Page 49 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

He lifted his arm from the couch and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, the gesture sweet and gentle. Esther leaned into it ever so slightly, her heart aching for more. She had been so rarely touched, even before the day she rescued Silas, in any way that denoted affection. No one embraced her, held her hand, or anything else that spoke of familiarity. The Everlys had offered small tokens of affection, but it was Silas’s touch she craved. It was soothing, yet it stirred something in her that had been dormant for a very long time.

His hand fell back to the couch, but a gleam of interest appeared in his eyes. Had he noticed her moment of neediness? How terribly embarrassing.

“Why are you blushing?” he asked, his tone somewhat intimate. “I have only seen that happen a handful of times.”

Esther turned away, a trembling laugh escaping her. “It is nonsense, Silas. Do not trouble yourself. I am a very silly woman, I am afraid. I will try to be better. Thank you for explaining your decision about London. I can understand it now.”

It had been another attempt to protect her.

He shifted on the couch, coming closer to her. “Esther. I will discuss things with you more plainly from now on, if you wish it. You are my wife, and a countess. I want the two of us to do more than brush along as acquaintances.”

Feeling rather daring, Esther lifted her eyes only to immediately look away. He was so close. For a moment her mind lost the words he had spoken. Somehow, she recovered them and quickly formed a response. “What is it you want, Silas? I have agreed to be your wife, and I will do my best as countess. But what—?”

His hand was on her cheek again, then his fingers slid beneath her chin, gently guiding her to look upward again. “Esther, I have been alone most of my life,” he said quietly. “My friends have been my only companions, the people I have trusted with myself. But they all leave at the end of a visit, going to their own homes and families. You are different.”

His thumb caressed her cheek, and she could hardly believe she heard his words over the loud pounding of her heart. “Am I?” she whispered.

“You are my wife,” he said. “The companion of my life, for however long it may be. You are my countess, a woman wielding my authority and my reputation. We are the beginning of a new family.” He swallowed and she saw his attention lower to her lips momentarily. “With our marriage, you became the dearest person in the world to me. I am sorry I did not make that clearer from the beginning. You matter more to me than anyone, as a wife should to a husband.”

His words soothed her heart, but at the same moment, she felt the lack in them. He had not given her his heart, not really. He spoke of a connection between them, of course, that was sacred and permanent. Marriage. But not love.

Esther should have rejoiced that he left love out of it, given how much risk her heart would face should that word ever rise between them. But it was already too late. How could she resist loving him? And one day, she would lose him. That was the nature of life.

Her heart ached at the idea, and she could not face it. Not when she was already bruised from Isaac’s loss. For now, she would focus on what she had. On what her husband was offering her. Companionship. Trust. The end of loneliness.

She leaned closer to him, tipping her chin up and gazing at him in what she hoped was an inviting manner. “Silas.” She spoke his name with all the tenderness she could not express.

It was enough. The hand at her jaw cupped her cheek and he closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in an ardent kiss. Esther’s whole being felt simultaneously like she might float away, yet anchored to her husband. His other arm came around her waist, pulling her to him. Yet she fell, as she had once fallen into the sea from a dock, her feelings closing in around her as the water had, pressing upon her until she thought she might drown.

She came away from the kiss, pulling in a deep breath laced with his scent of cinnamon and pine. He leaned his forehead to rest against hers, his breathing as ragged in her ears as her own.

He brushed another kiss against her lips, briefly, and then cradled her against him. Esther moved into his arms instinctively, though her mind shouted at her to put distance between them.

It was too late for her. Esther was falling in love with her husband. She had admired him in her childhood, so perhaps this deeper devotion had grown naturally from her youth.

Silas Riley, Earl of Inglewood, would soon possess her heart. Even if he did not know it.

Chapter Twenty-one

Nothing had ever felt as right, as wonderful, as holding Esther. His wife. A beautiful, vivacious woman with a knack of surprising him with her spontaneity and her temper. After kissing her in the library, feeling at least a new physical connection with her, it surprised him when she withdrew further into herself. He had expected something more in line with what one read about in novels or saw in plays. He hoped that single, blissful moment might pull down whatever walls still prevented them from coming to an understanding with one another.

Instead, Esther grew quieter. When the seamstress had arrived to take her measurements, Esther disappeared with hardly a word, not to be seen again for the rest of the afternoon.

Had he offended her? She had seemed so willing, so eager for his kiss.

She joined him for dinner, darting quick glances at him and blushing madly every time. Her sudden shy behavior put him in mind of the girls in London during their first Season—the girls too shy and modest to make spectacles of themselves. The girls who had never been courted, but stood at the edges of ballrooms watching the proceedings with wide eyes and hope someone might notice them.

Silas had once made it his duty to escort such ladies through a dance at least once, but soon realized women with that particular nature found him intimidating.

Perhaps his wife faced a similar problem. Going from acquaintances, to married, to what he hoped would prove an affectionate relationship, all within the space of a month, would rattle anyone. The course of their relationship was quite backward. In nearly every respect. And there was the gloom of Isaac’s loss hanging heavily on both their hearts.

Silas cleared his throat, setting down his fork and staring intently at his wife.

He saw her throat tighten with a swallow, her cheeks pinking again.

“Are you finished, my lady?” he asked. They needed to speak in private and the footmen lining the walls of the dining room were not conducive to such a thing.

“Yes.” No witty phrase accompanied her answer.