Page 71 of A Momentary Marriage

“It may surprise you to know,” Laura said bitingly, “but becoming a widow was never my primary goal in life. I suspect any number of women would count themselves lucky to be plucked up and dropped into a life of ease. Unless your plan is to lock me up or beat me daily—”

“Laura!” He stiffened, his eyes flashing.

“Hah!” Laura jabbed her forefinger at him. “You see how unpleasant it is to have someone suggest you’d do awful things? Since clearly you want to have a disagreement, I will tell you my side of it. If you had not offered me your hand in marriage, I would be sunk in debt to a despicable man. I would have had to give up my home and most of my possessions and live in a governess’s room or on my aunt’s charity. You have put me in a lovely house; you have on more than one occasion urged me to buy new clothes.”

“And will again,” he muttered. “I cannot see why you are so stubborn about that.”

“I’m not stubborn. I would love to have a new wardrobe. But I haven’t exactly had a lot of time. Silly me, I thought trying to keep you from dying was more important than trotting off to London to buy new frocks.” He moved to object, but with a sweeping gesture, she went on. “Don’t try to distract me. I haven’t finished.”

“I’m sure you have not.”

“I am living in luxury. I can spend my time on my music or whatever I want. I can go to London. See plays, the ballet, opera, museums, galleries . . .”

“But you won’t have love.”

Laura went still. It was surprising how much his words pierced her. She already knew he didn’t love her; she thought she was armored against such emotion. She turned away to hide the hurt that must show in her eyes. “That’s an odd thing for you to be concerned about, I must say.”

“No doubt you’re right,” he retorted in a clipped voice. “I can’t imagine why I even thought to consider your problems.”

“I don’t have a problem. Other than you.” She swung around. “I’m beginning to understand the reason for all this nonsense. It’s you who is regretting our marriage. You obviously think of marriage as chains. Imprisonment. You’ve lost your freedom.”

“I beg your pardon? You think that I—”

“Wish you had not made that impulsive decision to marry me,” she finished. “Yes. It was all very well to leave your money to a stranger as some bitter jest upon your expectant relatives. But the prospect of having to live with the woman you married is a different thing, indeed. You are ruing your hasty bargain.”

“Don’t be a fool. We were talking about you, not me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I am discussing you. You’ve realized you made a bad bargain. That you lost your chance at your perfect wife.”

“Who?” His eyebrows soared in astonishment.

“Your dream bride.” Laura injected the words with all the sarcasm she could muster. Anger bubbled in her now. “You told me how little I resembled that woman, if you’ll remember.”

“Oh, that,” he scoffed.

“Yes, that. The woman of acceptable appearance and superior lineage. One willing to provide you with heirs but not offer any of those sticky inconveniences like feelings.”

“I know I didn’t say that.”

“It was implied. In any case, your vision of an ideal wife was certainly not me.”

“And yet I chose you,” he said flatly.

“As I said, you made a bad bargain. You purchased a widow but you wound up with a wife.”

“You may not count my life as worth very much,” he shot back. “But it’s rather important to me, so that would make marrying you a very good bargain, I’d say!”

“Naturally you’re glad I stumbled upon the cause of your illness.”

“You did a good bit more than that.”

“Of course you’re glad you’re alive, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are tied to a wife you don’t want.”

“Don’t want?” He gave an odd little mirthless laugh. “When, may I ask, have you ever heard of me doing anything except what I want? It’s a hallmark of my character, is it not?”

“No. The hallmark of your character is coldness.” And now, suddenly, it came spilling out of her, a surging tangled mass built from weeks of worry and jangled nerves, of frustration and wounded feelings and dashed hopes. Why had she ever thought she could have a real marriage with this man? Why had she even considered it? “You don’t care about anyone. Worse, you take pride in that fact! It’s no wonder you wanted a bloodless cipher for a wife. Someone who wouldn’t ask anything of you or want anything from you.”

His eyes were silvery bright with anger, his body taut. “No doubt you’re right. I am still the despicable man you told me I was years ago. Almost dying didn’t change that. Didn’t make me a paragon like—”