“Look how beautiful it is.”

Morgan ignored Emma’s exaggerated praise of the scenery. He’d seen it all before. Lots of green, lots of brown, and not a lot more.

The carriage jerked over a bump in the road and Morgan had to prevent himself from gripping the edge of his seat. He drew in a breath and exhaled slowly...but quietly. He did not need his new wife knowing what driving through the country did to him. Christ, it was hard enough creating a marriage from nothing, let alone if she thought him an utter wimp.

“I can see the house. Look.” She pointed out of the window.

He kept his face forward and focused on the luxurious innards of the Brougham. He counted his breaths and studied the pattern on the seats on front of him with great concentration. Thankfully the journey from London to Guy’s home in Hampshire was a short one. Still not short enough for his liking, though. He supposed he should have thought this through when he had decided to invest in growing crops and producing a fine ale.

It was too hard to say no to his closest friend, however. They had known each other since their days at Oxford and rarely went a month without seeing one another. If his friend had a new endeavor, Morgan felt obliged to take part in it—especially when it was going to prove to be extremely profitable. After all, what could he say to his friend? No, I will not support you and invest in this excellent business scheme because I cannot stand riding in carriage in the countryside? It hardly made sense to him let alone to another person.

“You said you would give the countryside a chance.”

He swung his attention to Emma. She wore a colored gown of green silk. He had only seen her in paler colors and he had not been able to prevent himself from admiring the way the shade made her skin appear creamier and enhanced the green of her eyes. Paired with long gloves, he kept finding his attention drifting to the gap of flesh between the sleeves and the edge of the gloves. It was a ridiculous thing to find a portion of arm attractive but his finger kept twitching with the need to brush the back of a hand all the way up, linger on that bare flesh then toy with a curl of hair or push said curl behind her ear.

How would she react? She had made no attempts at being intimate and he had done little more than brush a kiss over her forehead or her knuckles since their wedding night. She did not pull back from him when he did as much but there was a certain nervousness to her still.

That kiss after their engagement was not easily forgotten, though. She had liked that, he was certain of it, and that had given him a fair amount of hope that their match would not be a passionless one.

Unfortunately, he’d have to wait until after they returned to London to see if his conclusion had been correct. Inevitably, his nightmares would start again now they were in the country. They had last time he’d stayed with Guy. It was all well and good when one did not have a wife to worry about but it meant there was no chance he could be intimate with her—not if it meant waking up in a bed with her. She would surely witness his nightmares and they were no pleasant experience.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Well what?”

“You are already determined to hate it all. Will you not even look outside? It is a glorious day. The cold weather seems to have left us.” She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.

The temptation to lean in quickly and brush as kiss across her lips—perhaps even deepen it and make her forget all this talk of glorious country days—burned hot in his stomach. There was no denying it. He was growing increasingly attracted to his wife. An excellent thing indeed were it not for their current situation.

When she opened her eyes, she narrowed them at him. Arms folded, she waited for him to do as she bid. He gave a sigh, turned his head and glanced quickly at the passing countryside. They were on the road leading up to Harburgh House, that much he knew. which meant this God-awful journey was nearly over.

“Yes, lovely,” he said, turning his attention back to where he would rather it was. On Emma.

“You hardly looked!”

“I saw all I needed to see. Lots of trees. Some grass.”

She made a frustrated noise and shook her head. “You have no soul, Lord…Morgan.”

If they were at a more intimate point of their marriage, he would scold her heartily for her use of his title. She still struggled saying his name and he could not help feel she was allowing herself to keep some distance between them. The Emma he kept seeing sparks of would not care what someone’s title was.

“I have a soul. It merely enjoys things other than grass and nature.”

“What about a beautiful sunset? Or the trickle of water between rocks while you lie on the grass? Does your soul not enjoy those?”

He shook his head. “You can see the sunset in London and you do know there are rivers there, do you not?”

“And people. Lots and lots of people.”

“People are not so bad.” He leaned in toward her. “I am not so terrible, am I?”

Emma did a rotten job at quashing a smile. “You are one person. London is filled with many thousands. Plenty of whom are likely gossiping about us at this very moment. Takes some of the enjoyment away, do you not think?”

“You have quite the disdain for the ton, I see.”

“I prefer the company of country folk.”

“You realize, of course, that your new husband is certainly considered part of the ton and by that route, that means you are too.”

She lifted her gaze briefly to the roof of the carriage. “I realize not everyone is awful but I have no patience for the gossip and...and fakery involved with the ton. They never liked me or my sisters until they married.”

“Ah.” He lounged back against the seat.

“What does that mean?”

“You are bitter.”

“Hardly.”

“Yes, you are. I have seen it time and again. You could not find your place in the ton so you are determined to write it all off as terrible.”

“That is not true at all. Even if I had been popular amongst them, I would not have wished to be. I’m far too busy doing...” She waved a hand. “Doing other things to be worrying about whether those sorts of people like me.”

“The infamous bluestocking Chadwick girls,” he mused. “All busy following intellectual pursuits. I’d heard a thing or two about you all before I met you of course but I don’t pay much attention to gossip these days.”

“Too busy sneaking out of lover’s windows, no doubt.”

Morgan straightened and pressed a hand to his heart. “Ouch. What did I do to deserve that?”

She pressed her lips together. “Nothing. Forgive me. Though I hope I do not have to witness anymore sneaking out of windows.”

“I will not make a farce of this marriage, I promise you that much. I might be many things but I have no intention of causing you deliberate humiliation.”

Her posture softened as did the tightness around her mouth.

“Did you doubt me?”

“As much as you have heard of me, I have heard more of you. It is hard not to listen to the gossips,” she said ruefully.

“And here I thought you paid no heed to gossip.”

“I do not,” she protested. “But—”

The carriage ground to a halt, crunching on the shingled road in front of Harburgh House.

“About bloody time,” Morgan muttered under his breath.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing at all.”

Morgan managed to contain his need to be out of the blasted carriage and waited until the footman had opened the door before exiting the vehicle. He handed down Emma and took a quick moment to admire her.

If someone had told him a month ago he’d have a redheaded, freckled wife with a determined personality, he’d have told them they were mad. If they had told him he would be lusting after her but had already turned her favors down, he’d have marched them off to the asylum.

But there it was. He was paying for his mistakes but he could not quite decide if it was a heavy penance to pay or one that could become quite rewarding.

Guy and Julia stood in the doorway of the house. The building had been a little worn when Guy had first purchased it and it still needed some work but there were already improvements from the shining paintwork around the windows and the freshly planted flowers lined up around the house like miniature soldiers standing guard. Rupert the dog bounded down the steps before Guy could stop him. The sandy-colored animal jumped up Morgan’s legs and licked his hand enthusiastically before Guy could drag him away.

Emma gave the dog a quick fuss before embracing Julia. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Roo remembers you well, it seems.” Guy extended a hand to greet him with a handshake.

“What? No embrace?” Morgan said.

Guy lifted a brow. “I think we’ll leave that to the women. How are things?” He swung a look at Emma.

“Different,” Morgan said. “It is taking some adjustment,” he admitted, “but things could have been worse.”

Guy nodded. “Emma’s a good girl. She will make you a fine wife, I think. Just so long as she’s not doing those blasted card tricks anymore.”

“She seems to have given them up, thank the Lord.”

When he’d first met Emma in Hampshire, she had been carrying around a deck of cards with her and trying to perform tricks for everyone she met. The trouble was, she was utterly awful at them and never got it right. He hadn’t seen a single card in their short acquaintance so perhaps she had realized what everyone else had.

Arm in arm, Julia and Emma ascended the steps and Julia stopped to greet Morgan with a kiss to the cheek. “It is good to see you, Lord Radcliff. I hope married life is treating you well. And that you are treating my sister well.” She gave him a warning look.

“Julia!” Emma exclaimed. “I can look after myself.”

Julia shrugged. “Amelia is too nice to say it so I must. You hurt my sister and I shall set Catherine on you.”

Morgan shot a bemused look at Guy who merely chuckled. “I’d do as she says. Catherine is fiercer than she looks.”

Morgan had to wonder quite what he had married into. Julia was a strong-willed sort of woman and he’d seen Guy fall hard for her last year. Had it not been for her, their original investment plans of building a mill would have gone ahead but she had persuaded Guy to invest in the ale business. Any sort of woman who could change the Duke of Weston’s mind had to be quite a woman.

“Catherine threatened to kick Guy in the loins when they first met,” Emma confided.

Morgan laughed. “Well that’s understandable. Many a person has had to resist that impulse.”

“I’ll have you know I did nothing to deserve the threat,” Guy protested. “But Julia is right. Catherine is the sister you need to look out for.”

“Well, let me assure you all—and perhaps you can pass this onto Miss Chadwick—I have no intention of hurting Emma in any way at all.”

“Let us hope not after that drama in London.” Julia’s warning look vanished and she grinned at Emma. “I’m so glad you are home.”

Home. A shard of guilt darted through Morgan. The Chadwick girls were obviously close to one another and he’d be taking Emma away from that.

But, still, London was only a short journey away. As he had said, she could visit them any time and they would always have the season together.

“It has only been a few days,” Emma reminded her sister.

“A few days too long. It’s such an adjustment for us not to all be living together let alone for you to still be in London when we returned. No doubt you are glad to be returned.” Julia gave Morgan a pointed look leaving him in no doubt Emma had informed her of the deal they had set upon. It seemed he would not be up against one Chadwick woman but two or more.

Not that it mattered. He would never like the countryside. Not after what had happened to his parents.