Nicholas couldn’t get past the events that had just happened. He was married.
There was a discreet cough behind him. “Shall I show her grace to her room?”
Nicholas turned to find Huntley still hovering nearby, the footman next to him. “Yes,” he stated, his voice rough in his own ears. “My wife will require a morningmeal as well.”
Grace’s eyes flew to his. “Will we not breakfast together?”
“I have work to do,” he grated out. His wedding day was no different to countless others, just another task that he’d been forced to undertake for the Estate.
His words caught her completely off guard. “But I ... I thought it might give us an opportunity to … well, perhaps … become acquainted, mayhap get to know a little about each other?” Her hesitant voice was again completely different to the sharp-tongued woman he’d first met, and his heart contracted almost guiltily at the change.
“Then you thought wrong madam,” he replied sharply. “Huntley will see to your needs as will Mrs. Tenner. Good day.”
He turned and strode to his study before she could respond, feeling the tightness of his collar once more. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be forced into marriage or to be working on the endless bloody correspondence.
All he’d known for so long was the feel of the salt air on his face, the sound of his orders being carried out by his sailors or the nervous tension in his body right before a battle.
He didn’t want this life, yet here he would stay until they carried him out in a box…
The morning stretched to afternoon, the lunch tray that Mrs. Tenner delivered still left untouched as the shadows grew in the room. Nicholas buried himself in the work, carefully poring over the ledgers left behind by his father’s steward and answering correspondence from London.
When the room finally darkened, he stood and stoked the fire, watching as the flames consumed the wood. Nicholas knew that any other man in his position would be eagerly making his way to his chamber and preparing himself to consummate his marriage, but his feet would not move from the spot. He was rooted before the flames, protected by the four walls of the study and the closed door to his right.
Stalking over to the crystal decanters, Nicholas selected a fine brandy and poured a glass, savouring the sweetness on his lips. Tonight was his wedding night, but he would be spending it in this study and not in the arms of his lovely bride. He couldn’t imagine subjecting anyone to the pain and horrors that lived on inside his mind, the images that took over as soon as he closed his eyes.
He was a broken man, one not fit to have any happiness in his life. Nicholas was to forever suffer for his failures, for Peter’s death, for the deaths of his men, for the death of his … of John.
He might have been given the medals and accolades of a man with a worthy career, but he felt even less like the celebrated hero than he did the Duke of Blackmore.
Sighing, Nicholas carried his drink over to the leather chair before the fire and settled in for the night. Tonight, was like every other. The ghosts of his past would infiltrate his mind and have him paralyzed with fear and anguish, just when he was most vulnerable.
That was not something for any young bride to see. Eventually, he would have to pay a visit to her bed if he wished to produce an heir, but right now, Nicholas couldn’t be soused enough to do so.
Besides, she’d just found herself sold and married to a man who had done nothing but sneer at her. Nicholas imagined the last thing she wished to see was him grunting above her, taking his liberties because he’d put a ring on her finger.
He downed his brandy, relishing the burning deep down inside his chest, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
If he was lucky, the nightmares wouldn’t wake the whole household.
Chapter Six
The sunlight blinded Grace as she opened her eyes, taking a few moments to look at the unfamiliar room. It was lovely, with the soft colours of blue and green in the wallpaper matching the sumptuous blue carpet covering the floors. When Mrs. Tenner had shown her the room, Grace had nearly laughed aloud at the absurd thought that it was larger than all her sisters’ rooms put together.
The bed was large enough for all seven of her sisters as well, and it had taken Grace some time to get used to the softness under her body as she’d lain there, waiting on her husband.
Her cotton gown had suddenly seemed silly as she’d donned it for his arrival, wishing she’d had something a bit more, well, fitting for a duke, something that made her feel truly beautiful.
Not that it mattered. Her door had remained closed all night, and in the bright morning light, Grace felt like a fool to even think that he would come to her room. Their marriage had been nothing more than a business arrangement, and while she had not been privy to the real reason the Duke had married her, it certainly wasn’t because he wished to be in her company.
A frustrated breath left her lungs, and Grace threw aside the heavy coverlet, sitting on the side of the bed. While she didn’t want to be married any more than her husband did, they were tied together for the rest of their lives. The heavy ring on herfinger told her so. She had to assume that the Duke wished for an heir. Why else would he bother taking a wife? And for her, the only thing that could possibly make the arrangement even remotely tolerable was for her to have a child.
While she might not be an expert in matters of the flesh, she knew there was no chance of that if her husband did not actually come to her bed. Somehow, she had to change that.
Which meant she needed to learn about her husband, about his likes and dislikes as well as the real reason he hadn’t sought out her bed on their wedding night.
Quickly dressing, Grace tied her hair back with a simple ribbon before hurrying out of her room and down the hallway, trying not to gawk at the finery surrounding her. It was hard for Grace to believe that this was her home now, that these were her possessions.
That she was the Duchess of Blackmore.
