She distracted him with a lesson on the history of the home itself, which he supposed she must have gotten from Longleigh until she corrected his assumption.
“The duke scarcely communicates with me unless it is to express his disapproval, disappointment, or displeasure,” she said. “All there is to know about Coddington Hall, I learned from the housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson. She has been in service here since she was a girl, and her knowledge is excellent. Whatever you do, however, do not get into a discussion with her about the menu or the means of removing red wine stains from carpets. She is quite opinionated on such matters.”
Of course the duke would not have lowered himself to inform his own duchess of the house’s history. That would have meant treating her as an equal.
“I cannot suppose I will have a need for being consulted regarding the menu or the removal of stains,” he said in a teasing tone.
She smiled, guiding him over the marble floor. “I do not suppose so. But do not say I did not give you fair warning.”
He liked this lighthearted side of her. Tilly shone in her role as the mistress of this house. How could any man be disappointed or disapproving of her as his duchess? Only a monster such as Longleigh would find fault, just as he had done with Adrian’s own mother. At least the duke had married Tilly, whereas his mother had not been so fortunate. Her association with Longleigh had left her broken.
Adrian forced away the grief and the rage which never failed to rise whenever he thought of what the duke had done to his sweet mother. Perhaps it was an ironic twist of fate that a man who had ruined one woman and gotten her with child would then be unable to have a child with his wife. There had been a duchess before Tilly, Adrian knew. One far more suitable than his mother had been.
But that duchess had died before giving birth to an heir.
Somewhere along the way, Longleigh had snatched Tilly in his clutches.
“Coddington Hall was built in the seventeenth century,” she continued as they approached the altar where an oil painting of Christ carrying the cross was hung, “by the first duke, with the intent of impressing his duchess.”
“A romantic sentiment.” Adrian flicked his eyes around the carved marble altar where two braces of candles burned steadily. “His duchess must have been the finest lady in England to be worthy of such effort.”
“The first duchess was intelligent and kindhearted. Her portrait is in the gallery. I will show you if you like. Sadly, she did not live long after her marriage to the duke,” Tilly said. “Her death turned him into a bitter man.”
“And he perpetuated his unhappiness and resentment upon his next wife,” Adrian guessed.
Then that same hate trickled down to the subsequent generations. Men like the current Duke of Longleigh were not born into happiness. That much, Adrian knew.
“One can only suppose,” Tilly said quietly. “Mrs. Wilson does not gossip, and she would never dare to breathe a word against any of the dukes and duchesses, regardless of how deserving.”
He was sure none were more deserving than the current arsehole occupying the title, but Adrian kept that to himself.
“Which room is your favorite?” he asked instead, genuinely curious.
For reasons that had nothing to do with the month ahead of him and everything to do with Tilly herself, he longed to know more about her.
Everythingabout her.
“The orangery,” she answered without hesitation. “But it is on the far end of the east wing.”
Christ.There were wings in this mausoleum. Of course there were. He had seen them from outside, but it was still deuced disconcerting to think of how truly immense this place was. To think of what he could have known, had his father acknowledged him. Had his father been married to his mother.
But that had not happened.
And he was a stranger here in the midst of a palace which was fit for a king.
A stranger here to steal the queen.
And steal her he would, as best as he could.
“Take me there,” he told Tilly.
* * *
The heatin the orangery was almost stifling.
But it was nothing compared to the heat sliding through her as she showed Robin the abundance of plants being grown. The heat was from the man, of course. His nearness. The magnetism he exuded.
Had she ever longed for a man the way she hungered for this one? She could not look at his mouth without thinking about how it had felt upon hers.
