She raised her chin. “I am a commoner, but as
you have guessed, my father was accepted in certain
social circles. Accepted, but not always welcomed.”
“Well, you will be welcomed now, Abby. You are
a viscountess.” His voice softened, but his eyes shone
with disappointment. Was it because he had hoped she
would confide in him? Or because she had confessed
her humble origins?
Pride stiffened her spine. “I am more than just a
viscountess. I am a wife and mother, and if I am to be a
good wife, at some point, I must act like a wife.” This
meant running a household, not living on a ship. She
did not want to argue or have him ask more questions
about her past, but she could not bear living aboard ship
indefinitely.
He started, his expression surprised. Then a slow
smile spread over his face, and his eyes burned as if he
had a fever. He leaned over the table, his face mere
inches from hers. “A real wife sleeps in her husband’s
bed.”
Abby’s breath hitched. Her pulse jumped. Oh dear!
He had taken her meaning all wrong. Heat rushed to her
cheeks, and her flesh tingled. “What I meant...That is, I
should be running your household.”
“We live on a ship.” He leaned back in his chair.
He still smiled, but it was now more humorous
than...amorous?
She shivered, unable to suppress a brief surge of
longing. What would it be like to kiss that hard mouth?
To feel his lips pressed against hers?
Dear Lord! What is wrong with me?