Page 22 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"And now you've chosen marriage. The two seem incompatible."

"Not in our arrangement. We've already agreed to separate rooms, separate lives. Distance maintained even in proximity."

"How lonely," she said before she could stop herself.

His expression shuttered completely. "I've never found my own company insufficient."

"What about my company?"

"What about it?"

"Will you find it insufficient?"

He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. Then suddenly, he replied: "I don't know. I suppose we'll find out."

The carriage turned through massive iron gates bearing the Blackthorn crest—a thorny rose entwined with a sword. The drive was long, winding through parkland that showed signs of recent attention. The grass was freshly cut, the trees trimmed, as if the estate was being awakened after a long sleep.

"There," Lord Blackthorn said, gesturing to the window. "Blackthorn Manor."

Arabella's first glimpse of her new home stole her breath. The house rose from the landscape like something from a fairy tale; part castle, part manor, all imposing stone and glittering windows. Ivy climbed the walls in artistic abandon. The promised rose gardens spread to the east, currently showing the last blooms of summer.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

"It's drafty, expensive to maintain, and has more rooms than any reasonable person needs."

"It's still beautiful."

"If you say so."

The carriage pulled to a stop before the main entrance, where a line of servants had assembled. Arabella counted at least a dozen, all in pristine livery, all watching their new mistress with barely concealed curiosity.

"Ready?" Lord Blackthorn asked, his hand on the carriage door.

"No," Arabella admitted. "But I suppose that doesn't matter."

"Not particularly."

He descended first, then turned to help her down. His hand was warm and steady, and he held hers perhaps a moment longer than necessary before releasing it.

"Welcome to Blackthorn Manor, Lady Blackthorn," he said formally, loud enough for the servants to hear. "May you find it to your liking."

"Thank you, Lord Blackthorn," she replied, matching his formal tone. "I'm sure I shall."

Thistle chose that moment to burst from the carriage, having apparently reached his limit of contained enthusiasm. He ran through the carefully arranged line of servants, leaving chaos in his wake, and disappeared around the corner of the house, barking joyfully.

"The dog," Lord Blackthorn observed with resignation, "is going to be a problem."

"Almost certainly," Arabella agreed.

And despite everything, the awkwardness, the uncertainty, the sheer impossibility of their situation, she found herself smiling. Her husband looked at her, surprised, and for just a moment, she could have sworn she saw an answering spark of amusement in his dark eyes.

Then the moment passed, and they were strangers again, walking into a house that would shelter their separate lives, their practical arrangement, their marriage of inconvenience.

But still, she'd seen that spark. And Arabella found herself wondering if perhaps, just perhaps, there might be more to Lord Blackthorn than darkness and distance.

Time, she supposed, would tell.

Chapter 6