Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(112)

There was a soft click further down the hall, and Swanston looked up to see the door to the servants’ back hall slip closed.

Another meow.

“You think I should go in there, boy?” he addressed the cat, hoping that the servants truly were gone.

Could a cat nod? Charlie did not make a sound, but still Swanston knew his answer.

He placed his hand on the handle and turned.

Why was he shy about opening his own door? And why would Louisa be in his chamber, and not her own? Perhaps she’d been directing the maids in some rearrangement of furniture? Although, surely she would have asked.

He paused. He was lying to himself.

If his wife was there she was there for one of two reasons.

It was possible that she planned to tell him it was over, that she was heading to the country and would reside there—alone. If he was lucky she might agree to allow him to visit on a few occasions so that there would be the chance of an heir.

He knew that she had always wanted a child. He clung to this thought.

It was, of course, possible that she had a very different reason for awaiting him, but he refused to allow his mind to wander in that direction. Unless she was so upset that she was incapable of speech, they needed to talk first—something they should have done far more of in the past.

Now or never. He pushed the door open.

She stood there, looking an absolute vision. Her hair lay loose about her shoulders, half-covering her face. A gown of soft white draped her figure. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever seen her look so lovely.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Her voice was so quiet that it was hard to hear. She did not look up and meet his gaze.

He stepped into the room. The sound of his boot heel echoed through the chamber.

He stopped and stood, unsure.

Still without looking up, she turned and gestured to a table before the fire. “I asked that a light dinner be served here. I hope you do not mind. I did not feel quite up to a full repast and thought it would be more comfortable here.”

“Certainly,” he answered, trying to understand if there was any hidden message in her words.

Her succulent lower lip turned up slightly at the corners. “I am afraid that I am also still a bit sore and I thought that perhaps these chairs would be a bit more kind to my … my assets.”

Her words sobered him—as did the sight of the fading bruise that still marked her cheek.

She turned her face back into the shadows. “Oh, I did not mean to put that look upon your face,” she said. “I was trying to lighten the mood. I know we must discuss these issues, but I wanted to add a touch of humor.”

“I do not find the thought of you being injured humorous,” he replied, moving toward her.

Her smile dropped. “I know. I just don’t want you to feel guilty about things you had no control over.”

“I allowed it to happen.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You had no more choice in what happened than I. Do you think I do not worry that I could have caused you to be shot?”

“I am not sure that the Countess would have shot me.”

Louisa raised her brow in what he knew was an imitation of himself.

He stared back at her. “I might have been willing to risk it if it had not been for the threat of those two goons coming in. I would rather have died than have them touch you.”

She was silent for a moment, and then moved to gingerly take a seat at the table. “You will understand if I do not feel the same.” She lifted the dome from her plate. “Oh dear. I am afraid that Cook took me a bit too seriously when I asked for something light. Should I call for something more hearty?”

He looked at her plate: one slice of ham, so thin it was transparent, three spears of asparagus, and half a small potato. There was a sliced loaf of bread on the table as well. It would not be his normal dinner, but he knew he would far rather go hungry than have anyone interrupt them now. He moved and took his seat, then lifted his dome—at least Cook had given him two slices of ham. He smiled. “It looks perfect.”

Louisa opened her mouth to answer and then looked down at her plate and lifted her knife and fork to cut a small bite of ham. Placing it in her mouth, she chewed, her eyes still on her plate.

The brief conversation of a moment before faded to silence.

He took a bite of his food and chewed slowly, hoping to make it last in order to make it seem like more.

“Really, I can send for more,” Louisa said.

“This is fine.” He took a large piece of the bread. That, at least, would be filling.

“Wine?”

“Please.”

She lifted the decanter and filled his glass. “I hope it is good.”

He took a sip. “It is. Blast. I feel like we are discussing the weather.”

“You did once say it was not a bad thing to talk about that which matters little.”

Another sip. “Yes, but we have so many other things to talk about.” Although, the temptation to avoid conversation was great.

Louisa looked up and met his eyes directly. “So many or just one?”

“One. Many. It all depends on how you look at it.”

“I suppose that is true. The other morning I said we should ask easy questions, and they were certainly anything but.”

He put his fork down and stared straight into her eyes. This was the moment. “I have a question for you. A simple one. It requires only a one-word answer. Are you going to leave me, Louisa?”