Thirty-Four

Excusing himself from Lord Craven, Henry strode to his bride, a faint, caustic smile curling his mouth when she flushed and took an instinctive step away from him. Did he look that angry? He wondered idly and thought that he probably did. It should do her some good to think he would give her the cruel treatment he was certain she deserved. Being forced into marriage was the most unpleasant thing that had happened to him in some time, and if he could derive any sort of satisfaction, he felt he deserved it.

"So, my lovely bride," he drawled, taking one of her hands in his and noting how cold it was even tucked inside her glove, "I trust that it has all gone according to your wishes?"

She stiffened as the insinuation behind his words. "If it had," she said with a brief show of spirit, "I would be far away from here!"

A dark brow lifted in ironic amusement, and Henry shook his head. "Somehow, I doubt that my sweet," he said softly. "I think you've had things your way since all this began."