Caro had supposed herself to be the only one in danger of losing herself to old emotions, but should she take his outburst as a sign that Val might harbor more tender feelings for her than she’d imagined? It was tempting to think so, but what if she’d read the situation incorrectly and he was merely reacting out of wounded pride? “I wasn’t trying to insult you,” she said carefully, not quite sure how to smooth over his pique. “I merely wished to let you know that—”
“That you will be happy to look the other way while I take untold numbers of lovers over the course of our marriage,” he interrupted. The bitterness in his voice was a stark reminder of the Val she’d seen before their betrothal. Since their first meeting at Effie’s house, he’d relaxed around her more and more, returning to the easygoing man she’d once known. His attitude now, however, was like a door closing in her face. “I believe I took your meaning, my lady. There is nothing wrong with my understanding.”
She’d hurt him, Caro realized. She was sure of it. In her attempt to guard her own feelings, she’d selfishly hurt his. But before she could formulate an apology, the carriage rolled to a stop.
Not wanting to send him into their wedding breakfast in his current mood, she did what she could to make amends. Before the coachman could open the door, Caro put a hand on Val’s arm, hoping he wouldn’t rip away from her. “I’m sorry if I hurt you with my rash words, Val. There’s no time to explain now, but I can assure you I had no intention of—”
“As you say, we’ve arrived, Lady Wrackham,” he interrupted, though she was relieved to see his posture had relaxed slightly. His refusal to meet her eyes, however, only heightened her anxiety.
“Now,” he said, glancing between the carriage window and her, “we mustn’t go into our wedding breakfast looking as if we’ve been arguing.”
Considering how her parents would react to such a sight, she nodded her agreement.
“I know hiding your emotions isn’t what you’re accustomed to”—his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes—“but you’ll need to at least make a show of happiness when we go in.”
You’d be surprised at how good I am at concealing what I feel.
But there was no more time.
“Of course I can,” she said aloud.
Then, fearing she may have just done irreparable damage to their marriage before it was even an hour old, Caro allowed him to hand her down from the carriage and prepared herself to fool the people she loved most into thinking she was happy.
* * *
Val should have known better than to let himself relax. During the ceremony he’d even felt happy, for God’s sake. That hadn’t happened in well over a year.
He wasn’t sure what he had expected from Caro. Nothing in her brave little speech had been wrong. Theirs hadn’t begun as a love match. But the affection between them had given him hope they could build a relationship that would stand the test of time.
Of course, he hadn’t expected Caro to boldly tell him she didn’t give a hang if he broke his vows. Especially not minutes after they’d exchanged them. He’d meant every word of what he’d declared back in St. George’s. He would remain faithful to her for the rest of their lives.
He knew he’d reacted badly. But he’d been so insulted—and unaccountably hurt—by what she said that hiding his reaction had been impossible. Which, truthfully, wasn’t like him. Only, he’d been behaving out of character ever since that first meeting at Half Moon Street. Something about Caro prevented him from hiding his emotions behind his usual veneer of civility. Where she was concerned, he was a bundle of uncontrolled chaos.
But given her apology, perhaps her permission to stray was a preemptive protection in the event that he did intend to break their vows? He’d shown her his willingness to defend her from his family, but he hadn’t given any indication that this marriage was more than one of convenience.
All these thoughts ran through his mind as, after the formal meal, Val smiled, shook hands, and accepted congratulations from far more guests than he’d thought could possibly have received invitations in the short time between the betrothal announcement and the wedding. He’d underestimated the determination of Lady Lavinia and his mother to make their wedding the event of the season.
“Only married a few scant hours,” Langham drawled beside him, “and already grinning like a besotted fool.”
If only he knew, Val thought wryly. “I believe one is allowed to smile at one’s wedding, Langham,” he said. “Indeed, if I did not, I fear my bride would regret her decision to accept my offer most heartily.”
“Since your bride has been looking your way,” Langham said with a nod in Caro’s direction, “as if she believes you will begin rending your clothes and moaning like Hamlet’s ghost any moment, I think she may already have done so.”
Val jerked his head to where Caro was standing with Kate and was startled to see that she was indeed watching him with a worried expression. Regretting his harsh words in the carriage, he smiled and hoped she would read in it the apology he intended. The tightness in her shoulders relaxed and she gave him a shy smile in return.
“I’ve never seen a quarrel made up via a series of glances,” Langham said, his voice tinged with awe, “but damned if you haven’t just managed it. I suppose it’s how some cultures do all their communicating, though I’m not sure I could pull it off myself.”
“Is there a reason you’re here?” Val retrieved a glass of champagne from a passing footman.
“You invited me,” Langham reminded him with a scowl. “And I was gracious enough to accept, though you chose not to ask me to stand up with you. I really think you will come to regret choosing a policeman over a duke when you look back on this day.”
“I’m a detective inspector.” Eversham had come to stand on Val’s other side. “You wouldn’t like it if I called you a baronet, would you?”
Langham’s eyes widened. “Is that the equivalent?”
Eversham nodded.
The duke didn’t seem particularly upset by his faux pas, however. “I had no idea you lot had such an affection for rank. Though I suppose I can respect it. I wouldn’t allow a baronet to wax my boots.”
“I should be grateful you deem viscounts worthy of friendship.” Val raised his glass to the duke. “Though it does make me wonder what you must have thought when I was a mere lord.”
“A duke’s son is still of greater worth than a baronet,” Langham said blithely, with no apparent shame at his snobbery. “Why even bother with the title? It’s so negligible as to be worthless.”
“Except, of course,” Eversham said mildly, “for no title at all. Should all us commoners simply walk off the nearest cliff en masse?”
“Of course not.” Langham waved his hand generously. “You aren’t a commoner. You’re a detective inspector. Entirely different matter.”
Eversham gave Langham a pained look, but he didn’t respond to the duke’s words. To Val he said, “Have you told her yet?”
“Told whom what?” Langham interrupted.