The Marriage Bargain by Diane Perkins Page A

the whole afternoon he’d felt panic whenever left alone.
    “I have much to do.”
    “Let others do it,” he begged. “Sit with me. Tell me how you go on here, Emma. I wish to hear of you.”
    She swung around to him, eyes blazing. “You
wish
to hear of me?”
    He was shocked at the change in more than her manner. She fairly bristled with anger. “Of course. Have you liked living at Kellworth? Have you been happy here?”
    She strode back to his side. “I would believe you wished to hear of me, that you ever considered my happiness, sir, if you had acknowledged even one of my letters.”
    “Your letters?” His head throbbed and he felt dizzy again. He pressed his fingers against his temple, but the movement sent a shaft of pain through his shoulder. Unable to stop himself, he groaned.
    Her voice lost some of its edge. “I shall send your friends to attend you. I suspect you can wait a bit longer to hear of how life has been at Kellworth.”
    The room started spinning and he shut his eyes to make it stop. When he opened them again, she had gone.
    Emma dismissed Susan, declining, as she always did, Susan’s offer to help her dress for bed. It was difficult enough to let the elderly maid untie her laces. The woman’s arthritic fingers worked so slowly Emma nearly perished from impatience.
    After Susan shuffled out of the room, Emma donned her nightdress and sat at her dressing table to take the pins from her hair and brush out the tangles.
    She examined herself in the mirror by the golden light of her colza lamp.
    Was she so altered? She tried to see what changes three years had brought. She’d grown another inch in that time, and her figure had turned more womanly, but what was it he’d seen that prevented him from remembering her?
    Emma jumped up from her seat and hurried to the door connecting her room with her husband’s. She’d almost forgotten to open it a crack so she could hear him if he roused during the night.
    She returned to her dressing table and ran her fingers down her cheek. Her face was terribly thin, she thought. She was thin all over, though it was less apparent with her large breasts, and disguised by her clothes. She examined her neck, trying to remember if it had always been so long. Her complexion was tinted by the sunlight and her arms firmed by hard work. Perhaps he’d thought her a maid—a garden worker. That was what she was.
    She grabbed the brush again and dragged it ruthlessly through her long curls, attacking the knots and trying to think of nothing else.
    “Emma?”
    The brush fell from her hands and bounced on the carpet. Spence stood at the doorway. Rather, he leaned against the doorjamb, breathing hard.
    She jumped to her feet and ran to him. “What are you doing? You must not leave your bed.”
    He took a careful step inside her room, leaning against a bureau near the door. “Wanted to get up,” he panted. “Saw your light.”
    She came to his side and offered her arm to lean on. “I will take you back to bed.”
    He pressed against her, and she could feel his firm muscles through the thin layer of her nightdress. “No.” He gestured toward a chair.
    Feeling no choice, she walked him over to the chair where Susan usually sat, hearing the catch in his breath with each step. He winced as she eased him into the chair. His breath came hard.
    She walked over to her water pitcher and poured him a glass of water. He downed it greedily.
    “You ought to be in bed.” She stood over him.
    He looked up at her, his piercing blue eyes even more vibrant than in daylight. “Blake and Wolfe told me what you did.”
    She squared her shoulders. “What I did?”
    He reached out and grasped her hand, the touch surprisingly gentle. “I made them tell me about the duel and about . . . my death.” He closed both hands over hers. “You made them open the casket, Emma. You found me alive. If you had not . . .”
    She drew back, but he would not release his grip on her hand. The lamp