He shook his head. “That was not what I planned to say. I wanted to point out that our marriage was not really that sort of marriage.”
“The sort where people see each other?” She knew she was making this difficult for him, but he did not seem inclined to give her answers unless she pushed and prodded.
“I thought when we agreed to wed, you understood the conditions,” he said.
“I understand you don’t want to share a bed,” she said, knowing that was quite forward and willing her cheeks not to color. She felt them heat anyway. “I’m not asking you to come to bed with me.” Unless he wanted to. “I just want to be friends. I’ll settle for acquaintances at this point.”
He turned away from her then, his movements somewhat stiff as usual, but she thought some of the stiffness must certainly be due to his discomfort with the conversation.
“Why does the notion of a friendship between us make you uncomfortable?” she asked.
“It doesn’t,” he said, still not looking at her. Unfortunately, that meant she had little choice but to admire his backside. His shirt was not wet in the back, but without a coat, she had a lovely view of his bottom. It was nicely rounded and probably quite firm under those dark trousers. He glanced at her, and she pretended to be staring at the painted screen. A large bird with outstretched wings spread over the panels. And the bird seemed to be on fire. A Phoenix?
“Amelia, I’m not sure it’s wise for us to become friends.”
“Why not?”
“I think you know why not,” he said, and this time he allowed his gaze to travel to the swell of her breasts. Her nipples hardened just at his look, and she had to take a shaky breath before he looked away.
“We are both adults,” she said, her voice low and somewhat breathy. “I am certain we can behave as such.”
Though why they should need to if he wanted her and she wanted him and they were married was a mystery to her. Except, of course, if he wanted her against his better judgement. She was, after all, most likely pregnant with another man’s child.
“Nicholas,” she said before he could begin giving her reasons they should not spend time together. “I have spent most of my life caring for others. I don’t regret one day I spent with my grandmother or my father. I would not trade them for anything.”
“That’s very noble of you.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t noble. It was duty and my pleasure. My mother needed my help. When my grandmother was ill, I was young and did not know what I was missing. But with my father, I knew once I reached a certain age, I would never have a Season, never be a debutante, never go to Vauxhall Gardens or Covent Garden. I wouldn’t trade the time I spent with him.”
“You can still do all of those things.”
“Of course, but I can’t reclaim my youth. I sacrificed it for the people I loved, but even love doesn’t remove the drudgery of wiping brows and making broth and emptying chamber pots. Six months ago, I lost my father. I would have mourned him for months or even years, but he told me he didn’t want that. He wanted me to live the life I hadn’t been able to with all the responsibilities of caring for him. I finally had permission to spend all day walking with Sweetie if I wanted or dance all night or sleep until noon.” She looked down at her slippered feet. “Admittedly, I let the freedom go a bit far. And that’s why you and I are here.”
“One can hardly blame you, I think.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “I hoped you would think that way because I don’t want to lose any more of my life, not when there’s no reason to do so.” She spread her hands. “I want to live every day to the fullest. I want to experience all that there is in the world. And if we are not to be lovers, I respect that, but why can’t we be friends? Why can’t we experience the world together?”
“Because I can’t,” he said, the sharpness in his tone making her jump. “You may be free of your burdens now, but I will never be free.”
“I don’t understand.”
He blew out an angry breath. “I can’t go on long walks. I can’t dance with you at Vauxhall Gardens. I can’t even go to Town without my leg feeling like it’s on fire and causing me excruciating pain for days. My world is right here.” He gestured to the chamber. “I have no freedom any longer.”
Amelia felt a sudden pang of concern. He had just gone to London to obtain the special license. Was he still in pain from that journey? “Are you hurting now?” she asked, moving toward him. “I didn’t realize how much a journey to London would hurt you.”
“Don’t.” He held up his hands, keeping her back. “I don’t want your pity.”
“This isn’t pity. This is the same concern I would have for anyone in pain.”
He eyed her warily, as though he didn’t quite believe her. “It’s better now. Tolerable.”
“Good. Then I needn’t feel bad for scolding you.” Her hands went to her hips. “What a pile of utter rubbish you just spewed.”
His brows rose. “Pardon me?”
“No, I won’t. You act as though your life is over, and why? Because your legs have been injured? My father couldn’t move the lower two-thirds of his body, and he never gave up. You can do anything you want, anything you set your mind to do—yes, even dance. It may not be the dancing you used to do, but you could dance in your own fashion.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about.”
“You just want others to feel sorry for you.”
“No. Not at all. That’s exactly what I don’t want.”
“Then stop feeling sorry for yourself. I don’t pity you or feel sorry for you. You have your life. Thousands of men never came home from that war.”
His blue eyes turned icy. “I am the last person who needs to be reminded of that, my lady.”
“Good. Then stop behaving as though your life is over and join me in the garden tomorrow morning.” She turned on her heel to the door between their rooms. “Ten o’clock sharp. And if you are late, I will come and find you.” She marched back through the door and turned back to close it, but Nicholas slammed it shut before she could manage it. She heard the lock turn and his muttered curses on the other side. For some reason, that made her smile.
THE WOMAN WAS MAD. That much was clear. He should have listened to his mother when she told him marrying Amelia Blackstock was a mistake. The chit was wild, she’d said. He would regret it, she’d said.
Nicholas, being the son of the Marquess of Averstow, could have found a reason to cry off—duty or no duty. He hadn’t wanted to cry off. Obviously, he’d allowed a pretty face and a lovely figure to cloud his better judgement.
Actually, what had mostly clouded his judgement was that kiss they’d shared in the stable. He hadn’t felt that way after kissing a woman since—he didn’t think he’d ever felt that way after kissing a woman.
So he’d let lust get the better of him, and now he was leg-shackled to a harridan. A Xantippe. A shrew who demanded he join her in the garden the next morning. What did she have planned? A hike through the countryside? Would he have to fall on his face to prove to her he couldn’t do it?