“I do not need any brandy,” Rose answered. “The fire is enough for me. You may take a drink, of course.”
Dorian’s well-shaped lips twitched in a smile once more and Rose wondered why everything she said seemed to amuse him. Realizing that he was still wearing his gloves, the duke began to unbutton and remove them as he looked at her, his ease and confidence unnerving.
“There was food and drink enough at the wedding breakfast,” he observed. “Dinner itself will come soon enough, Rose. I assume I should call you Rose, now that we are married.”
“Well, yes, I…” she stumbled on her reply. “My name is Rose. What should I call you, Your Grace?”
Discarding his gloves on a side-table, the duke smiled and yawned, running a leisurely hand through his thick, overlong hair. He seemed to be relaxing now after the tensions of the busy morning and early afternoon.
“My name is Dorian,” he laughed. “Let’s stick with that, shall we? I was never meant to be a duke at all, you know. My father was Baron Knyvett, an ancient and honorable estate, but hardly a duchy. If my cousin had not died, or if he had taken the trouble to marry and produce offspring first, I would be Mr. Dorian Voss and you would be Mrs. Voss. However…”
The duke looked around himself with dark amusement and made a gesture of his hands to indicate the house and all its trappings that now belonged to him. He did not sound as though he had even wanted the dukedom, which puzzled Rose. She had assumed that all gentlemen wished for higher rank, even as all ladies sought to acquire such ranks through marriage.
Rose’s lips silently formed his name but did not utter it aloud. Of course she must now address her husband by his Christian name but it seemed so very strange. Almost as strange to think of as the fact that she was now married to this man at all.
In the firelight, the Duke of Ravenhill’s sculpted face looked wolfish once more as he regarded her. He did not resemble a predator on the hunt tonight, but one at home in its own lair. Rose drew a long, tremulous breath at this thought. She was trapped in this lair now, even if by family and social convention more than the duke himself.
Lair or stately home, Rose was still to be its mistress and could not therefore shrink into a corner as she was accustomed to doing at Westvale Park or social events. Plucking up her courage, she raised her eyes to Dorian’s face.
“Can I ask, Dorian, what you expect of me now? What do you expect of this marriage?”
Unlike when she spoke to her brother, the wedding guests, or even the housekeeper, her voice somehow emerged soft and steady when she addressed him. Perhaps it was because he always seemed to be listening, and to hear her words. Even so, the very act of asking such a question disturbed her.
The duke’s quizzical dark eyes met Rose’s and held them.
“What do you mean, Rose?”
“I mean,” Rose said, rushing on before she could lose her nerve. “I know you didn’t want this marriage any more than I, but you have always been…kind to me. I hope we can understand one another and live together well. I want to be a good duchess, although I don’t know how yet.”
Dorian smiled and shrugged, these questions not running so deep for him as for Rose.
“I had not planned to marry, but I suppose if I must, I ought to be glad for such an amiable and beautiful companion,” he answered. “I’m sure you will grace my house here at Ravenhill and my arm when we are in London.”
These easy words were not really an answer, not to the deeper questions in Rose’s bosom.
“I will fulfill all my duties, Dorian. I must learn to manage the household, I know, and support you in any business of the duchy,” Rose prompted him, hoping he might tell her something of what these things involved.
“I’m sure you will,” he said evenly. “We will get along well enough.”
Rose frowned, no more certain than she had been before she spoke.
“But what do you want from me, Dorian? I don’t know.”
At this question, he took a long breath and shook his head. His face looked as though it wanted to smile but was holding back. She did not fear that he would mock her, but she wished she understood his amusement.
“What do you want from me, Rose?” the Duke of Ravenhill turned the question back on her, his deep, dark eyes boring into hers. “Perhaps, one day, it will turn out that we want the same things. That could be our understanding.”
Puzzled by this reaction but also touched by it, Rose thought hard to herself. The duke might never love her, but he still seemed interested in her thoughts and feelings. For some reason, it was hard to assemble them clearly at this moment under such a penetrating gaze.
Even though he did not frighten her, Dorian Voss made Rose feel something else equally strong but far less familiar. When he looked at her like this, parts of her mind seemed to fade into the background, even as her senses heightened and her heart beat faster. Rose closed her eyes in order to shut out such distraction and focus on her answer.
“One day, I should like a child,” she declared after a few moments, her cheeks warming with this intimate admission. “A child I can love and care for. If you could give me that, I would be the best wife and duchess…”
Once she said this aloud, Rose felt the urge all the more strongly. Yes, she did want a child and would love her son, or daughter, with all her aching heart. They would love her too. Even if Rose was never to love and be loved as a bride, she could still be loved as a mother, couldn’t she?
Opening her eyes, she saw surprise on the duke’s face. It did not seem a very strange desire to Rose’s mind. Why shouldn’tshe wish for a child too? Most married couples had children and most women seemed to want them.
“My father would be so proud to be a grandfather,” Rose tried to explain further, in case Dorian only needed further detail to understand. “He wants me to be happy too. I think I could be, if I had someone to love.”
