My Lady Jane(34)

As the carriage pulled into the country house, his concerns about the Pack were momentarily replaced by his exasperation with Lady Jane.

The house staff was there to greet the happy couple, usher them into the parlor, and offer them water and wine—no more ale for G. They moved the copious amounts of luggage inside and then, in the tradition of servants faced with honeymooners (especially after news of ripped clothing in the marital bedchamber had reached their ears) they disappeared, leaving the couple alone. To do whatever it was that newlyweds did at night. On their honeymoon.

Which, judging by Jane’s behavior, consisted of staring out the window, counting the stars.

She hadn’t yet forgiven G for when he’d stopped her from hurling herself at the wolves, but seriously, what was her plan of attack? Drown them in petticoats? Crush them with her bulky knowledge of Herbs and Spices Indigenous to the Spanish Highlands: Volume Two? Maybe he should just call it a night. He opened the door to exit the drawing room, but was met with two servants.

“Your bedchambers are being prepared,” one of the men said.

G rolled his eyes as the servant closed the door in his face. Perhaps his father had instructed the staff to promote as much couple time as possible. “Don’t let one leave the room without the other,” he could imagine his father saying.

Jane was still staring out the window. He wasn’t sure she had even noticed his attempted departure. G was pretty certain there’d be no persuading her to the bedchamber at this point, but they had one month in this house, and the only way to survive the honeymoon would be a congenial companionship, rather than the scornful disdain of the present. So he tried to be affable.

“Can I get you anything, my lady?”

She didn’t turn around. “I have servants for that.”

G sighed loudly and sank onto a sofa. “What, exactly, have I done to you? Besides the offensive act of existing, and being forced to marry you?”

Jane turned around. “Those two grievances are beyond your control, and I would never hold you accountable for things beyond your control.”

“What then? What have I done to offend thee?” he said in a mock-formal tone.

She made a fist so tight, her knuckles turned white. “You are a drunken lothario who . . . who . . . cannot keep his horse in his pants!”

G tilted his head at this. “To be fair, my pants are not where I keep my horse.”

“Don’t try to deny it!” Jane said. “I heard it all from Stan, who mistook me for one of your . . . dalliances.”

G held a hand up. “My lady, if you please, let’s take these offenses one at a time.” He gestured toward a chair. She folded her arms. “Please,” he added.

She sat down, albeit in a chair he had not motioned to.

A peace offering, in the form of the truth, would be the best course of action at this point. “First, the charge of drunkenness. I will admit that on the night of our blessed union I was inebriated, but that was a solitary—or let’s say unusual—occurrence based on the fact that I was reluctant to bind my life to a lady about whom I’d heard much, but experienced very little.”

“And ‘binding your life’ would hinder your nightlife, would it not?”

“Ah, which brings us to your second charge. That of my being a lothario.” G paused and considered telling her about the poetry readings, but he thought better of it. He’d already endured humiliating horse jokes and derision about his lack of ability to control the power. How loudly would she laugh if she knew this “lothario” spent his days composing poems and plays, and his nights writing and performing them? “Yes, I have enjoyed the company of ladies.”

“Ha!” Jane pointed at him as if through her own verbal cunning she’d just gotten Alexander the Great to admit he was overly ambitious.

“Yes, yes,” G said, placating. “I crack under your withering stare. If I may continue?”

She nodded triumphantly.

“I spend my days as a horse. I haven’t been to court in years. I haven’t felt the sun on my skin for just as long. I wasn’t sure I could ever be fit to be a husband, since I’m only living half a life and it’s the half when most people sleep. You can’t imagine how lonely that can be. So yes, up until the night of our heavenly merger, I took comfort in relationships of the fleeting variety—”

“Otherwise known as prostitutes,” Jane interrupted.

“Despite my history with ladies of negotiable affection, I gave my word to your king to be a faithful husband of the utmost standing.”

Jane’s face softened the tiniest bit.

“And I have kept my word.”

She raised her eyebrows. “For two days.”

“Yes. Look, I’ve led a solitary existence. It’s hard to make friends. And despite the efforts of the Lion King, E?ians are still feared and mistreated.”

Her face grew tight again. “Let’s discuss that. You have this magical ability, this ancient honor, passed down from our ancestors, destined to be bestowed upon the champions among us. And yet you call it a curse.”

“My lady, you have a distinctly naive and hopelessly optimistic view of E?ians.”

“It is not naive,” Jane said. “My opinion has been cultivated over years and years of study.”

“Studying histories that glorify their legends.”