Seven Nights to Forever by Evangeline Collins Read Free Book Online Page B

face.
    His aging butler, Markus, shut the front door and set a vase of flowers on the narrow console table just inside the door. A beautiful riot of reds, yellows, and pinks that livened the austere entrance hall.
    Markus gave him a nod and turned from the table, his footsteps a faint click on the pristine white marble floors. James couldn’t stop himself from reaching for the card nestled in with the blooms. It was addressed not to Mrs. James Archer but to Amelia Archer. An obvious gift from her latest lover.
    His shoulders slumped. He was well aware the majority of aristocratic marriages involved infidelity. He and Amelia were two completely different people, forced together by the machinations of their fathers. Well, more accurately, his father’s machinations and her father’s need for funds to settle his massive debts. She certainly had not chosen him. He could not, in good conscience, begrudge her wish to find a spot of happiness, but hell, did she have to flaunt it so? It felt as though every lover was some sort of new victory over him. Yet another reminder he was completely at her whims.
    Letting out a sigh, he tucked the card back into the flowers.
    A soft rustle of fabric caught his attention. He looked over his shoulder to see his wife descending the grand staircase. Her gaze was on her lace fichu as she adjusted it above her bodice. The pale pink must not have met with her satisfaction, for she wore a green and white striped morning dress. The daughter of a viscount, her aristocratic blood was stamped in every feature from her narrow nose to her high cheekbones to the fine arch of her brows. Petite and slight of frame with guinea gold hair and large, light blue eyes, her beauty and breeding were to have garnered her a husband with a title and blood as pure as hers flowing through his veins. Instead, she had been forced to accept him. And she never passed up an opportunity to remind him of that unfortunate fact.
    A delicate-slippered foot touched the marble floor when she looked up and stopped in her tracks. “You haven’t left yet?”
    He ignored the hard bite in her tone, ignored her question. He pasted a pleasant expression on his face, the one he would soon be wearing to cover the truth of his marriage, and took a step back from the flowers. “Good morning, Amelia.”
    She lifted a haughty brow and swept across the entrance hall.
    She reached out an arm, her fingertips brushing a pink bloom. A smile of pure joy lit her face. Chin tipping down, her other hand fluttered up to cover the expanse of bare skin above the bodice of her dress. A slight flush warmed her pale cheeks. In that brief moment, she actually looked like the young woman of one and twenty that she was. Carefree. Happy. Without a single concern in her pretty little head.
    Guilt stabbed into him. He could not change who he was or where he had come from, but he did wish matters had been different between them. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should have tried harder with her to breach the damn chasm between them. He had not gone into this marriage with high hopes, but he at least had wanted some sort of amiable relationship. Surely that had not been asking for too much. Someone to spend an evening with in pleasant conversation. Someone to share his life with. Someone to give him a child he could call his own.
    Those hopes had been dashed on his wedding night. Well, at their wedding breakfast, more accurately. With a polite smile on her face for all the guests to see, she had hissed at him under her breath, You are not welcome in my bed.
    “Langholm is such a dear fellow,” she said on a wistful sigh.
    “Lord Albert Langholm, a son of the Marquis of Hallbrook.” As if she would invite a man into her bed who wasn’t like her. “So very generous with his affections.” She looked up to James, her features hardening, etched with the harsh, cruel edge of disdain. Her eyes were the exact same shade as Rose’s, a clear, pure light