best to heal his past.

But she needed to actually see him and spend time with him in order to do that. And his absence made her doubt his word. Would he change his mind and ship her off to the country to live alone after they were married? Perhaps, she’d made a mistake after all.

Rising again, she left her room and headed toward the family salon.

She could hear feminine voices floating down the hall and she stopped for just a moment to listen to her mother and sisters.

“I dare say, I can’t believe how quickly this has all happened,” Grace said, her voice rising higher. “A few days ago I didn’t think Cordelia even liked the man.”

Cordelia pressed her lips together to keep from making noise then covered her mouth with her hand. They were discussing her.

“What’s not to like,” her mother replied. “He’s handsome in his own way and well-titled.”

“Mother.” Grace clicked her tongue. “There’s more than a title to a good marriage.”

“Don’t tell me what makes a good match. I’m a married woman with four children.”

Cordelia had to smile at that, her hand dropping from her mouth. She walked toward the door to enter, meaning to join the conversation that was, after all, about her.

“Well, all the same, do you really think that he’s the right man for Cordelia?” Grace sniffed. “She’s sensitive, you know, even if she doesn’t say it.”

Cordelia stopped in the doorway. Diana was there too and she dropped her crochet, her eyes looking up in thought. “He is protective of her. I’ll give him that.”

Her mother nodded. “And he’s clearly invested in the wedding preparation.”

Cordelia stopped cold. “What does that mean?”