“What do you hope to get from this marriage?” he demanded.
“I hope that I can please you enough that you will come to think well of me, despite knowing me very little before we married.” Her expression remained serene. “Now we are both in this position, it behooves us to do the best we can and make the most of the situation.”
She intended to make the best of the situation. Topleasehim.
How could she be so optimistic about such an aim when he had been downright dismissive of her? She still wished for his good opinion, when heaven knew that opinion was worth nothing.
How on earth could he quell her hopes and make her want to annul the marriage whenthiswas her mindset? Determined to make the marriage work at all costs, presumably up to and including her own happiness.
Perhaps he had chosen wrong, after all. Perhaps choosing the browbeaten daughter, the one whom he had presumed to be timid, had been a mistake. If she had been accustomed to misery for so long, then it made sense that she might be prepared to endure more of it for the sake of peace.
If he was to succeed at his aims, he could not allow her that peace.
He stood abruptly. “I find myself no longer hungry. You may retire when you finish eating. I have work to be doing.” Ignoring the surprise—and could that be hurt?—in her eyes, he strode from the room.
There had to be a way to persuade her to leave him. Therehadto be. And if there was, by God, he would find it if it was the last thing he did.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eleanor stared at her plate, wondering what she had done wrong to make the Duke storm out of the room like that. He had looked angry, but she had done as he requested; she had not spoken until he had addressed her directly, and she had agreed to wear those old clothes.
Perhaps he preferred the style.
They were too old to have belonged to a former lover, and the idea that they might belong to his mother made her uncomfortable, but she had not allowed her discomfort to show.
And yet, he had been so displeased that he had left the room with no excuse.
She massaged her temples. Tomorrow, she would merely have to do better. Therehadto be some things the Duke liked. If she found them and used them to her advantage, she was certain he would warm to her.
What man did not want a wife, once he had gone through the trouble of marrying her, who went out of her way to please him?
She ate in silence, and when she had finished, went to the library to choose a book, and ascended the large stairwell in silence to find her bedchamber. Not once did it occur to her that they would, as husband and wife, engage in the usual social norms of retiring to the drawing room. After all, when she had been living with Margaret, she had been expected to retire after dinner. This hardly seemed so out of the ordinary.
And so, as she rang for Abigail to help her change, she merely reflected about the night ahead. Already, it had gotten late, and she looked at the small carriage clock on the mantelpiece, marveling at its beauty. The fire had slumped into embers, and she marveled at that, too. Even in winter, Margaret rarely allowed her a fire in her room; she considered it a waste of coal. But here, even though the worst of the year’s chill had passed, someone had lit a fire to keep her warm.
Yes, this life would not be so very bad, after all.
For some time, she occupied herself with her book by the fire, yawning occasionally, until she heard a creak from next door. Immediately, a shiver ran through her body. She did not knowpreciselywhat occurred on wedding nights, but she supposed this was the moment she would find out.
For better or worse.
Next door, the footsteps lingered, then stopped. Silence. Eleanor held her breath, listening, then slid from the chair. The carpet felt soft underneath her bare feet. She glanced at the large bed, now appearing positively intimidating in the dark, before her gaze fixed on the adjoining door between their two quarters.
She could hear nothing from the Duke’s room.
Curiosity won out.
As quietly as she could, she padded across to the door, then clasped the door handle. Earlier, it had been locked, and she still half expected it to be as she turned. But, to her surprise, the door swung open, and she stumbled into the Duke’s bedchamber.
At first glance, it appeared much the same as hers, if outfitted in a more masculine sense, the hangings around the bed a deep velvety green. He had lit a lamp that illuminated the wallpaper and, crucially, the Duke himself. Candlelight roved over the dips and lines of his bare chest, and for the longest moment, Eleanor felt unable to move. A shirt lay on the chair beside him, and his breeches were slung low on his hips.
Skin.
So much skin.
In the low lighting, his torso looked soft and inviting, but there were ridges of muscle there that she was utterly unfamiliar with. Two lines, on a slight diagonal, pointed down past the top ofhis breeches and below, and she wondered with a fierce, heady wanting, what lay underneath.
There was so much to a man’s body she had yet to discover.
