Page 98 of Enticing the Devil
But damnit, his kisses suited her, too. As much as the soft, pleading sighs she issued while in his arms and the husky little moans that told him she was close. And her smiles when she frolicked with Carys or spoke in animated conversation with Eirwyn. And her laughter when the boys competed with each other to impress her.
“Are you going to stand there and glare at me all evening, Beynon, or do you have something to say?”
He couldn’t tell for certain, but he thought he detected a hint of amusement threading through the annoyance in her tone.
He met her steady gaze. What he wanted to say was, Come home with me. But he changed his mind at the last moment to ask instead, “Are you happy here?”
She blinked as she tended to do when surprised—a habit that had always charmed him. “You want to know if I’m happy?” He nodded. “Here at the cottage?” she asked. “Or here in Wales?”
Beynon wasn’t sure. His heart thundered heavily against his ribs and his hands clenched into fists. He wanted to pace again and could feel his brows drawing lower as his frown deepened.
Yet she remained calmly seated on the blanket, looking up at him with a quiet but insistent expectancy.
Fuck.
He had to stop being such a coward.
He took a step toward her and she gave a subtle flinch. He stopped, scowled, and took one more step. She was still well out of his reach, but now he could see the swirl of green and blue in her eyes.
“Are you happy...as my wife?”
The words sounded rough and ragged as they forced their way past a tight throat. He held his breath, waiting for her answer.
It came quickly. Immediately, in fact.
“No.”
Beynon’s heart plummeted.
For a moment, he couldn’t speak as a wave of pain and anger and fear overwhelmed him. When his temper rose in such a way—when his emotions grew too intense for him to manage—he’d learned to clench his teeth and walk away or risk losing control.
Every muscle in his body tensed as his brain directed it to turn and leave her there in the twilight glow of the garden. To accept her rejection silently—regardless of the pain tearing through him—and acknowledge that he’d been right all along. They didn’t belong together.
But as he prepared himself to do all that, he recalled his mother’s words.
He had to fight.
Not with fists or fury. But with the truth.
As he looked into his wife’s eyes, he understood. The fight he had to wage was against his pride. And his assumptions and prejudices and his own damned fears of never being good enough.
Stepping forward, he extended his fist holding the Amaranthus. “For you.”
Her eyes widened again as she reached up to take his impulsive gift. But then she brought the flowers in against her chest and lowered her chin and he could no longer read her expression. His voice was heavy and raw. “Come back with me.”
She took a visible breath, the inhale lifting and lowering her shoulders. Then she turned to set her paintbrush and the handful of flowers atop her box and gracefully rose to her feet. Brushing the wrinkles from her skirts, she squared herself to face him. “Why should I?”
The woman never made anything easy for him. He furrowed his brow. “It’s where you belong.”
She seemed to stiffen. Her gaze dropped for a second before she forced it up again with a strong, jutting chin. “Is it, though? By what evidence? Was it the many nights I fell asleep alone in our marriage bed? Or was it how my husband made it abundantly clear he had no wish to welcome me into his life? Perhaps it was the regret I saw in your eyes whenever your desire was sated.”
Beynon’s heart felt like a stone in his chest. He wanted to dispute her words, but he couldn’t force any sound around the lump filling his throat as she asked in a choked whisper, “Is there something so very wrong with me?”
A bone-deep anguish unlike anything he’d ever known before gripped him. “No. You’re perfect.”
The words were barely audible and all he could manage.
Her eyes brightened with a suspicious glimmer. “Then why am I always so easily forsaken? Why did my father see me as so unworthy of his time and...affection that he did all he could to forget I existed? And why, no matter how hard and how long I’ve loved you, have I failed so miserably to earn your love in return?”