“It’s late,” she said, stumbling back. Her hands were shaking—goodness, why were her hands shaking? She felt as though her entire body might shudder apart at the seams and spill all her hidden thoughts and feelings onto the ground for Nathanial to sort through.
Nathanial’s brows creased, and he swallowed. “Theo—”
“Goodnight, Nathanial,” she said, fleeing upstairs. Her heart pounded like a freed beast, trampling over her feelings until shewas at a loss to know what she was feeling at all. With trembling fingers, she touched her bottom lip, where she could still feel the ghost of his kiss, light as butterfly wings. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him before her now.
These were not the terms of their relationship. He should have known better than to kiss her. She was not an opera dancer or Mrs Stanton. She was hiswife. There were rules in place. He should not—
She should not—
She buried her head in the pillow and did her best not to listen for Nathanial’s footsteps outside her bedroom. When they paused, just outside her door, her heart contracted, but after a breathless few seconds, they moved on.
Theo closed her eyes and crushed the disappointment in her chest until the only thing she could feel was the relentless pressure against her lips that clung to her like a curse.
Chapter Eleven
Nathanial didn’t see his bride at breakfast the next morning. Nor, though he waited in the library for quite some time and even ventured up to her dressing room, did he so much as see her leave the house. When he inquired about her whereabouts, however, it was to discover that she had left to visit her family.
“Thank you, Jarvis,” he said. “If the Duchess arrives home tonight, please let her know I would like to speak with her.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Left alone once again, Nathanial paced the floor. Although he was aware of a pressing need to speak with her, he hardly knew what he wanted to say. To tell her it was an isolated event and he had no intention of it happening again? Toreassureher that as her husband, he had no designs on her?
The truth was, he hadn’t intended on kissing her then. The thought had not been further from his mind when he had set off to find her. Not there, not then, and not, necessarily, at all. But she had returned his embrace, a flush on her cheeks, and she had touched his face with such sweetness.
And shehadn’tkissed Montague.
Nathanial didn’t usually consider himself a jealous man, but if his wife was going to kiss anyone for the first time, he would much rather it be him.
And then she had run away.
He had never kissed a woman who had run away.
Frustrated, and well aware Theo had no intention of returning any time soon, Nathanial took a walk he had not made in some time. Since his marriage, in fact. He might have done, if he had not been so busy with Theo, and if Juliet had not made their connection rather more public than he liked at the theatre.
Staying away had been easy. Today, however, he wanted a distraction, and he knew that if nothing else, Juliet knew how to distract him.
He found her in her drawing room, brow furrowed as she stared at a piece of paper on her writing desk. For a moment, he merely observed her. She was clearly expecting no visitors; although her dress was expensive, she wore her hair loose. It made her look younger.
He leaned against the doorframe and rapped on the half-open door. Juliet glanced up and her eyes widened. “Nathanial,” she said, forgetting his title in her surprise. “You—you came.”
“As you can see.”
“I thought you might not.” She left the paper on the desk, apparently forgotten, as she hurried towards him, arms outstretched. “What can be the reason for you staying away from me so long?”
“Why, don’t tell me you missed me,” he said, glancing across at the missive. From this distance, he couldn’t read it, but it was clearly a letter. “You have enough to keep you entertained.”
“I do not have another duke,” she said coyly, moving to kiss his cheek. For no reason he could articulate, he avoidedher caress. “And you know, dukes are hard to come by, Your Grace.”
Now he was here, he felt unsettled, as though the walls were too close and the air too stale. He strode to the sofa and sat, his hands loose in his lap. “Do you merely value me for my title?”
“Not at all,” she said, sitting beside him and trailing a finger up his arm. “I find many things appealing about you, as you well know.”
“Such as the depths of my pockets.” He shrugged off her restless fingers. “Would you have encouraged me if I were a Mr Hardinge of indifferent wealth?”
She paused, and he knew the answer; he had known the answer since their relationship had begun. His value to her lay in his title, his wealth, the many things he could offer her. Theirs was a mutually beneficial relationship.
At least, it had been.
