Page 82 of Cold November Rake

Bergen, then. I have read your letter more times than I will admit to.

Damn it all, it seems I shall be accompanying the madman on his wager to the North Pole after all. He could not believe his ears when I agreed. I told him I would come on one condition: that we put in at Bergen. He asked no questions, which is the only wise thing he has done all year. We shall be in Bergen by the middle of September, so adjust your journey accordingly. Wait for me.

Your husband,

Edward

Temperance opened the little leather diary on the vanity with trembling fingers.

She was dressed for the evening in a midnight blue gown, her hair pinned in a soft knot with pearls threaded through it. In half an hour, guests would begin to arrive. She needed to be downstairs, but she could no longer delay the one thing she had dreaded all day.

She turned the pages back to the day she had arrived in London and counted.

Her courses were two weeks overdue.

This does not mean anything, she told herself.

Her courses could have been delayed by the strain of the journey from Sutton Hall to London, the fright of the attack on her husband, and the upheaval of her routine. These things happened. She knew it from her travels on the Continent, where her courses had come late a few times. But there had been no chance of a babe then, so she had never worried.

Now she did.

Things were only just smoothing over with her husband. She had only just managed to win back his trust, to make him enjoy her company again.

And the flutter in her stomach grew larger every time she saw him.

What if he was still biding his time until she was with child? Waiting to send her off to Sutton Hall the moment it was confirmed.

No, no, she was not with child.

In fact, her courses were going to arrive any day now. Her breasts were tender, and her back ached as it did a few days before they came. Surely, that was all it was.

She closed the diary and pressed her palm flat against the cover, as though she could keep the answer inside.

She did not need to tell Sutton her suspicions.

There was no way to know for certain this early. If her courses had not come within a month, they could call for a doctor then.

She only needed a little more time.

A little longer for him to decide he wanted to keep her. To trust her fully. To love her again.

He had become more affectionate, hadn't he?

And the nights they spent together...

God, the nights. He came to her with an intensity that left her shaken, flushed, and boneless. Yet, she could not tell if it was her he craved or merely the release she provided.

He still had not kissed her.

Not willingly. Not on the lips.

The kiss in the theater box, as intense and magical as it had been, did not count; it had been a performance. Different rules applied at the opera.

Despite everything he had said in the study—about trust, about no games—she could feel him holding something back.

She couldn't blame him. She had given him seven years of reasons.

Still, he was nothing like the Cold November Rake the Brazen Belle had written about. He had never truly been a rake, had he? It had all been a pretense, just like their marriage.