Captivated By Her Convenient Husband - Bronwyn Scott

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seemed quite the right place to start.

      ‘Shall we start with last night?’ Fortis ventured as they turned down a path lined with oaks that formed a vibrant canopy of changing leaves overhead. He was taking charge just as he had in the drawing room. It had been courageous of him to invite his family’s questions, to offer himself openly, and it had cost him something. She’d sensed he hadn’t been entirely comfortable with it.

      She’d wanted to reach out and take his hand in the drawing room, to let him know he wasn’t alone. But the Fortis she’d married wouldn’t have wanted such sentiment. He would have seen it as an assault on his strength, so she’d not risked it. Perhaps she had not risked it for herself either. She could not allow this heroics-induced empathy she felt for the man who’d swept her up in his arms, who’d come to her aid against Hayworth, also sweep away the realities of their marriage.

      Fortis had made his position on wedding her very clear before he’d left. So clear those words were still burned in her mind seven years later.

       ‘This is a marriage of convenience, Avaline, to secure for you an unentailed property of your father’s and eventually join it with my father’s. I have done my part. The property is secured. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised to meet the boys this evening.’

      He’d left with the army the next day. She could not let herself forget her place, for fear she would again fall victim to the fantasies she’d once harboured about their marriage.

      She had to stay strong. Fortis could not come home after seven years of not answering her letters, miracle from the grave or not, and take her for granted again. She was stronger now, smarter now, no longer the fresh-from-the-schoolroom miss straight from Mrs Finlay’s Academy, no longer the child he’d once accused her of being. But the man who walked beside her seemed oblivious to her inner turmoil. He was more concerned with the present than the past. ‘Is it safe to assume Hayworth has been making an idiot of himself?’

      ‘Ever since news came from Balaclava.’ Avaline paused, gathering herself against the emotions of that awful day in London when Cam Lithgow had told them Fortis was missing. Her reaction had been part fright and part an overwhelming numbness. All Fortis had left her was his name and with Cam’s announcement she’d stood to lose even that. She’d felt exposed, the very last of her protection against Hayworth ripped away. But another part of her had been shockingly numb, emotionally empty. While family members around her had wept openly, she’d not been able to conjure such a depth of feeling over the loss of a husband who had not wanted her and whom she had not seen in years.

      That lack of feeling had compounded her guilt. The loss of Fortis was her fault. She’d not been enough of a wife to make him stay and now he was likely dead because of it. Last night, all that had changed. She had a second chance to keep him here if she chose to take it.

      ‘Hayworth wants—wanted—’ she corrected herself ‘—to have you declared dead and, if not that, he wanted the courts to declare abandonment.’ She was clearly not abandoned now. Fortis was here. Her protection was restored simply by Fortis being alive. He needn’t stay and perhaps he did not intend to, yet another reason for withholding her heart. She didn’t need to engage it in order to have what she needed from him—the name of a living husband.

      ‘Abandonment? That’s ludicrous.’ Fortis laughed at the notion. ‘He never could have won that.’

      ‘Couldn’t he? There were six years of unanswered letters,’ Avaline argued quietly, not for Hayworth’s sake but for hers. It was proof Fortis cared so little for their marriage, for her. That disregard had nearly cost her everything.

      ‘Well, I am here now,’ Fortis answered gruffly, his jaw tight. She immediately felt terrible for making the accusation, yet she couldn’t help riding that little crest of anger she’d allowed herself. He’d endured years of war and a year of who knew what hardships. But so had she. In her own way, she’d gone to war, too, alone and unarmed against Hayworth, against a world that talked about her behind her back without knowing the whole truth; that she’d married a man she didn’t know when she was little more than a girl in order to save her estate and herself from marriage to Tobin Hayworth years ago. The marriage hadn’t been a love-match as the Treshams had put about, painting it as a whirlwind romance during Fortis’s leave to explain the haste. It had been a marriage of convenience, pure and simple. Only it wasn’t so simple any more. Fortis was back and the past must be dealt with. Resuming a marriage with a man who didn’t want her was the price for thwarting Hayworth.

      ‘Yes, you are here now. For how long?’ The question came out sharply. Other than putting her beyond Hayworth’s intentions, what else did his appearance mean for her? For them? Was he home to stay? Or simply to lend her the protection of his name once more before he was off on new adventures?

      Fortis’s brow knit in perplexed question or maybe shock that she’d asked such a thing. ‘I am home to stay, Avaline. I am resigning my commission, of course.’ He was staring at her as if he couldn’t believe she’d not already concluded such action was a natural progression of events. ‘I am home to share the running of the estate, although I dare say there is much you’ll have to teach me. The army isn’t keen on imparting estate management skills.’ He gave a soft chuckle at his humour. ‘I am home to be a husband to you, to have a marriage with you, a real marriage this time.’

      He was acknowledging the imperfections of what had lain between them in the past and his part in that. It was her turn to stare, all her girlish hopes surging to the fore, refusing to be held back. Oh, what she would have given to hear those words from him years ago! Now, she didn’t know what to make of them. If her question about his intention to stay had hindered him, his answer had positively stunned her. A real marriage? With this handsome man who both did and did not resemble the man she’d married in looks and deed?

      What did he think a real marriage involved? Sex? Children? A family? Running an estate together? All of it or just some of it? As she stood in the autumn garden, surrounded by the vibrant colours of the leaves, the sun out, the autumn air crisp, it was easy to be swept away by his declaration, easy to dream. Even now, a nugget of hope blossomed at his words. Was the kind of union she’d always dreamed of within her grasp; one of love and mutual respect, one where husband and wife shared daily life together? The possibilities of what that marriage could hold were endless and tantalising. And frightening. To achieve such a thing would require great risk on her part, a risk she would not contemplate blindly. Broken hearts were not blithe considerations. Did he know what he asked of her with his declaration? How like the Fortis she’d known to consider only his wants without understanding the cost to others. She’d already paid the price once.

      Avaline stepped back. They had drifted together as they talked and now she needed distance. She needed to remind herself she was not a green girl any longer. She’d given her innocent heart to this man once before, naively thinking that marriage inherently included love. She’d been proven wrong. She’d already seen what marriage had meant to Fortis Tresham. Nothing. It had meant absolutely nothing. It hadn’t been worth a backward glance before going out hunting with his friends, or worth a single letter home. To trust that man again would be an enormous leap of faith, one she would not take carelessly.

      He did not miss or misunderstand the movement. Hurt flashed in his blue eyes along with realisation. ‘Avaline, are you sorry I am home?’

      * * *

      She did not answer immediately. He wished she had. He found himself wishing for many things in those critical seconds. He wished she’d flung herself into his arms and kissed away his doubts, that she’d murmured a rush of reassuring words. No, no, no, how could you think such a thing? I’d never want you dead. She’d done neither of those things. Instead, she’d moved away from him, separating herself from him, and that one step back communicated volumes long before she spoke the words, ‘I don’t know.’

      It occurred to him the answer might have been different, better if he’d answered those beautiful letters he’d found in his campaign trunk. What a cad he must have been. But her answer might also have been worse, if Tobin

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