“If that is the problem, to be sure I absolve you of all responsibility.”
His jaw snapped and his mouth thinned. She had never seen him this angry, and certainly never at her. The sight made her chest hurt. “Sir Montague is not a gentleman you should associate with,” he said.
“Why?”
“He was on the Continent for killing a man.”
“Andthat, he had the goodness to tell me himself.”
Nathanial hesitated. In the darkness, he seemed tall and silent as a god, his wrath just as terrible and unending. His presence swamped her, and she wanted nothing more than to escape this room and him.
But he was not one of her unfortunate suitors she could chase away with a well-timed smile and strongly expressed opinions. Nathanial met her opinions head-on, just as he was doing now.
Perhaps, if she was obliged to embark on a marriage of convenience, she ought to have done so with a less stubborn man.
“If you gave me a reason—” she began.
“Is my request not to ally yourself with him not enough?”
She put her hands on her hips. “No, and you know that as well as I do. I will listen to reason, Nathanial, but I refuse to blindly obey.”
“I am your husband—”
“And you’re behaving like a child,” she said. He stiffened. “If you thought you could order me around in this overbearing fashion, you chose the wrong bride.”
His nostrils flared and she gripped her reticule with both hands, preparing herself for the inevitable. They had been married less than two weeks and already he regretted it.
What an inglorious end to what had been an unpromising beginning.
“You should go to bed,” he said, his voice quiet. “Before either of us say anything more we might regret.”
Part of her—a rather foolish part, under the circumstances—wanted to push him still further. But no matter how tempting it might be, it was akin to picking the scab off a wound, and Theo hated blood.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she said.
The sound of his title made him jerk, and it briefly occurred to her that she had never used it before. Previously, he had been the Marquess of Rotherham, but even then, she had referred to him by his first name.
So be it. He deserved the formality as punishment for being obnoxious.
With a curtsy, she swept past him, hoping that for once he saw a duchess before him rather than little Theo Beaumont, dress smeared with mud.
Nathanial did not come to bed for another hour. She knew that because she lay awake wondering whether he would come in and apologise. But when he finally came upstairs, although his footsteps hesitated outside her door for a moment or two, he made no move to enter, and eventually his bedroom door clicked.
Well! Odious man. Theo slammed her book shut and blew out the candle, glowering into the darkness. For all Nathanial thought he knew about women, he still had a lot to learn. Hemust have seen the light underneath her door andknownshe was awake waiting for him, yet still didn’t come in.
She rolled over and pressed her face into the pillow. Very well—her sweetest revenge would be sleeping peacefully without an apology.
But although she slept as she’d intended, her dreams brought with them visions of Nathanial and Montague until they merged into one.
Theo awoke the next day with a newfound determination to avoid Nathanial at all costs. If he was going to refuse to apologise, she would merely not burden herself with his presence.
Perhaps she might in fact find Sir Montague while walking with Annabelle. Her sister was right that heroes did not usually lurk in bushes, but anything was better than staying here.
First, however, she would have to rise earlier than Nathanial. Not usually a difficult task, but if she dallied, she might miss her window of opportunity; and that truly would be disastrous.
To Betsy’s obvious surprise, she flung back her covers. “I would like to dress and breakfast immediately.”
Betsy frowned, though her bun pulled her forehead so tight it was a wonder she could form any expression at all. “You haven’t finished your drinking chocolate, Your Grace.”
