Is there a way of convincing her to give up on this marriage?
He could not think of one.
If he thought about it from a particular direction, he could perhaps convince himself that the only reason he had given into her seduction—for that had been precisely what it was—was so he could show her what she would miss out on in their marriage.
A different brand of cruelty, if that truly was what he aimed for.
But deep down, he knew it wasn’t. And he knew, deep inside, that the reason he heaved a sigh and murmured, “I suppose you give me no choice,” was because he could not quite bear seeing disappointment cloud the sunniness of her expression.
“Excellent!” she chimed. “Would you like something to eat? Drink? I prepared some food for your arrival.” She took his arm, and somewhat blindsided, he allowed her to lead her to the dining room, where a light luncheon had already been laid out. He was in his riding clothes, unfit for company, but Eleanor kept up a steady stream of light conversation, not seeming to require a reply. She had, he noticed, gone ahead with changing the curtains, and although he had resolved to oppose her decision, he rather liked the new brilliance they added to the room.
He was, he realized in a rush, doomed.
Once he had finished eating, she accompanied him upstairs and waited for him to change before taking his arm once again and walking him downstairs. He had the overwhelming impression that he was merely a bystander in the events of his own life.
“Is there something you would like to speak with me about?” he asked finally as they emerged into the formal gardens together.
“I merely thought it would be nice for us to spend some time together.”
“I thought I had made my views on the subject perfectly plain.”
“Oh, yes.” She gave him a sunny smile. “But then I decided it was foolish for a husband and a wife to know so little about one another. You may ask me any question you like.”
“And if I wish to know nothing about you?” he asked.
“Well, then I suppose I will have to tell you something I think of.”
“Wait, I have a question.” He pointed to the slight bulge in her skirts where he knew that infernal mouse lay. “Why do you have a mouse? What in the world possessed you to choose such an animal for a pet and companion?”
She gave a rueful laugh, stroking the rodent with altogether too much affection. “My stepmother would never have allowed me a pet, and she despised mice and all other creatures. I’d have gotten myself a rat, but I could not quite bear the sight of their tails, and I could not have hidden it so effectively about my person. When you encountered me first in my stepmother’s house, I had lost him and needed to find him before I risked something terrible happening to him.”
“But where did you acquire him?”
“I found a tiny nest of babies. I suppose the cat had discovered it? I took him and raised him as my own—fortunately, he was old enough that he could eat solid foods.”
“And no one else knows about him?” Sebastian clarified, feeling as though he was living a dream.
“Correct. I thought that was best, considering the situation.”
Considering the situationindeed.If he had encountered the thing without her influence, he certainly would have gone out of his way to dispose of it. He scowled down at her. “I dislike it.”
“That’s because you don’t know him.” To his horror, she put her hand into her pocket and withdrew the creature. “Here. He’s perfectly docile, as you can see.”
To give her credit, the rodent sat calmly in the middle of her palm, cleaning its whiskers and looking up at him with the utter absence of fear. If anything, he suspectedhewas more afraid ofit, which was a ludicrous thought for a grown man. He had faced death in a curricle during a race to Brighton—which he had won, and bet heavily on the outcome of his doing so. By comparison, allowing a tiny beast to walk across his hand hardly seemed like much of a trial.
“Does it have a name?” he asked finally, reluctant to hold out his hand to encourage it to move.
“Of course. He is namedScrunch. Here, try holding him.” She grabbed his wrist and brought his hand down level with hers. To his horror, though he ought to have known it would happen, the mouse stepped across onto his skin, tiny claws digging in. The weight was miniscule, and he had to fight the urge to fling the creature away.
“There.” Eleanor beamed up at him, and the urge to dispose of the mouse lessened considerably. “Many people seem to be afraid of them, but I hardly know why. Even if he decided tobite you—and he would never, of course—he could hardly do any damage. And he is a wonderful companion.”
It occurred to him, not for the first time, how lonely her life must have been for her to rely on the company of such a small, relatively stupid animal. Perhaps it felt some affection toward her as the hand that fed it, but he doubted it experienced any real loyalty.
But Eleanor looked as though she considered it a friend. How few friends must she have had to feel that way?
And how much of a bastard was he to contemplate sending her back to that loveless, friendless existence just so he could go back to his life of peace and solitude?
Sometimes he thought there could be no man less deserving of a woman like her, who had so much to give—and who evidentlywantedto give so much. Perhaps it would be better if he allowed her the chance to marry another. She was a Duchess, after all.
