She blinked, taken aback by the sudden hard edge to his voice. ‘His name, for a start.’
‘Matthew.’
‘Oh.’ She waited, but he didn’t volunteer any more information. ‘Well then, I look forward to meeting him tonight.’
Robert nodded, though his expression remained tense. ‘There’s just one more thing. I need to go to London in the morning.’
‘So soon?’
‘I have some business that can’t wait.’
‘Oh.’ She forced herself to smile placidly. After all, this was what he wanted, a sensible wife who wouldn’t interfere with his business affairs. Even if they were only just married. ‘How long will you be gone?’
‘Three days at the most. I’d invite you to come with me, but there won’t be much time for sightseeing.’
‘No, of course.’ She battled an unexpected feeling of hurt. Not that she wanted to go with him, but apparently he didn’t want her to go either, not even for a brief pretence of a honeymoon. ‘Then I’ll see you at dinner.’
‘Very well.’ He nodded with a look of satisfaction before walking back towards the door. ‘Dinner’s at eight.’
He left the room, and she flung herself backwards, sprawling across the bed in a confused state of relief and resentment. But at least she was in her own room, in her own home. Whatever else she felt, she was finally safe. Safe from Sir Charles and her past—sensible, respectable and married. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she could finally relax. Now all she needed was a nap, a brief rest before she went downstairs and introduced herself properly to Mrs Baxter.
She could feel herself drifting off to sleep already.
Just a nap...
Chapter Ten
Robert stood by the drawing-room fireplace, swilling a tumbler of whisky in one hand as he waited for Ianthe to come down to dinner.
All in all, he felt satisfied with the events of the day. Despite a rocky start, everything had proceeded almost exactly as he’d planned. After he’d brought his new bride home, he’d walked down to the shipyard and made an announcement to his stunned workforce, before giving them the rest of the day off as a holiday. Then he’d done some paperwork, made a tour of the workshops, inspected the hull of his new vessel and finally come home to change. Not bad for a day’s work. So why was he so anxious about seeing her again?
He tossed his head back, swallowing the contents of his glass in one gulp.
Love has nothing to do with it!
Strange how much those words had bothered him. It wasn’t the first time he’d overheard her say something indiscreet on a train, but this time he really wished that he hadn’t. He ought to have applauded the sentiment, ought to have been pleased by her businesslike approach, but instead he’d felt an inexplicable feeling of hurt. Not that he expected her love. He neither wanted nor needed it. He wasn’t accustomed to the emotion, had never heard the words, not even from his own mother, yet to hear the truth expressed so bluntly, so unexpectedly when he’d actually been eager—eager!—to see her again, had made his chest ache in a way that he hadn’t anticipated.
He’d reacted sternly, half-expecting her to call off the wedding there and then, though she’d actually seemed more concerned that he might have changed his mind. Clearly she’d taken his lack of attention over the past three months to signal an equal lack of interest, though in fact the very opposite was true. Much as he hated to admit it, he’d done little but think of her.
The way she’d accepted his proposal had bothered him ever since he’d left her on her aunt’s doorstep. He’d thought about it at length—during meetings, on journeys, in the middle of the night—though he still hadn’t been able to fathom the motive behind it. The more he’d thought of it, however, the more convinced he’d become that it hadn’t simply been wedding jitters, that something had happened to make her say yes.
Once again, his suspicions had fallen on Sir Charles, though discreet enquiries had revealed that he hadn’t been seen in Pickering since the night of the ball, had in fact left for London soon after. Other enquiries had drawn an equal blank. There seemed to be no obvious reason for her bizarre behaviour, but he’d kept away precisely to avoid asking questions. If he’d seen her, he would have been tempted to pry and he’d had a feeling that pushing her was the very worst thing he could do.
So he’d been deliberately neglectful instead, wanting to give her time to recover from whatever it was that had panicked her, time to calm down and reconsider if necessary. If she changed her mind, he’d told her she had only to write to him. No matter what his ambitions for the shipyard, he wanted a willing wife, not a frightened one.
Ironic, then, that he’d actually wanted to see her. To kiss her again, too, though his mind shied away from the implications of that. More than once, he’d considered boarding the train to Pickering, but common sense had prevailed. As bad as it might appear, staying away for so long, he hadn’t wanted to mislead her. Their kiss had been the result of a passing physical attraction, plain and simple. It hadn’t meant—and it certainly didn’t promise—anything more. The longer he left her alone, the better they’d both understand that.
Even so, her appearance that morning had come as a shock, her pallid skin and red-rimmed eyes giving her the appearance of someone who’d been sick, not eagerly anticipating her wedding. She definitely wasn’t pregnant. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a tinier waist. In retrospect, he concluded, perhaps keeping away for three months hadn’t been one of his better ideas. What the hell had happened?
On the other hand, she’d seemed overjoyed by the sight of her new bedroom that afternoon. At least he’d managed to do one thing right...
He glanced up as the scamper of running feet in the hall provided a welcome distraction.
‘Matthew?’
‘Yes, sir?’ A small, mischievous-looking face peered around the door.
‘Where were you this morning?’ He beckoned the boy inside. ‘You were supposed to be here when Mrs Felstone arrived.’