“Forgive me,” the duchess said. “I forget sometimes that I am the only one of us in an unhappy marriage. Do not allow my bitterness to ruin the excitement of the afternoon, I beg you. And if it pleases you, I would dearly love to write articles for the journal as well.”
Butwasshe the only one of them in an unhappy marriage?
Helena bit her lip as she contemplated that most unwanted thought. Lady Sinclair was hopelessly in love with her husband, and Lady Jo was every bit as smitten with Mr. Decker, and the husbands were equally besotted with their wives. That left only Julianna, who was not married, and Helena, who was.
She loved Gabe quite desperately.
But was she happy?
No, said a voice deep inside her heart.
Because loving someone without being loved in return was…torture. That was the word to describe this constant flux. Pure, utter, torture. From which there seemed to be no escape.
Torture.
That was the best means of describing each day in his new marriage.
Complete and utter. Delicious, awful, inescapable—torture.
He did not want to long for her as much as he did. Every day, he told himself he would keep his distance. And each night, he found himself going to her chamber just the same.
Until finally, Gabe vowed he would not do so tonight.
And that was why he was seated at his desk instead of on his way to his wife’s bed. That was why his accompaniment was a glass of claret instead of Helena. He had told her he would not come to her this evening, that his attentions were required elsewhere.
He had taken note of the confusion in her vibrant eyes and the hurt in her clamped pink lips. But he had deemed some distance necessary. It was not Shropshire, but it was just enough to remind him that he must not allow himself to care for her too deeply.
On a heavy sigh, Gabe lifted the claret and took a generous sip. If there was anything he had learned from his parents’ hellacious marriage, it was that even when a union began in love, it could quickly descend into destruction. Father and Mother had been a love match, once upon a time.
The heart was a fickle thing. Far too shallow.
He turned his attention to the reports from his steward in Shropshire. The repairs to the western wing roof were being undertaken. Unfortunately, the damage to the upper rooms was worse than what had originally been supposed, and some of the original eighteenth century plaster medallions and ceiling frescoes would require complete removal.
The estate in Shropshire had been a crowning jewel in the coronet of the Huntingdon earldom for centuries. Adringham Hall had been built upon the ruins of a former abbey. Grandfather had preferred it to the bustle of London, and Gabe had often sought his own solace there. His current presence in London had been down to Parliament being in session and his impending nuptials to Lady Beatrice.
The latter, of course, no longer being a reason for him to remain.
Damnation, he was accomplishing nothing save watching the hands on the ormolu mantel clock tick aggressively toward the midnight hour. Irritated with himself, with Helena, with the world and every bloody person within it, he finished his claret and rose. Turning down the lights gave him no pleasure. He made his way to his chamber, lost in his thoughts, no more settled than he had been before he had avoided his wife in favor of solace.
Solitude was not a cure for what ailed him.
As he mounted the steps and took himself upstairs, he came to the unwanted realization that there was no cure in existence. He was restless. Displeased. Randy as a sailor who had just arrived at port after a sojourn at sea. He was a man of too much contradiction and too little peace. He longed for Helena quite desperately, and yet he despised himself for that weakness, that yearning.
He had a wife he had never wanted or planned for, and yet desired more than he had ever thought possible. A wife who had, whether through her actions or his own, caused him to break his vow, his betrothal…
He reached his chamber, closing the door with more force than necessary at his back. The claret had done nothing to soothe the sting of the unrest rising within him. He stalked about his chamber, divesting himself of his attire. Bennet had seen to every preparation; the counterpane was turned down. The lights were low, a bowl and pitcher of water to splash upon his face awaiting him. More claret awaited him as well, further proof that the valet possessed an almost eerie ability to predict what Gabe wanted before he realized it himself.
Naked, he slid on a banyan and poured himself another measure of claret. His traitorous cock was rigid and insistent, making him eye the door connecting his chamber to the dressing area and bathroom he shared with Helena. Having to share the space was an inconvenience he had yet to accustom himself. Even so, the arrangement was not entirely unpleasant.
He had found he rather enjoyed the lingering scent of her garments and perfume in the dressing room. She had a tendency to leave her baubles everywhere, little traces of her he never failed to find and smile over before her lady’s maid inevitably located them too and tidied them up. Just this morning, he had discovered a pair of emerald earbobs in the bathroom, suggesting she had removed them herself and then abandoned them wherever she had left them in the moment. Later, they were gone, whisked back to their proper place as if they had never been strewn about in distracted disarray.
Now that he was thinking of the bathroom, a nice, calming soak seemed just the thing. Taking his claret with him, Gabe padded to the adjoining door, pleasantly surprised to discover the bathroom engulfed in low light, warmth suffusing him from the waters of the drawn bath. The entire chamber smelled of the sweet perfume of citrus, an oil Bennet frequently used for his baths.
Bless the man.He had predicted Gabe’s needs this evening far beyond expectation.
Gabe shrugged out of his banyan, allowing the cool silk to pool on the tiles at his feet. And then he stepped into the deep, ceramic bliss of the tub, sinking into the water up to his armpits on a well-pleased groan.
Hanging his arms over the edge of the tub, Gabe tipped his head back, allowing it to rest upon the lip. His eyelids shuttered. Hot water lapped at his skin, soothing him. Calming him.
