But he had withdrawn into the shadows.
Retreated into himself. They were both very private people, who kept their feelings well guarded.
“I have had a previous liaison, one that went on for nearly a year, and I never conceived.” Oh, this was damnably hard. “I should have told you.”
“Why?” he replied calmly. “I never felt obliged to discuss my previous life or relationships with you. How we lived and what we did before we met is not an issue in our marriage.”
“But it is,” insisted Arianna. “You had a right to know of any flaw before entering into a bargain.”
“I was not making a purchase at Tattersall’s,” he said softly.
“Your peers would disagree,” she said with a brittle laugh. “That’s exactly why aristocratic gentlemen enter into marriage—they need a bride to use as a brood mare.”
“I think you know by now that my views on life rarely march in step with those of my peers.”
“Oh, God.” Arianna put down her brush and felt tears prickle against her lids. The conversation had taken a strange turn, leaving her feeling confused. Conflicted. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Arianna looked down at her hands, feeling awkward and unable to articulate her sentiments coherently. In the flickering candlelight, the glint of the gold ring was like a dagger point pricking against her conscience. “No wonder your uncle had reservations about such an impetuous marriage. You should have refused to be rushed. I should have insisted that you take time to consider the ramifications.”
“Arianna, nobody held a pistol to my head,” he said drily.
True.
And yet, Arianna couldn’t help feeling that circumstances had forced his hand. For all his cynicism, the earl had a stubborn streak of chivalry when it came to damsels in distress. His offer of marriage had saved her from Lord Grentham’s wrath.
It had been a purely practical solution.
Love?
The word hadn’t been mentioned during the discussion of her options.
No, they weren’t in love—they were both too pragmatic, too dispassionate for that. Trust didn’t come easily, for at heart, both she and Saybrook did not wish to be vulnerable. They did, however, have a great deal in common—a cynical sense of humor, an open-minded curiosity, a love of chocolate . . .
“Arianna.” Saybrook had come up behind her. His hands settled on her shoulders and as his long, lithe fingers began kneading her tense muscles, she felt her anger start to melt away.
A pleasurable heat spread through her as his palms chafed against her bare skin. Physical attraction was not a problem between them. Her lips quirked as she watched his movements in the looking glass. That part of their relationship seemed to be going smoothly. They both enjoyed the intimacies of marriage, finding the fleeting joining of their bodies eminently satisfying.
As for a meeting of minds . . .
Arianna let out a silent sigh, finding it hard to explain. Somehow it chafed to be beholden to someone else’s whims. It felt as though she had lost some small but essential piece of herself.
As for Saybrook, she sensed a detachment in him. A distance. As if, at times, he was miles away. He was a complex man, hard—nay, maybe impossible—to understand. Layers within layers. It was not easy to peel away the protective covering around his innermost emotions.
He was prone to black spells of brooding.
As am I, she admitted. Like Sandro, I can be difficult. Prickly.
“Let us not quarrel.” His words interrupted her musings. After brushing a light kiss to the nape of her neck, Saybrook straightened and tugged off his shirt. Light dipped and darted over the chiseled contours of his chest, accentuating the sculpted muscles, the coarse curls of dark hair.
“Come to bed,” he murmured.
She did so.
And yet, even after the tension had been coaxed from her limbs, Arianna lay awake for a long time before falling into a troubled sleep.
5
12 ounces 70 percent dark chocolate, chopped, or 12 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
1 14-ounce can condensed milk
Pinch salt
1 cup shelled pistachios
1. Melt the chopped chocolate, condensed milk and salt in a heavy-based pan on low heat.
2. Put the nuts into a freezer bag and bash them with a rolling pin, until broken up into both big and little pieces.
3. Add the nuts to the melted chocolate and condensed milk and stir well to mix.
4. Pour this mixture into a 9-inch square foil tray, smoothing the top.
5. Let the fudge cool and then refrigerate until set. Cut into small squares.
Arianna watched the morning mists drift in low, leaden skirls over the heathered moor. The sun had not yet broken through the clouds, leaving the hills looking a little sullen and bruised.
“So, the gentlemen are leaving early for their shooting?” she asked, turning away from the breakfast room windows.
A chorus of masculine voices rose in assent from the long table.
“Splendid morning for birds,” said Enqvist as he wolfed down the last bite of his shirred eggs.
Arianna gave silent thanks that she was not venturing out of the marquess’s well-feathered nest. Judging by the puffs of breath rising from the group of ghillies waiting with the gun wagons, it was quite chilly.
“Jawohl,” agreed Lutz, and his comment was quickly echoed in several different languages.
The prospect of gunpowder and blood seemed to have stirred a convivial mood, despite the early hour. From outside came a flurry of barking as the kennel master and his assistants led the pack of bird dogs across the lawns. Several of the men quickly finished their coffee and pushed back their chairs, eager to get under way.
“Enjoy your day,” she said as Saybrook and Mellon joined the group trooping out the door.
The earl shrugged. He had come down earlier and was already looking bored. “I can think of better ways to spend my morning,” he murmured.
“As can I,” added his uncle. “However, I feel we must show the English flag, so to speak.”
“I doubt the poor grouse give a fig for what nationality is blasting them out of the air,” she replied. “Though given the amount of spirits that were consumed last night, the aim of the hunters might be a bit erratic.”
“Yes, and the flasks of hot coffee will be fortified with brandy,” said Saybrook. “So it’s not likely to improve.”
Mellon chuckled.
“Have a care,” she joked.
“You appear to be alone,” observed Mellon as Saybrook gathered up their hunting coats. Arianna was the only female who had come down to breakfast. “I fear that most of the other ladies won’t appear until noon.”
“I have plenty to keep me occupied,” she assured him. “I have brought a notebook of Dona Maria’s chocolate recipes to transcribe.”
Saybrook’s late grandmother had spent years researching the history of Theobrama cacao, and her collection of historical documents pertaining to the plant was a treasure trove of fascinating information. The earl was writing a history of chocolate and its various uses, from ancient Aztec times to the present, while she was compiling a cookbook.