She shook her head from side to side, then rose from her chair and raced across the room. She threw open the door and ran from the room.
“Nella,” he called, then followed her. He didn’t catch her until she entered the library and collapsed into a chair. “What? Why are you crying? What have I done?”
She retrieved a handkerchief and wiped the tears from her face. “I don’t deserve your kindness, James. I don’t deserve you being so lovely to me, so agreeable. Not after what I did to you.”
He sat in the chair next to hers and reached for her hands. He held them in his and gently squeezed her fingers. “Nella, I won’t pretend I’m happy about it, but I know your reason wasn’t intentional. I know you thought only to save me from entrapment.”
“Nothing worked out the way I thought it would, James. I never thought to force you into marrying me.”
“I know you didn’t, Nella. But, it’s too late to cry over spilled milk. We need to make the best of the cards we’ve been dealt.”
James prayed for the crying to stop. It helped nothing, and just made both of them feel worse.
“Do you know how special you are, James?” she asked as she wiped the tears that ran down her face.
A damn of guilt cracked somewhere inside him. Special? Him? Hardly.
He strove for a light-hearted tone.
“Of course I do, Nella. You’ve told me several times and I refuse to think you’d lie to me.”
She smiled and he patted her hands. It was awkward. He’d made it awkward. Because he’d given little thought to her fears and conducted himself only in neutral ways, ways designed to make her comfortable within the box he wanted her to live in.
James rose. “I have more work to do, Nella. Will you be all right?”
She gave him a smile, although the cheer wasn’t reflected in her eyes.
“Yes, James. I’ll say goodnight.”
She rose and left before he could form another thought.
She would be all right. She’d said so, hadn’t she?
James went back to his study to work on his ledgers.
He didn’t want her to feel bad about what had happened on that night that started the whole debacle. He thought of what a hectic life with someone like Lady Blanche would be compared to the genteel life he was experiencing with Nella and it startled him. Other than having a wife with a marvelous figure, he could think of no other benefits. But life with Nella?
Well, it was certainly more congenial than he could ever have imagined.
Chapter 7
Nella sat down at the piano and lost all track of time. It’s what she did when she was frustrated. When she needed to take her anger or annoyance out on something. Or someone. Except the only person with whom she was angry was herself.
Why was he being so nice? Why would he act the way he had? Agreeing to anything she requested. Supporting her with whatever she wanted: her desire to go into the village, her request for a horse to ride, her entreaty to deliver any letters she wrote to her family and friends, her suggestion to invite some friends for a country stay. Anything she wanted. As if he was eager to grant her every desire.
She pounded the keys as she played the most stormy piece in her repertoire. Then, she continued with a similarly thunderous piece. Nothing pianissimo or dolce would be among her choices today.
“Are you angry at someone?” he asked from the doorway.
Nella stopped playing and placed her hands in her lap.
“Me, perhaps?” he asked, stepping inside the room. He closed the door after himself.
“No. Myself.”
“Ah,” he said stepping up to her.
“Ah, what?”
“Ah, that explains everything.”
Nella looked up at him, knowing his nearness would cause her heart to spiral. “It explains nothing! Stop pretending that you understand me. That you know me. When you don’t. You don’t know the first thing about me. And if you did, you wouldn’t have the first thing to do with me.”
“Why would that be?”
Nella rose from the piano bench and moved to escape his closeness. She lifted a decanter and poured some of the contents into a glass. Before she could change her mind, she took a swallow and nearly choked.
He came up beside her and lifted another decanter and poured some of its contents into a glass. “Here. Drink this instead.”
She took the glass from his hand and drank. It was wine. She recognized the taste and liked it much better. She was sure she could get drunk on wine as easily as she could on that other disgusting intoxicant.
“Come, sit down.”
He brought the two decanters with him as he followed her to the sofa. He sat down beside her and placed the decanters on the table in front of them.
“Now, why are you angry at yourself?”
Nella lifted her glass and drank a long swallow. “It doesn’t matter,” she said taking another swallow.
Her glass was nearly empty and he refilled it.
“Why are you as you are?”
“Now, that’s a complicated question. Probably for the same reason you are as you are.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No doubt because your question was not a question.”
“It was, too.”
“No, it was an accusation. As if you don’t like the way I am.”
Nella looked at him and a part of her melted. His bloody handsome face was serene. There wasn’t one feature that she could find fault with, from his high cheekbones, to the square cut of his jaw, to the cleft in his chin, to his dark, penetrating eyes and his expressive brows.
Even his personality was near perfect. He was always kind to her even when she did not deserve it.
She lowered her gaze to her rounding figure, her thick arms and her never-been-willowy legs. She had nothing to recommend herself. Nothing.
She drank the rest of the wine he’d poured for her. She didn’t deserve to be his wife. She’d compromised him whether she’d intended to or not. And everyone would always know it. She would live with the shame of what she’d done for the rest of her life.
As he would live with regret for the rest of his life because of what she’d done.
She lifted her glass to her mouth, but it was empty.
He filled it for her.
“Why are you trying to lose yourself in drink?”
“I’m not,” she said taking another swallow. “I won’t.”
“I’ll remind you of that in the morning.”
He leaned back in the sofa and stretched his arm around her shoulders.
“Don’t,” Nella ordered and shrugged her shoulders to dislodge his arm.
“Don’t what?”
“Don be nice to me.”
“Is sitting on the sofa with my wife being too nice to you?”
“Yesh, you know it is.” She emptied her wine glass again. Her head was spinning and her vision blurred.
“Why is that?”
“’cause I don desherve it. Because you dinna even know who I was ‘til I…”
“You what?”
“Nothing.”
“No, Nella. You what?”
“If we wonna been found together.”
“But we were.”
“And I’m so shorry.”