Page 27 of Cold November Rake

"Oh, drop the feigned outrage." He leaned back in his chair, leaving his toast uneaten. "Our marriage has been nothing more than a mockery."

"Perhaps it has been," Temperance agreed through the ache in her heart. She watched her husband take a sip of coffee, unbothered, and ire rose within her. "But since I am here in London, things will change. I refuse to share your bed and y-your used, disease-riddled cock with⁠—"

Sutton let out a sudden sputter of laughter, coffee spraying from his lips, his eyes crinkling with merriment.

It was an unguarded sound that cut through the tense air of the dining room. It was the first real laugh she had heard from him in seven years, and she hated that her heart leapt at it.

It was the sound she had missed most. She had gone seven years without it, and had not understood until now that she had been listening for it in every foreign city, in every stranger's laugh.

But she was furious with him. She needed to remember that.

Temperance glared at him, pursing her lips so as not to join him in laughter.

"You are the one who came here demanding marital relations," Sutton finally said after wiping drops of coffee from his beard. "I do not think you are in a position to comment on my acceptably exercised and healthy cock. However, if you do not like it, you are welcome not to engage with it."

The last thing she wanted was to argue about the health and appearance of his cock, though the image of it flickered before her eyes.

Large, swollen, covered in veins.

It was beautiful.

"I want a child," Temperance said with all the patience she could muster. "And you need an heir, Lord Sutton. There is a reason you took me into your bed, and it was not because you have pity or respect for me."

"You came to London with your demands for company and a child," he countered. "I am willing to compromise and give you what you asked for. I am not, however, about to let you dictate how I live my life."

Temperance took a calming breath.

"When we separated, you warned me that my reputation would be the price if I ever considered bedding another man. Yet here you are with a mistress you have kept for half our marriage. The least I deserve is the consideration of your not bedding this woman or any other for the short time you are bedding me."

"I will not stop seeing her," he repeated, then muttered a curse under his breath. "But since it troubles your delicate sensibilities this much, I promise I will not be bedding her. Or anyone else. Does that suffice?"

No, Temperance thought, her throat tightening as she stared at his impassive face. It does not suffice.

She wanted his full, undivided attention. She wanted him to sever ties with that woman entirely. If Sutton was willing to forgo bedding the opera singer and yet still insisted on keeping her in his life, then their connection was built on something far more dangerous than simple lust. It meant the woman had made her way into his heart, into the quiet, guarded place a wife ought to occupy.

Temperance knew she was not without blame. Her past mistake had cost her husband's affection and his loyalty. But looking at him now, feeling the suffocating distance between them, she made a fierce vow to herself. She would break through his walls. She would win back what was rightfully hers.

"Fine," Temperance agreed softly, tilting her chin up. "That will suffice. For now."

Chapter Eight

Lucerne

3rd May 1816

Dear husband,

I waited two months for your reply, and it never came. I have decided to find this very diverting.

My aunt grew tired of our "stationary life," as she calls it, and declared that Milan had nothing more to teach her. So we crossed the mountains, and I have now seen snow in amounts I have never seen before.

You will be pleased to hear that I am very well and very much admired. A Russian count has asked me to teach him English, though my aunt insists it's his excuse to spend more time with me.

We have progressed as far as "good morning" and "I am not at home," which he considers the two most useful phrases in the language, and I begin to think he is right.

P.S. Lucerne is beautiful, though it is cold and the sky is overcast. The food is lovely; I am quite enjoying their lamb stew with cabbage.

Your wife,