The Hired Wife Read Online Free Page A

meals to look forward to. I
can’t serve you if I have an axe hanging over…”

    “I thought you
said you didn’t mind plain speaking.” The booming roar dropped to a
relative whisper as his thumb caressed her face. “I didn’t mean to
hurt your feelings. Unless you’re a thief, a complainer or a whore
I’ll be quite satisfied with you.” Her skin was soft and smelled
faintly of roses as his lips brushed her cheek. His bride didn’t
pull away, but he could feel her freeze with dismay. His romantic
soul was making him a fool. He pulled away, picked up his book of
poetry and randomly chose a page. “Go acquaint yourself with the
household. I’ll call if I need you.” The words on the page were
meaningless symbols as he stared blindly at the object in his
hands.

    Mary sighed in
dismay as she stood to go. The man had been smiling before he’d
kissed her. Now he was glaring at the book as if he hated poetry.
“Marshall…” He turned over the page and pretended to read until she
tapped his shoulder.

    “What?” It was
a terse unhappy word.

    “I’m sorry I
misunderstood you.” Intelligent blue eyes looked up at her and then
returned to the page. She was dismissed.

    Marshall
watched her disappear out the door before throwing the book on the
desk and rubbing his eyes. There was something irrationally
pleasing about the plain woman. Sitting back in his chair he closed
his eyes and recalled the image of his wife in her chemise. She was
far too thin, but after a couple months of good dinners… Was he
losing his mind? Was he so desperate that he’d reached a point
where he’d settle for any woman in his bed? He growled in disgust
as his dreams wilted in despair. He had to get out and clear his
head. After a long walk he’d return to find the real woman he
married.

Chapter 3

    Mary heard her
husband shouting for his overcoat and hat and then the front door
open and close. Where was he going? Was he angry with her? She
sighed in ignorance and continued her inspection of the house.
There was a depressing air of temporary accommodation about the
rooms. After staring at a painting of a long dead Godfrey with
bright blue eyes she ran her finger along shelves and fire
surrounds finding dust. The house and furniture cried out for
proper cleaning. Candle wax globbed the sides of expensive silver
candlesticks. Oil lamps were stained black with smoke. The fire
grates were swept and filled with fresh coal, but hadn’t received a
proper blacking in weeks. Did the twins have important callers? The
thought made Mary cringe. If her father’s rectory had looked half
as neglected she’d have faced quiet disgrace from the entire
parish. She couldn’t believe the upper class would be any less
vicious. With a mental list of improvements and a plan of execution
she went in search of the housekeeper.

    …

    Marshall let
himself back in with his own key and locked the door on the night.
He sniffed the air in shock; the house smelled of lemons, vinegar,
linseed oil and beeswax. He shrugged out of his overcoat and draped
it over the hall chair. Free of his hat and gloves he stepped into
his study and found a small clean oil lamp lighting up his tidied
desk. He looked at his watch and stepped back out into the hall and
stopped in shock. His outerwear had disappeared. He hadn’t seen
such efficiency since his step-mother’s death. It was gone
nine-thirty; would his wife be in bed? He wasn’t sure what he hoped
to find. He’d idled away the day browsing bookstalls and spent the
evening at his club reading the papers trying to convince himself
that his wife’s charms were delusions born of desperation. For the
present, his dream of romance refused to politely step aside for
lust.

    Stopping in the
doorway to the sitting room, he stared spellbound at the mermaid.
Bathed in lamp light, the small pillow on her lap dotted with pins
and bobbins tied with future lace lying forgotten as she listened
intently to something one of his