the upper hand— as he had always had. Instead she had to show him her maturity, let him know he could no longer manipulate her by playing on her emotions. She'd learned how to curb her temper; dear Lady Temperly had instructed her, and she had refined her methods teaching the young ladies at the Governess School.
Hannah took several long, slow breaths, noting the faint odor of woodsmoke and the leathery scent of the chair. She allowed her gaze to roam about the drawing chamber, seeing the wide, black windows framed by heavy brocade curtains and the emerald brocade wallpaper, obviously new, that covered the upper walls. This room had been remodeled for a master's comfort.
She risked a glance at him.
A master who obviously knew what he wanted and how to get it. As she had been glancing around and separating herself from her anger, he had been observing her.
Had he once taken his gaze off of her since she entered the room? She thought not. So she must behave with sensibility and calm, for to be anything else would grant Dougald a victory. In a polite, even tone, she said, "If I had used your surname or my mother's surname, that would have made my departure a mockery. You would have found me at once."
"And saved us a damned lot of trouble."
"Saved you a damned lot of trouble," she retorted. "I didn't leave until… until our marriage had failed completely. Until I knew we had no chance."
His lips barely moved as he retorted, "We always had a chance."
"Nonsense." She kept her voice reasonable, pretending to herself she was explaining a sample situation to a particularly obtuse student. "You never listened to me. You patted me on the head and told me you knew best. I might as well have gone out and shouted my discontent to the wind."
"I adored you."
"I didn't want adoration, I wanted a life of purpose."
"Most women—"
Most women would be happy to be idle. How many times had she heard that before? She held up her hand to stop him. "Please. Not the same old argument."
Irritation flashed over his features. "I was going to say— most women would be happy to be idle, but I should have known that you would be different."
What did he mean? Was he saying he'd been wrong all those years ago? She glanced at him, but he sat there, austere and expressionless. If he had actually changed so much he could admit fault… She glanced at him again.
Now he was staring at her breasts with such a penetrating gaze they might have been bare, rather than wrapped in layers of clothing.
No, he hadn't changed. If he had actually changed so much he could admit fault, he did so to hide an ulterior motive. She had to remember who he was. She had to remember the hard lessons she had learned.
People didn't change.
And men were like people, only worse.
And Dougald… she chuckled softly. He was the preeminent man. Confident to his bones. Domineering because he was right. Raised by his grandmother and father to believe that the long line of their ancestors had been successful because they were inherently superior, and that Dougald was the ultimate result of all those generations of breeding. No woman had a chance against that kind of indoctrination. Certainly not a woman who did not know the truth surrounding her birth. Who even yet didn't know her father's family name. She would do well to remember that, and to ignore Dougald's broad shoulders.
So she began the flagging conversation once more. "Once, I had lived in the village of Setterington with my mother. A fair place it was, so I took that name as my own."
"You lived everywhere with your mother for a while." He was talking to her breasts as if they could hear. "Why not call yourself York, or Bristol, or East Little Teignmouth? Why Setterington?"
"I chose Setterington because I didn't think you knew about my time there."
"No." His fist tightened. "I didn't."
Hannah wondered if this new frankness between them would lead to a better understanding— or to violence. She didn't know this
Hannah took several long, slow breaths, noting the faint odor of woodsmoke and the leathery scent of the chair. She allowed her gaze to roam about the drawing chamber, seeing the wide, black windows framed by heavy brocade curtains and the emerald brocade wallpaper, obviously new, that covered the upper walls. This room had been remodeled for a master's comfort.
She risked a glance at him.
A master who obviously knew what he wanted and how to get it. As she had been glancing around and separating herself from her anger, he had been observing her.
Had he once taken his gaze off of her since she entered the room? She thought not. So she must behave with sensibility and calm, for to be anything else would grant Dougald a victory. In a polite, even tone, she said, "If I had used your surname or my mother's surname, that would have made my departure a mockery. You would have found me at once."
"And saved us a damned lot of trouble."
"Saved you a damned lot of trouble," she retorted. "I didn't leave until… until our marriage had failed completely. Until I knew we had no chance."
His lips barely moved as he retorted, "We always had a chance."
"Nonsense." She kept her voice reasonable, pretending to herself she was explaining a sample situation to a particularly obtuse student. "You never listened to me. You patted me on the head and told me you knew best. I might as well have gone out and shouted my discontent to the wind."
"I adored you."
"I didn't want adoration, I wanted a life of purpose."
"Most women—"
Most women would be happy to be idle. How many times had she heard that before? She held up her hand to stop him. "Please. Not the same old argument."
Irritation flashed over his features. "I was going to say— most women would be happy to be idle, but I should have known that you would be different."
What did he mean? Was he saying he'd been wrong all those years ago? She glanced at him, but he sat there, austere and expressionless. If he had actually changed so much he could admit fault… She glanced at him again.
Now he was staring at her breasts with such a penetrating gaze they might have been bare, rather than wrapped in layers of clothing.
No, he hadn't changed. If he had actually changed so much he could admit fault, he did so to hide an ulterior motive. She had to remember who he was. She had to remember the hard lessons she had learned.
People didn't change.
And men were like people, only worse.
And Dougald… she chuckled softly. He was the preeminent man. Confident to his bones. Domineering because he was right. Raised by his grandmother and father to believe that the long line of their ancestors had been successful because they were inherently superior, and that Dougald was the ultimate result of all those generations of breeding. No woman had a chance against that kind of indoctrination. Certainly not a woman who did not know the truth surrounding her birth. Who even yet didn't know her father's family name. She would do well to remember that, and to ignore Dougald's broad shoulders.
So she began the flagging conversation once more. "Once, I had lived in the village of Setterington with my mother. A fair place it was, so I took that name as my own."
"You lived everywhere with your mother for a while." He was talking to her breasts as if they could hear. "Why not call yourself York, or Bristol, or East Little Teignmouth? Why Setterington?"
"I chose Setterington because I didn't think you knew about my time there."
"No." His fist tightened. "I didn't."
Hannah wondered if this new frankness between them would lead to a better understanding— or to violence. She didn't know this
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