her throat clamored for release and she gave in, rolling to her side, curling into a ball, and letting go. Nothing had been right between them in such a long time, and now everything was very, very wrong. She had won a victory in forcing him to go through with the wedding, but it was a Pyrrhic victory, indeed.
David rolled over and shucked the blankets twisted about his legs. Karen’s sobs had quieted, but that didn’t make him feel less a heel. In a moment of weakness he’d let himself be goaded into this marriage against his better judgment. Now he was stuck.
He couldn’t,
wouldn’t
be her husband in every sense of the word. The possible consequences were too great. Not only might he father a child who might grow to despise his crippled parent, but David knew he would not be able to get that close to Karen, to love her in that way, and then survive when she left him. Better not to give her the chance to hurt him that utterly. Better to keep her at arm’s length.
His face flamed at the thought of how inept his attempts at loving would be. He couldn’t have borne it if she’d laughed at him or, even worse, pitied his attempts. He would not take that chance, no matter how much he loved her.
She said she loved him right now, but what about later? What about when reality didn’t meet up with her fairy-tale expectations and she realized she’d made a mistake? What about when she realized how hard life would be with a cripple who couldn’t do the simplest tasks for himself anymore?
His profession was lost to him. Every last shred of who he was and why he existed had vanished. He was dead weight, contributing nothing to the marriage but his name and family fortune. How could he be a husband to her? How could he be the leader in his home, the head of his household?
Chapter 7
L ight footsteps sounded on the stairs.
The fist of anxiety resting under David’s breastbone since Karen left the house early that morning loosened a bit. He hated the idea of his wife roaming the streets of Denver alone, but what could he have done? He was in no position to stop her, nor did he relish the idea of trailing after her through the city as if she were the governess and he the charge to be watched over. At least she’d had the sense to take the carriage.
Fingers tapped on the door.
“Come in.” He straightened in his chair and crossed his legs, lacing his fingers in his lap.
When she entered, he schooled his features to appear disinterested and calm. Then her perfume assailed him—light, sweet, beautiful. Just like Karen.
He swallowed. “You were gone a long time.”
“Yes, I had lots to do.”
“Shopping, I suppose.”
“No, actually, I didn’t do a bit of shopping, though that’s on the list for tomorrow.” The fabric of her dress whispered, and her footsteps sounded on the rug.
“What are you doing? Are you pacing?”
“I’m making the bed and tidying your clothes. You didn’t go downstairs today, and you didn’t let Mrs. Webber in, so the room could use a little looking after.” The bedcovers rustled and pillows thumped. The armoire door opened, and the latches on his cases jingled. “You didn’t unpack last night, so I’ll help you while we talk.”
“You sound cheerful.” He fisted his hands. Why did it bother him that she did these simple things for him, things the housekeeper would’ve done?
A drawer slid open. “I am, though I’m tired clear through. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I had to go clear across town today.”
“What for?” He turned his face toward the sounds of her movement. “And will you stop fussing with my belongings?”
She laughed, and a shaft of pain sliced through him at the musical sound. “Actually, I’m nervous, and I hoped by straightening the room I could buy myself some time to gather my courage before the vials of your wrath fell upon me again.”
Though she kept her tone light, he sensed her worry. He timed the sound of her movement, and when
David rolled over and shucked the blankets twisted about his legs. Karen’s sobs had quieted, but that didn’t make him feel less a heel. In a moment of weakness he’d let himself be goaded into this marriage against his better judgment. Now he was stuck.
He couldn’t,
wouldn’t
be her husband in every sense of the word. The possible consequences were too great. Not only might he father a child who might grow to despise his crippled parent, but David knew he would not be able to get that close to Karen, to love her in that way, and then survive when she left him. Better not to give her the chance to hurt him that utterly. Better to keep her at arm’s length.
His face flamed at the thought of how inept his attempts at loving would be. He couldn’t have borne it if she’d laughed at him or, even worse, pitied his attempts. He would not take that chance, no matter how much he loved her.
She said she loved him right now, but what about later? What about when reality didn’t meet up with her fairy-tale expectations and she realized she’d made a mistake? What about when she realized how hard life would be with a cripple who couldn’t do the simplest tasks for himself anymore?
His profession was lost to him. Every last shred of who he was and why he existed had vanished. He was dead weight, contributing nothing to the marriage but his name and family fortune. How could he be a husband to her? How could he be the leader in his home, the head of his household?
Chapter 7
L ight footsteps sounded on the stairs.
The fist of anxiety resting under David’s breastbone since Karen left the house early that morning loosened a bit. He hated the idea of his wife roaming the streets of Denver alone, but what could he have done? He was in no position to stop her, nor did he relish the idea of trailing after her through the city as if she were the governess and he the charge to be watched over. At least she’d had the sense to take the carriage.
Fingers tapped on the door.
“Come in.” He straightened in his chair and crossed his legs, lacing his fingers in his lap.
When she entered, he schooled his features to appear disinterested and calm. Then her perfume assailed him—light, sweet, beautiful. Just like Karen.
He swallowed. “You were gone a long time.”
“Yes, I had lots to do.”
“Shopping, I suppose.”
“No, actually, I didn’t do a bit of shopping, though that’s on the list for tomorrow.” The fabric of her dress whispered, and her footsteps sounded on the rug.
“What are you doing? Are you pacing?”
“I’m making the bed and tidying your clothes. You didn’t go downstairs today, and you didn’t let Mrs. Webber in, so the room could use a little looking after.” The bedcovers rustled and pillows thumped. The armoire door opened, and the latches on his cases jingled. “You didn’t unpack last night, so I’ll help you while we talk.”
“You sound cheerful.” He fisted his hands. Why did it bother him that she did these simple things for him, things the housekeeper would’ve done?
A drawer slid open. “I am, though I’m tired clear through. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I had to go clear across town today.”
“What for?” He turned his face toward the sounds of her movement. “And will you stop fussing with my belongings?”
She laughed, and a shaft of pain sliced through him at the musical sound. “Actually, I’m nervous, and I hoped by straightening the room I could buy myself some time to gather my courage before the vials of your wrath fell upon me again.”
Though she kept her tone light, he sensed her worry. He timed the sound of her movement, and when
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