Free His Contract Bride by Rose Gordon Page A

same.
    No red edges around her eyes.
    No tears streaking down her cheeks.
    No bright red splotches on her cheeks.
    No frown.
    No sobs.
    Nothing.
    To him, her not reacting was worse than if she had reacted.
    Years of witnessing his mother's tears may have annoyed him, but it had given him the needed experience of what to say and not to say to a lady experiencing a fit of vapors.
    However, Regina's response of indifference was different. Most unnerving, really.
    Her eyes looked up from the papers she held and met his gaze. “Why didn't you tell me?” she asked at last, confusing him more with her casual tone. Not a single squeal or crack had erupted in that sentence, nothing but a calm, smooth question that he felt like a dunce forming a response to.
    “ I didn't want to hurt you,” he said at last.
    She nodded once. “So you think lying to me was the better way to accomplish that?”
    He blinked. Where on earth had she learned her arguing skills? “Yes.”
    She nodded once again. “Well, Lord Watson,” she began, in a tone that wasn't hard or sharp, but neither was it warm and excited, “I feel foolish to have waited so long to inform you of this, however, I prefer honesty to heroics.”
    Edward swallowed. “Regina, I wasn't trying to be heroic.”
    “ Weren't you?” she challenged. “You just admitted to such not more than thirty seconds ago.”
    “ No, I just said that I was trying to spare your feelings,” he corrected. His mind reeled. In their weeks of marriage, he'd never seen her have as much to say or as strong of an opinion as she did just now.
    Regina dropped their betrothal agreement to his desk. “It matters naught why you did it. What's done is done, I suppose.” She stood and smoothed her skirts. “I apologize for whatever it was I said to you that made you feel you needed to lie to me in order to protect my feelings.” Twin patches of pink stained her cheeks, presumably because she was alluding to one of their more intimate moments during the middle of the day. She lifted her chin. “I should inform you that while most gentlemen frequently tell their wives whatever they think will keep them appeased, I am not one of those wives and do not desire such a husband.”
    “ Regina, I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said, taking a step toward her.
    She flicked her wrist dismissively and smiled. “It's of no account. I was the one silly enough to believe... Well, never mind all of that.” She slid open the top left drawer of his desk and slipped their blasted betrothal agreement inside. “As you can see, I was unable to locate where you keep your parchment. If you'd be kind enough to bring some with you, I'll be waiting for you in the library.” And with that, she said nothing else, just stepped out from behind his desk and walked right past him, head high, shoulders back, chin up, sweeping the room as if she were a queen—and leaving him more uncertain than when he'd first entered.
    ***
    Regina's fingernails bit into her palms and for the first time since the instant she'd seen her groom at the wedding, she wished her father had denied his request—not that he'd actually issued one in the first place.
    Hot tears pricked the backs of her eyes. He didn't love her. It was all arranged. And worse yet, he knew it all along! Oh, how foolish was she to have ever believed her aunt's words of love and her father's declaration that she, Regina, had caught his attention. Gentlemen didn't fall in love—and if they did, they certainly didn't marry because of it. They married for money, connections, or because it was expected of them. And Edward Banks, Baron Watson, the gentleman she'd measured every other gentleman she'd met against, married for a combination of all three. Then he’d lied about it.
    If not for the severe pain in the palms of her hands, she might have swooned right there in the hall at the realization that the very man she'd trusted with her heart was no more trustworthy than her drunkard