Well, he wasn’t an ogre for Christ’s sake. He may have been an inattentive scoundrel for the first few months of their union, but he did have eyes in his bloody head. He was beginning to get aggravated by her aloof air, and the feeling was a welcome one.
He deliberately ignored her, turning his attention to the butler who stood at proud attention. “Wilton, I should like to read my correspondence while I break my fast this morning. I find I’ve a rather busy day ahead of me.”
He stole a sidelong glance at his wife to gauge her reaction. Her plump lips had compressed into one of her pinched frowns. Her brows were drawn together as well. Perhaps she was wondering what would occupy him for the duration of the day and take him away from her company. Not a blessed thing, but she needn’t know it.
Pleased, he resumed eating his breakfast. He hoped she found him as vexing as he found her. She was warm, then cold. Told him she loved him, then wouldn’t look at him. By God, he was confused enough on his own without her to further muddle things.
“Is something amiss, Pembroke?”
Yes, damn it. Everything was amiss. He was mooning over his wife and lying to her at the same time. He raised a brow and fixed what he hoped was a suitably wilting stare upon her. “Of course not, my dear.”
He knew he shouldn’t dwell on his subterfuge. Unfortunately, what had begun as a necessity now held much more dire repercussions. He had no doubt if she discovered his motivation for becoming a husband in truth, she’d wallop him in the noggin withA Tale of Two Cities. And once again take up her addle-pated notion of divorce. He didn’t want a divorce. He rather enjoyed having a wife, especially one as delectable as Victoria.
The return of Wilton bearing a salver of various-sized envelopes saved him from further unwanted conversation. He dug into them with the same gusto he applied to his meal.
The sudden pallor of her husband’s skin did not escape Victoria as he scanned one of his letters. She’d been watching him, consternated by his abrupt lack of interest in her. Odd that she’d become so attuned to his moods in such a short time. Perhaps odder still that she’d become so accustomed to expecting his attention.
She yearned to ask him who had written and why it had disturbed him. But their olive branch was still lying on the table between them, neither quite trusting enough to pick it up. Given his reticence in her chamber, she wasn’t certain how far she could push him.
He glanced up at her, catching her gaze upon him. Her heart jumped into a faster pace at those blue eyes fastened on hers, bright and seeking. He cleared his throat, a habit she’d begun to take note of that happened whenever he was at a loss for words.
“It seems the duke has deigned to write me a letter,” he said, his tone harsh.
There must have been something in the contents of his father’s letter that had upset him greatly. She proceeded with care. “What does His Grace say?”
Will pinned a forced-looking smile to his lips. “He sends us his regards.”
“That is all?” It wasn’t precisely that she didn’t believe him, but she was suspicious. Guilt nipped at her. “The letter appears to be rather voluminous.”
She could see the letter was of lengthy proportions, the duke’s dark scrawl visible as Will held the letter in question up to the light. She found it curious too that the duke was aware of her husband’s presence in the country. She frowned as her doubts heightened. Unless of course it had been sent up from the Belgravia House. Perhaps she was overthinking it.
He folded the epistle with care and slid it inside the pocket of his jacket. “He also prattles on about his falcons or some such.”
Falcons. Did he think her obtuse? No man wrote an entire page filled with nonsense about falcons. She pressed on, more convinced than before that he was hiding something from her. “What has upset you then? Perhaps you harbor a strong dislike for falconry?”
“Upset?” He raised an imperious brow. “On the contrary, my dear, I’ve never been happier.”
She considered him for a moment. “You don’t appear happy to me.”
“But I am. The miserable old codger also writes that he plans to grace us with his presence.” Bitterness laced his voice.
The duke had spoken to her on exactly two occasions thus far, once at a ball given in honor of her betrothal, and once on her wedding day. All other communication had been strictly conducted with her father. Victoria had been a bartered commodity, a necessary addition for the sake of the hallowed family coffers. Perhaps the notion of the duke’s visit had distressed Will. Lord knew it didn’t sit well with her. He was stuffy and had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if she’d dropped a glob of aspic on her silk dress.
Despite her reservations, it was her duty to play hostess to the man. The duke’s arrival would likely send the household into an uproar. “When does he plan to arrive? I’ll need time to prepare.”
“A fortnight hence.” Will couldn’t have worn a more disgusted expression had he just bitten into a plate of rotten eggs instead of Cook’s heavenly creations.
A fortnight didn’t leave them with much time.
Victoria nearly dropped her fork. She stilled, plastering a pleasant expression to her face. “How delightful.”
“How dreadful would actually be more like it.” He muttered what sounded like a rather rude round of curses beneath his breath.
“He can’t be all bad.” Could he? She had to admit that as unflappable as Will seemed in all other matters, when it came to the duke, he was very much affected. Surely there was a good reason for it.
“You shall see.”
She wondered again at what could have rendered her husband so cold, so hateful toward his father. Perhaps he would never confide in her. Lord knew he was adept at avoiding serious subjects in favor of other, far naughtier pursuits.
