Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(72)

God help her, she’d not plead with him for a profession of love. She wanted him to feel what she felt and the fact that he didn’t caused her heart to crack and bleed like he’d ground it beneath his soaked Hessian boot.

He called after her. “Phi!”

She kept walking toward Milford House.

“Phi! Stop!” he barked. “Please.” That single, soft entreaty halted her in her tracks. She froze, until he’d caught up to her.

Christopher took her by the shoulders, and turned her to face him.

Her jaw hardened. “I don’t want your pity.” She only wanted his love.

“I’m not capable of love, Phi.” He held his palms up. “I…” Again, his gaze wandered a moment and then returned to hers. “My childhood was not a pleasant one but it was because I’m flawed. I’m not even certain I’m someone a person is capable of loving.”

“That’s silly. I love you.” She tried to infuse as much emotion into those words as possible. All the while she fought back the waves of sadness that lapped at her heart. She tried to imagine Christopher as a small child; motherless at a very young age, without siblings for friendship or companionship, the miserable marquess as his father. It was no wonder he doubted the emotion of love.

“I’m sorry.”

He started. “For what?”

“I was horrid to you.”

His eyes slid closed. “No, Phi. Don’t do that. Don’t…you were a child. We were both children. And I deserved it.”

She made a sound of protest. “No. You didn’t.” All the good in him, the kindness he’d shown her, she’d never allowed herself to see it. She’d only noted the ways in which he’d teased and tormented her as a girl. “I’ve only just realized the kind of man you are.”

He flinched. “Phi, you don’t truly know me. There are…” he hesitated, “things you don’t know about me. Things that brought shame to my father.”

“Your father is a pompous ass.” She borrowed his phrase.

She expected his lips to form a small smile, or perhaps that he should even chuckle, but the solemn, dark look remained in his hazel eyes, chilling her in ways that the frigid waters hadn’t been able to.

“There is more, Phi. I need to confess something to you.”

A streak of lightning lit the sky, followed by the rolling sound of thunder. Then, the skies opened up in a deluge that pounded down upon them. The sting of rain pelted her skin with a searing intensity. “What were you going to say?” she screamed into the sudden fury of the storm.

Water ran in rivulets down her eyes. It blurred her vision until she struggled to see the hard, angular planes of his face.

Christopher scooped her up yet again and all but sprinted the remaining distance home. By the time they’d reached the main drive, the rain had slowed to a steady, but slower patter. The butler, flung the doors open and Christopher sailed through.

“Lord Waxham,” Barker said.

“Have a hot bath prepared for Lady Waxham.”

Barker nodded. “Very well, my lord. But…”

“And have Cook prepare a tray of pastries and hot tea.”

“Yes, my lord. If you’ll allow me to…”

“What have we here?” That slow, condescending drawl cut into the butler’s words.

Christopher set Sophie down with such alacrity she fell against him.

Her heart plummeted as she faced the Marquess of Milford. The silver-haired peer stood at the bottom of the wide, spiral staircase. He ran a quick, assessing glance over her sopping frame. His lip curled back in a sneer.

“Father,” Christopher greeted.

Just like that, the magic of their wedding trip was shattered.

Christopher leaned down and whispered into her ear. “Why don’t you go abovestairs, Phi?”

Sophie nodded, grateful for the reprieve. She dipped a stiff, formal curtsy. “My lord.”

Her father-in-law inclined his head. Without a backward glance, Sophie hurried past him, and made her way to her chambers. Not for the first time, her heart breaking at the thought of Christopher growing up with such a miserable, cold man. How had her father ever considered that man a friend? The marquess was so very different than her father. The late viscount had been a sweet, affable man who’d bounced her upon a knee and visited the nursery for tea-parties with imaginary figures and dolls. She thought it more likely that Christopher’s father would delight in scaring small children.

Sophie entered her chambers and closed the door behind her. She leaned against the wood-panel, feeling like a thousand times the coward for abandoning her husband to the marquess.

***

Christopher stared after his wife. When she’d disappeared abovestairs, he turned to his father. “You couldn’t stay away? You had to come here, now?”

His father bristled. “I always spend my time at Milford House.”

“A fortnight, Father. That is all I’d intended to stay and then you were free to have your miserable, god-forsaken Milford House.”

The marquess’ eyes narrowed into small slits. “I needed to speak with you. Where are you going?”

Christopher paused on the third step. “I’m wet. Cold. And in desperate need of a change of attire. Whatever you came to speak with me about is going to have to wait.” His father’s impatient curse followed him up the stairs to his chambers.