continued out toward the edge of town. “And while I’m stripping, we can talk about a timely dissolution of this marriage.”
Brad flicked the reins, looking straight ahead. “What makes you think I want it dissolved?”
Another glance showed the humor was gone from his expression. “The way it came about.”
“I agree that wasn’t the most positive, but Evie, when I make a promise, I’m not in the habit of backing down on it.”
“No one can hold you to a promise made with a shotgun at your back.” She didn’t want a husband under coercion.
His jaw set. “I gave my word. ’Til death do us part.”
“Well, I’m not so stubborn about the concept of a promise.”
Again, one of those looks out of the corner of his eye that made her uncomfortable. “Good to know.”
He didn’t need to say it like that! “What I mean is, I’m reasonable enough to understand that circumstance—”
“That would be you.”
She gripped a fold of the cape in her hands, squeezing for patience. “Circumstance conspired to put us in an awkward position.”
“ You put us in an awkward position.”
“Fine.” She slapped her hat against her thigh. “ I put us in an awkward position. However, that doesn’t mean we have to continue this farce until ‘death do us part.’ ”
“What’s the alternative?”
She took a hankie from the cuff of her dress and dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead. At last he was being reasonable. She yanked a bunch of her skirt out from under her hip. “We stay married for a sensible amount of time and then dissolve the marriage.”
He clucked to the bay, drawing the buggy to the right, heading toward the edge of town. “There are only a couple of reasons a marriage can be dissolved, none of them ideal.”
“I thought we’d go for non-consummation.”
He made a strange sound in his throat.
“I looked it up and it seemed the least offensive.”
He pulled the horse to an abrupt stop. “The hell you did.”
She stopped tugging at her skirt and looked at him. Really looked at him. “You’re angry.”
“What gave you that impression?”
Nothing really. Certainly not his eyes, as they were shadowed by his short-brimmed hat. Not his mouth, which wasn’t any more tense than normal, and certainly not by the tone of his voice. But a lack of signs didn’t change what she knew. He was annoyed.
“It’s more than an impression. You’re angry.”
“Because you think to make me a laughingstock again by telling all and sundry that, when faced with a beautiful woman, I can’t be a man?”
“What do you mean again?”
“I know it’s been a month since the last time you threw my masculinity into question.”
A month? What had she done a month ago? A month ago she’d had her little show . . . She sat up straight, outrage spiking down her spine. “You thought my painting was an insult?”
“It sure as he—heck wasn’t a compliment.”
He hadn’t liked her painting? How dare he criticize her art? “It was an excellent painting and immensely flattering.”
It had also been the most exciting piece she’d ever worked on.
“So you told everyone who would listen.”
He didn’t sound at all pleased, which only aggravated her more. She might not be one to fit neatly into convention, and he might doubt her ability to be a properly restrained wife, but she was a wonderful artist.
“You have no taste!”
Instead of getting angrier, the tension left his shoulders and a smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. Why? The insult should have landed. He should be mad, not amused.
“Pretty much, it’s all in my mouth.”
“That’s a shame, because I can’t cook.”
He didn’t even flinch. “Then you’ll have something to keep you busy for the next forty years.”
“You think I’m so stupid, it’s going to take me forty years to learn to cook?”
The half second it took him to shake his head had her chin snapping up. She wanted to hit him, to kiss him, do
Brad flicked the reins, looking straight ahead. “What makes you think I want it dissolved?”
Another glance showed the humor was gone from his expression. “The way it came about.”
“I agree that wasn’t the most positive, but Evie, when I make a promise, I’m not in the habit of backing down on it.”
“No one can hold you to a promise made with a shotgun at your back.” She didn’t want a husband under coercion.
His jaw set. “I gave my word. ’Til death do us part.”
“Well, I’m not so stubborn about the concept of a promise.”
Again, one of those looks out of the corner of his eye that made her uncomfortable. “Good to know.”
He didn’t need to say it like that! “What I mean is, I’m reasonable enough to understand that circumstance—”
“That would be you.”
She gripped a fold of the cape in her hands, squeezing for patience. “Circumstance conspired to put us in an awkward position.”
“ You put us in an awkward position.”
“Fine.” She slapped her hat against her thigh. “ I put us in an awkward position. However, that doesn’t mean we have to continue this farce until ‘death do us part.’ ”
“What’s the alternative?”
She took a hankie from the cuff of her dress and dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead. At last he was being reasonable. She yanked a bunch of her skirt out from under her hip. “We stay married for a sensible amount of time and then dissolve the marriage.”
He clucked to the bay, drawing the buggy to the right, heading toward the edge of town. “There are only a couple of reasons a marriage can be dissolved, none of them ideal.”
“I thought we’d go for non-consummation.”
He made a strange sound in his throat.
“I looked it up and it seemed the least offensive.”
He pulled the horse to an abrupt stop. “The hell you did.”
She stopped tugging at her skirt and looked at him. Really looked at him. “You’re angry.”
“What gave you that impression?”
Nothing really. Certainly not his eyes, as they were shadowed by his short-brimmed hat. Not his mouth, which wasn’t any more tense than normal, and certainly not by the tone of his voice. But a lack of signs didn’t change what she knew. He was annoyed.
“It’s more than an impression. You’re angry.”
“Because you think to make me a laughingstock again by telling all and sundry that, when faced with a beautiful woman, I can’t be a man?”
“What do you mean again?”
“I know it’s been a month since the last time you threw my masculinity into question.”
A month? What had she done a month ago? A month ago she’d had her little show . . . She sat up straight, outrage spiking down her spine. “You thought my painting was an insult?”
“It sure as he—heck wasn’t a compliment.”
He hadn’t liked her painting? How dare he criticize her art? “It was an excellent painting and immensely flattering.”
It had also been the most exciting piece she’d ever worked on.
“So you told everyone who would listen.”
He didn’t sound at all pleased, which only aggravated her more. She might not be one to fit neatly into convention, and he might doubt her ability to be a properly restrained wife, but she was a wonderful artist.
“You have no taste!”
Instead of getting angrier, the tension left his shoulders and a smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. Why? The insult should have landed. He should be mad, not amused.
“Pretty much, it’s all in my mouth.”
“That’s a shame, because I can’t cook.”
He didn’t even flinch. “Then you’ll have something to keep you busy for the next forty years.”
“You think I’m so stupid, it’s going to take me forty years to learn to cook?”
The half second it took him to shake his head had her chin snapping up. She wanted to hit him, to kiss him, do
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