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Authors: Laura Lee Guhrke
Tags: Guilty Book 3
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the sheet of names from Viola's outstretched hand and, being a woman of common sense, she did not ask if she was to add Lord Hammond to the guest list. She dropped a curtsy to her and one to Hammond , then departed, closing the door behind her.
John spoke before she did. "Are your trunks packed? I have a cart here to take them. We can ride in my carriage. Which residence did you choose?"
She sighed. They were going to have another fight, and she did not want it. " Hammond , my trunks are not packed. Before you say a word, let me say a few."
She stood up, facing him across the desk. "We both know that if you wished, you could drag me off. We both know that if I wished, I could run to the Continent or America and you might never find me. Both those options are undesirable. Divorce is not possible."
"You and I in agreement? Things are looking up already."
His voice was still careless and light, but she heard the determination behind it. She used the only recourse she had left. "Before I agree to return to your household, I would like some time to become accustomed to the idea," she said with dignity.
"Accustomed to what idea? Making love with me again?"
No careless lightness in his voice now. He sounded more than just determined. He sounded angry. What did he have to be angry about, in heaven's name? She was the wronged party here. "The situation of living together."
"Stalling, Viola? Hoping if you can stall long enough, I will just walk away?"
Yes, damn you . She looked at him, cool, detached, striving to feel nothing at all. "You always have before," she answered with a shrug.
He sucked in his breath, and she knew her shot had gone home, but she took no satisfaction in that. She just wanted him to leave. Leave and never come back.
"There she is," he said, almost as if to himself as he stared back at her. "The disdainful, unforgiving goddess who looks down at the sorry, flawed mortals below."
Though it was exactly what she wanted to be when it came to him, his description still stung. Viola's hand tightened around her quill. "And before me is the master of the cutting remark," she answered.
"Forgive me if your contempt from on high always brings out the worst in me."
"Oh, yes, I had forgotten that the sorry state of our marriage is all my fault."
"No, it is not all your fault. Nor is it all mine ." He was serious now, and earnest, no sarcastic edge to his voice, no razor-sharp wit attached. He actually sounded sincere, the cad. "I wish you could see that. I have."
"Have you, indeed?"
"Yes."
She watched him lean closer to her, resting his hands on the polished rosewood top of her desk. She looked down at her husband's long, strong fingers and wide palms. She remembered how it felt when those hands had caressed her. She also knew how it felt when she imagined his hands on some other woman's body. Even now, after all he had done, it still hurt to think of it, and that was why she hated him. By all rights it should not hurt anymore. Her icy shell began to crack.
"I am not the one who was unfaithful," she choked. "I am not the one who lied. But I am the one who has spent eight long years alone."
"Just because a man has a mistress, it doesn't mean he isn't alone, Viola."
Was that supposed to make her feel some sort of empathy for him ? She stared at his hands, and pride came to her rescue, as it so often had before. She sat down and returned her attention to the papers spread out before her. "Then go find yourself a new mistress. I'll wait to read about how alone you are with her in the society papers."
"Here we go again," he muttered with a sigh. He moved around her desk to stand just behind her chair. "This is what always happens when you and I are in the same room for more than ten minutes," he said. "We start finding fault, placing blame, bringing out the worst in each other. Five minutes ago I almost made you laugh, and now we're at each other's throats. How do we manage to do that?"
She bit her lip.
He
John spoke before she did. "Are your trunks packed? I have a cart here to take them. We can ride in my carriage. Which residence did you choose?"
She sighed. They were going to have another fight, and she did not want it. " Hammond , my trunks are not packed. Before you say a word, let me say a few."
She stood up, facing him across the desk. "We both know that if you wished, you could drag me off. We both know that if I wished, I could run to the Continent or America and you might never find me. Both those options are undesirable. Divorce is not possible."
"You and I in agreement? Things are looking up already."
His voice was still careless and light, but she heard the determination behind it. She used the only recourse she had left. "Before I agree to return to your household, I would like some time to become accustomed to the idea," she said with dignity.
"Accustomed to what idea? Making love with me again?"
No careless lightness in his voice now. He sounded more than just determined. He sounded angry. What did he have to be angry about, in heaven's name? She was the wronged party here. "The situation of living together."
"Stalling, Viola? Hoping if you can stall long enough, I will just walk away?"
Yes, damn you . She looked at him, cool, detached, striving to feel nothing at all. "You always have before," she answered with a shrug.
He sucked in his breath, and she knew her shot had gone home, but she took no satisfaction in that. She just wanted him to leave. Leave and never come back.
"There she is," he said, almost as if to himself as he stared back at her. "The disdainful, unforgiving goddess who looks down at the sorry, flawed mortals below."
Though it was exactly what she wanted to be when it came to him, his description still stung. Viola's hand tightened around her quill. "And before me is the master of the cutting remark," she answered.
"Forgive me if your contempt from on high always brings out the worst in me."
"Oh, yes, I had forgotten that the sorry state of our marriage is all my fault."
"No, it is not all your fault. Nor is it all mine ." He was serious now, and earnest, no sarcastic edge to his voice, no razor-sharp wit attached. He actually sounded sincere, the cad. "I wish you could see that. I have."
"Have you, indeed?"
"Yes."
She watched him lean closer to her, resting his hands on the polished rosewood top of her desk. She looked down at her husband's long, strong fingers and wide palms. She remembered how it felt when those hands had caressed her. She also knew how it felt when she imagined his hands on some other woman's body. Even now, after all he had done, it still hurt to think of it, and that was why she hated him. By all rights it should not hurt anymore. Her icy shell began to crack.
"I am not the one who was unfaithful," she choked. "I am not the one who lied. But I am the one who has spent eight long years alone."
"Just because a man has a mistress, it doesn't mean he isn't alone, Viola."
Was that supposed to make her feel some sort of empathy for him ? She stared at his hands, and pride came to her rescue, as it so often had before. She sat down and returned her attention to the papers spread out before her. "Then go find yourself a new mistress. I'll wait to read about how alone you are with her in the society papers."
"Here we go again," he muttered with a sigh. He moved around her desk to stand just behind her chair. "This is what always happens when you and I are in the same room for more than ten minutes," he said. "We start finding fault, placing blame, bringing out the worst in each other. Five minutes ago I almost made you laugh, and now we're at each other's throats. How do we manage to do that?"
She bit her lip.
He
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