The Duke’s expression darkened, and for a moment, she was sure he would put their little game to an end. But instead, he said, “I suppose I behaved beastly after the death of my brother.”
She sucked in her breath quickly. He hadn’t mentioned his brother yet—the brother who had mysteriously died two years previously—and she spoke next without thinking—her penchant for recklessness taking over as it so often did.
“Is it true that you killed him and your father?”
It was the wrong thing to say. The Duke stiffened at once, his expression becoming dark and foreboding.
Without saying a word, he stood up. Rosalie stared up at him, her mouth still full of food.
“I—I’m sorry,” she tried to say, but the Duke cut her off.
“You should not ask questions to which you do not want the answer.” His tone was harsh and cold, his body language rigid,but when she searched deeper into his eyes, she didn’t see guilt there; however, there was something haunted in them that told her he was hiding something, and it sent a chill down her spine.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You are right.”
“Please, eat as much as you can,” he said, gesturing at the tray of food. “I will send Clara in to collect it later.”
He paused in the doorway that he’d entered through earlier. “This door connects to my chambers,” he said, “and it doesn’t lock. I have respected your privacy so far, but now, I hope that you will remember your duties as the Duchess of Caramere and join me out in the waking, living world. I do not want to have to come in here and drag you out of bed, but I will if I have to.”
The tone of his voice told her that he was quite serious, and she swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
“Of course,” she replied, “I will not neglect my duties any longer.”
“Goodnight, Duchess,” he said, and with a nod, he disappeared through the door.
Rosalie sat back on the bed and let out a long, slow breath. The whole evening had been so strange, she didn’t know what to make of it. There was certainly something beastlike about the Duke: he could be cold, harsh, and demanding, and she would not soon forget his threat to drag her from her bed.
And there was that haunted look in his eyes… the look that told her he was forever haunted by the specter of something he had done.
At the same time, she couldn’t reconcile that with the man who had come in here to make sure she ate, who had taken care of her when she had been letting herself waste away, and who had promised not to consummate their marriage until she was ready.
“I should have asked him the question I really want to know,” she said out loud to the room. “Is the Duke of Carramere a good man or cold-blooded killer?”
Chapter Seven
“Your Grace, there is a gentleman to see you.”
Rosalie looked up from her book, startled by the butler’s voice. She had been so engrossed that she hadn’t even heard him enter the parlor.
“A gentleman?” she repeated as she set the book down on the coffee table and blinked to try and rouse herself. “Did he give you a card?”
“No,” the butler said, frowning. “He said he was an old friend of the family.”
Rosalie felt her heart almost stop.My father! He’s broken out of prison again!
But no, the butler had been given a description of the former Lord Carfield, and he would know not to permit him to enter.
“You can show him in,” she said, “but, Mr. Martin, will you stay with us until I dismiss you? One can never be too careful.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
She was glad of her request when, a minute later, Mr. Martin returned with Mr. Cain—the man who had tried to manipulate her into marrying him while working with her father.
She was standing when he came in, and the moment she saw him, Rosalie drew back.
“Mr. Cain!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing low. She didn’t offer her hand for him to kiss. “I came to call on you and congratulate you on your marriage.”
