Her Favorite Duke (The 1797 Club #2)(52)

He smiled. “Yes.”

She jerked her face toward him. “What in the world is it doing here?”

“Well, I spoke to your maid and asked her what needed to be arranged to be brought from the house to make your more comfortable here. She mentioned how much you enjoyed reading in your favorite chair, so when I wrote to my servants to make the arrangements for our return, I asked that it be fetched. James and your mother agreed, and here it is.”

Her lips parted, and she stared at the chair and back at him. “You did this for me?”

Discomfort crossed his expression. “Yes,” he said softly.

She moved to him, but he took a step back and motioned his hand toward one of the closed doors on either side of the antechamber. “Come, I’ll show you your room.”

She swallowed hard, moved by his kindness, frustrated by his withdrawal. “Very well.”

He opened the door and allowed her to pass through first. She caught her breath as she did so. The room, which she had expected to be stark and plain after years of no use, was instead bright, sunny and painted in her favorite shade of welcoming yellow. Flowers sat on the table before a mirror, but they were not just any flowers. They were lady’s glove, a purple bell flower that she had always adored. Amongst their buds were arrays of sweet honeysuckle, so the room had a warm and welcoming scent.

“You—this cannot be how the room was before I came,” she said. “Because these are all my favorite things.”

He nodded. “As I said, given the circumstances, I wanted to do all I could to make you comfortable. Happy.”

She stepped to him again and this time he remained in place, even though she saw his gaze slide toward the door. She caught his hands before he could manage some kind of escape.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

He groaned and his arms came around her, crushing her to his chest as he drove his tongue into her mouth. She felt his desire, but also his desperation as he pushed her back into the room and up against the edge of the bed. His hips ground into hers and the hard ridge of him pressed into her belly, lighting a fire in her that only he could quench.

Though as much as she wanted this, the fact that it was the only thing he would give her freely was still troubling. As if he sensed her thoughts, he tore his mouth away and stepped back, hands shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he panted.

“Why?” she asked, straightening and smoothing her wrinkled gown.

He shook his head. “It was a long day of travel. I know you’re tired and I should not—”

“I’m not made of glass, Simon,” she said softly. “And the only thing we have truly established in this marriage thus far is how compatible we are when it comes to sex.”

His eyes went wide at how blunt she was.

She shrugged. “Don’t look so surprised. I can say what I see as easily as anyone else. You want me. I want you.”

“You’re a lady and—”

“I’m your wife. And I have needs that you fulfill. As I hope I fulfill yours,” she said, her mind spinning back to what James had said about Simon’s proclivities weeks ago. She still wasn’t certain what to think of that bawdy past she was not meant to know about.

He turned away. “There were no invitations waiting for you, Meg.”

She wrinkled her brow at his change of subject. It only served to heighten her uncertainty about satisfying him. But she wasn’t ready to address that just yet.

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “We didn’t ask Finley if anyone had left anything for me.”

He looked at her slowly. “Finley is as predictable as the sunrise each morning. Whenever I return home, he presents me with my invitations and correspondence immediately. If he didn’t do so, that means there was none.”

She shrugged. “We have only just returned and—”

“You are not invited to events because of me,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly strained. “Because of what I did.”

She pursed her lips, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Because of us,” she corrected sharply. “And what we did. You can try to pretend otherwise, but there were two of us in that cabin that night, Simon. And I was the one who ran off into the woods rather than deal head-on with the fact that I didn’t want to marry Graham. I am just as much to blame for anything that happened as a result of my reckless behavior.”

“You would not have taken off your clothes and spent the night in the cabin with me had I not suggested it,” he said, folding his arms.

“And I would have likely frozen to death as I tried to walk home,” she countered. “Would that have been a better solution?”

He flinched, and she saw the flash of pain and horror on his face at the idea. “No. No, of course not.”

“This is not only your responsibility.”

He was silent for a moment, and she prayed he was absorbing her statement. Perhaps even open to believing it.

But then he shook his head. “You say that now, Meg. But someday you will recall how much you liked being popular. And you’ll hate me as much as he does for destroying your future.”

He turned away then and left her, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click that felt like a gunshot through her breaking heart. She spun away, fighting to draw breath, and stomped her foot.