Return of the Viscount by Gayle Callen

least she had Oliver’s attention now, and he was studying her with curiosity. “That’s enough billiards for the night,” he said. “Let’s hie to Enfield and see what entertainment there is.”
    Their cheerfulness at his idea seemed forced.
    Pointing his cane at Sir Bevis as if it were a sword, Lord Blackthorne said coldly, “Take that with you.”
    As the men began to file out, he took her arm. “Allow me to escort you to your bedchamber, madam.”
    She was still stunned by all that had happened, and could only stare up at him and nod. He gripped her arm firmly, and even though he still limped, he could be menacing and frightening. She was glad of it this night, of course, for something far worse could have happened to her. But for the first time, it made her wonder if he would amicably agree to end the marriage when she insisted.
    A footman handed them a candleholder, and Cecilia tried to smile at him but failed. She felt unlike herself, her calm certainty in the world and her place in it as upset as a toy boat in a stormy pond.
    Lord Blackthorne remained a silent presence, his grip firm and warm and unsettling. When they reached the door to her bedroom, he opened it and guided her inside as if he had every right. And, technically, she’d given that right to him.
    A man had never been in her bedroom before. It felt all wrong—the whole evening felt wrong. One man had tried to drag her off to a darkened corner, and now another man—her husband—had her alone.
    â€œI am fine, my lord,” she murmured, knowing it was a lie.
    â€œYou experienced your first battle. It is only right for you to be upset.”
    â€œMy first battle?” She stared at him in bafflement.
    â€œYou fought for your honor.”
    â€œWell, I may be upset, but you certainly weren’t,” she said.
    â€œI was sixteen when a thief attacked me with a knife as I rode my horse, not far from my home. The world seemed a much darker place after that.”
    â€œAt least you rescued yourself. I could do nothing. I am not used to feeling . . . helpless.” She looked away from him, hating that she couldn’t stop trembling.
    â€œYet you must have felt that last year, after it was apparent your brother was not up to managing the Appertan estates. You found a solution and triumphed.”
    â€œTriumphed?” she echoed, glancing at him.
    He was staring at her intently, the shadows flickering over half his face. She couldn’t place why her stomach fluttered and her pulse raced.
    â€œYou found a solution to your problems,” he replied. “You did it yourself.”
    â€œWith your help,” she said dryly.
    He briefly bowed his head in acknowledgment.
    â€œWhy were you downstairs tonight?” she asked.
    He looked grim. “To see what happened with your brother’s friends.”
    â€œDid you think I should not have permitted the event?”
    â€œWas that your decision?”
    â€œNo.” She sighed. “He is the earl. I fear I antagonized him in front of his friends tonight.”
    â€œHe deserved it.” He practically growled the words. “I regret that I was not close enough to intercept that fool who frightened you.”
    â€œYou stopped him. I am truly grateful. I’m sorry I did not yet say those words to you.”
    Michael stared at her, masking his surprise. She’d suffered a trauma, yet she still tried to be polite, as if he were a stranger rather than her husband. He was both, he realized. “I did not take offense.”
    And still he stared at her, this woman who was his wife yet not his wife. In the candlelight, her hair gleamed like a beam of moonlight, cascading down her back and around her shoulders like a cape. She was made to be worshipped, and, out of honor, he could do nothing.
    And he could do little to comfort her either. He saw that she kept touching the locket she always wore around her