Before he took her, he needed to find some perspective. If he did so now, so over-eager, so consumed by thoughts of her—
He gritted his teeth, practically growling in his frustration. The next time he required a wife, he would interview the candidates personally and ensure none were too prepossessing or charming.
There will be no next time.
And wanting her was deeply inconvenient.
“You forget that I am your husband, and thus, I am your master. This house is mine, and if you make alterations to it, you do so atmydiscretion. Whatever you choose to do is permitted byme, and that is final.”
Finally, her smile slipped, and she looked at him as though she had never seen him before. Perhaps she was finally getting overher ridiculous idea that life with him was made of lavender and roses. There was no reason for her to be so happy in her life with him—it would be better for them both if she cordially disliked him. That way, she would stop trying to make a life here, and she would be relieved when he sent her away.
And he could do so free from guilt.
“I… see,” she said, her voice flat. “And that is to be the end of it, is it?”
“It is.”
“You married me, but have no intention of letting me be your wife in any way other than in name?”
He smiled, but it was garish on his face—a caricature of what he intended it to be. “Well, not entirely. Thereisanother way, my dear.”
“Of course.” Her expression went blank, and she turned to the footmen, who were equally expressionless. No doubt new stories of his cruelty would reach the village by means of the servants; he had brought them all here from elsewhere, but servants gossiped.
That was how the rumors of Kate’s death—and the reason behind it—had spread, after all. The servants had first spread the news, and the rumors had grown from there. Gossip was agraceless, endless beast. So long as people had voices, it would keep being fed.
But what did it matter?
“Thank you for your time,” she said to the footman.Gregory, Sebastian thought his name was. “But it seems your services will not be needed.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” Gregory—or perhaps it wasDaniel—sent Sebastian a single expressionless glance before exiting the room, leaving them alone. For a moment, Sebastian wondered if the man had been reluctant to leave his own wife alone with him, as though he would do her harm.
Not that he had to worry. Aurelia immediately made her way to the door.
“It seems we have nothing more to discuss,” she muttered, her head held high. He could say that much for her: she had pride, and she would not let him crush it. “Goodbye, Sebastian.”
He had done the right thing for his aims. For them both, even if she didn’t know it yet.
So why was it he felt so hollow inside?
Aurelia returned to her rooms, her skin oddly itchy underneath her clothes. This was not the pleasant, heated feeling that had come from kissing Sebastian, although she couldn’t deny she was hit.
When she’d returned from her walk, damp to the bone despite his coat, she had immediately changed and thought that was the end of it—but when she glanced in the mirror, she saw two hectic spots of color on her cheeks.
“Oh, dear me,” Jane gasped when she entered her chambers and saw Aurelia’s sorry state, her hair still half tumbling from its pins, and her dress half off—she’d attempted to remove it so she could at least cool down. Her skin felt so very warm, and she wished no one had lit a fire. Of course, this time of year, such things were expected, but it was distinctly unwelcome.
She kneaded her eyes. “I feel a little unwell,” Aurelia murmured.
“Well of course you do, Your Grace, when you’re running a fever. You are burning up! Now, there’s no way you should be going to dinner, and so I’ll be telling that snooty butler of His Grace, and that’s a fact.” A line creased Jane’s brows; for all her chatter, she really was worried, and that was what prompted Aurelia to allow her maid to guide her to the bed, where she lay back against the pillows with a sigh.
“I wanted to attend dinner,” she breathed. “To show the duke.”
Jane deftly unlaced her. “To show him what, Your Grace?”
“That I won’t be cowed.” Her voice dropped to a mumble, and she scrubbed at her forehead, wishing she could find the words to express what she meant.
In the drawing room, all her thoughts had been so crystal-clear in her head, but now all her feelings felt so jumbled. He had acted so confusingly toward her, and she was determined to let him know she wouldn’t stand for it.
How could she do that if she were abed?
