He lifted his head to the skies and let loose a bellow of his own as he galloped across the land, and it echoed through the valley and ricocheted off the surrounding trees. No matter how much time passed, no matter where he went, he would never be able to erase the past or the reach of its skeletal hand. Where once it had tortured him, now it spurred him on, reminding him that while a part of him had survived Millicent’s madness and death, he could not risk opening himself to such devastation again. For as strong as his feelings for Boadicea were, he would never endure a second time.
I have seen such puerperal mania cases before. Giving birth to a child can affect a woman’s mind.
He could not watch the light leave her blue eyes. Could not watch her seep away from him. No, indeed. He could not afford to allow his love for her to grow any more than it already had. Because inevitably would follow her desire to have children, and his to please her.
Distance was what he needed. Physical as well as emotional. Whatever had happened between them here at Ridgely Castle, this was all that they could ever have. He would do whatever it took to ensure that it did not develop into something more.
It was for the best that they return to Boswell Manor on the morrow. He would fall back into his familiar, dutiful role, and Boadicea could busy herself with her Lady’s Suffrage Society. Distance and distraction was all he needed.
That and to regain the control he had somehow lost.
Those were his only options for self-preservation, and the realization was a stone sinking in his gut as he galloped away from his future and his past all at once.
Bo returned to Boswell Manor to the greeting of the domestics, sans the pained face of her mother-in-law and the bitter quietness of her brother-in-law, who were thankfully nowhere to be found upon their arrival. A week had passed since she had left, somewhat in shock and quite nervous to be the new Duchess of Bainbridge. In the intervening time, so short and yet so transforming that it might have been a lifetime instead, much had altered.
She had fallen in love with her husband. Headlong, deeply, and unabashedly. Stupidly, foolishly, and perhaps even wrongly. The latter because, for as much as had changed for her and as much as she had thought Spencer had changed as well, during the last twenty-four hours, she had witnessed his slow reversal. Before her eyes, he had withdrawn.
As she stepped back into the familiar entryway of what was to be her new home, the portraits of the illustrious members of the Marlow line confronted her, some of whom bore a marked familial resemblance to her handsome husband. She cast him a sidelong glance, wishing she could read his thoughts. The trip back to Boswell Manor was eerily similar to the trip from it a week before, and it was almost as if they had gone back in time, all the advancements and connections—all the pleasure and joy and tenderness—of the last week, had been nothing more than a daydream.
When she had woken yesterday morning to find him gone, the bed smelling of his pine and musk, his side rumpled and yet empty, she had known an initial spear of concern. She’d lingered in bed, waiting, hoping he would return and make love to her. When he had not, she’d reluctantly risen, dressed, and descended for breakfast. Still, no sign of him.
Finally, he had returned from what she learned had been a lengthy ride—the first he had taken without her since their honeymoon’s onset—moody and quiet. At dinner, he had not spoken unless she required it of him. The entire affair had been staid and forced, before an audience of servants. Bo had grown tired of asking him questions and they had finished the final courses in stilted silence, she drinking too much wine and he frowning with an alarming frequency.
She had not been able to escape the thought that the specter of Marlow Manor had already leached into their happiness, sucking it dry. She wondered now, as she walked by his side through the dimly lit, cavernous hall with its monuments to the past, whether it was going back to the place where Spencer had experienced so much upheaval and despair that altered him, or whether it was something else.
And she did not know which would be worse.
He stopped at the foot of the grand staircase with its intricate carvings and gothic ornamentation, and caught her hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss. He met her gaze for a moment before fixing his stare upon something behind her, as though she were not interesting or important enough to hold him. “I imagine you would like to rest and refresh yourself following our journey, Duchess, while I have many obligations awaiting me.”
His tone was formal. Cold as marble. Detached as he had been ever since his ride.
She looked up at him, studying him, noting the flush on his cheekbones, the stiff manner in which he held himself. Something was amiss with her husband. Where was the man who had shown her the surprising depths of his passion, who had awakened her body in a way she had never known possible, who had laughed with her, bathed with her, tasted every inch of her body? Where was the man beneath the Duke of Disdain?
“Obligations?” she forced herself to ask, cursing the emotions rising within her that affected a slight tremble in the lone word.
“Correspondence. Estate matters.” His gaze darted back to her, the ghost of a smile flitting about his lips. “Nothing to concern yourself with, my dear. Shall I see you at dinner?”
Dinner was hours away. She could not hide the dismay roiling through her. Why did he insist upon creating this chasm between them? She did not like it any more than she liked the condescension in his tone when he saidnothing to concern yourself with, as though his obligations were far too complicated for her feeble female mind to comprehend.
“I do not want to take dinner,” she announced, feeling mulish. If he wished to impose a distance and coolness between them, he could suffer dinner with his harridan of a mother and his beastly brother on his own. “Perhaps I shall see you tomorrow at breakfast. Though, perhaps not, as I too have important obligations to attend to. Lady Ravenscroft is returned from her honeymoon now, and we are eager to get to work.”
His expression remained smooth, unperturbed. “Of course, my dear. Whatever you require. Indeed, perhaps you ought to spend some time with her ladyship so that the two of you can organize yourselves. Will the earl and countess be in residence in the country, or will they return to London?”
She blinked, not liking the polite manner in which he spoke to her one whit. Why, it was almost as if they were strangers. As if he had never gifted her a bawdy book or acted out some of its wicked illustrations with her. “She writes that they are to be in residence in London for some time, since Ravenscroft’s country seat is undergoing extensive renovations.”
“Hmm.” His tone as well as his air were distracted. “Perhaps you would be well served to spend some time with her. I do not object to you joining her there. I will have the townhouse readied and refreshed for your use.”
For her use. Meaning he would not accompany her. They had been married for a week, and he was suggesting she go to London without him. But of course he would not travel to London, would he? He had not been to town in years. He was as well-known as a recluse as he was an ice block.
How had she been foolish enough to hope that he could change?
Bo reeled. “How…kind of you.”
He flashed her a tight smile. “I know how important your Lady’s Suffrage Society is to you. Perhaps it would do us both some good to refocus and spend some time apart.”
To refocus.
Spend some time apart.
