‘Then you shall have your wish. And I will be leaving soon, so you may have your solitude and need no longer be discomforted by my attentions.’
She saw a flicker of disappointment on his face, but it hardened immediately to disdain, and, in an instant, Rawden was gone.
***
With a leaden step, Grace followed Mrs. Percy to the room which was to be hers. Expecting a dark dungeon of a place, she was pleasantly surprised to find it elegant and cosy, a delight to the eye, in fact. The walls were papered in a duck-egg chinoiserie style, depicting exotic flowers, peacocks, and all manner of colourful birds. The bed boasted a pretty, gilded headboard and was draped in generous swathes of pale yellow silk. Gilt-edged chairs in the French style stood before the crackling fireplace, and an enormous mirror sent the sun’s dying rays bouncing off the walls. The room felt like a warm embrace after the deprivations of Rawden’s gloomy London house.
Most surprising of all was the dressing table, laid with silver brushes, tortoiseshell combs and everything a fine lady would need to complete her toilette each day. In the immense rosewood wardrobe, Grace found a myriad of exquisite dresses in every colour she could want, along with velvet coats and bonnets embellished with feathers.
In his rush to bring her to Marshgrave, Rawden could not possibly have organised the clothing and other items in time. She had the uncharitable thought that maybe the clothes belonged to one of his old mistresses. Did he spoil them when he brought them here? Had he once torn these dresses off other women in a fit of passion?
Grace grabbed a stunning teal dress and held it against herself. It seemed a perfect fit and brand new, as if bought with her in mind. Surely Rawden had not intended these for her? If he had, it was a kindness that made her heart clench a little, but even if it was true, and he did have a kindly side, he was not likely to show it again after her attempt to escape him.
Grace sank onto the bed, still clutching the teal silk to her bosom. Rawden slipped into her thoughts, and warmth spread to her belly at the thought of his handsome face close to hers. She sat up and shook her head. ‘Damn you for a fool, Lady Voss.’
Chapter Thirty
So, he was home again. But Marshgrave had never been that, more a version of hell to his younger self. What had brought him scurrying back here like a rat to its burrow? Was it anger, fear, hurt, or the need to punish Grace? Where she was concerned, he could not separate his feelings. Rawden stared out of his bedroom at the sunrise silvering the estuary’s waters. Dawn did nothing to soften the place, and Rawden longed to tear Marshgrave down, and with it, all the bullying and misery seeped into its walls over the years. Now, he had brought his new wife here on instinct, but was that instinct to protect or imprison, to forge some kind of truce or to lock up another of his belongings, as one would put diamonds in a safe? How could Grace ever be more than a possession? A weak part of him wanted her to be.
Rawden had done her the kindness of having breakfast sent to her room so she did not have to sit with him. After their almost-kiss, Grace had excused herself and begged to be shown to her room so that she might rest. She had wanted to be as far from him as possible.
Perhaps it was best he get her settled and just leave. She would not miss him, yet the thought of returning to his old ways in London only inspired a sense of dread. He had been a miserable creature there in spite of his pleasure-seeking lifestyle. Even his army life now seemed driven by a need to embrace danger and death as a means of escaping himself and his misery. At Marshgrave, he had a purpose in keeping Grace from harm or folly. And beyond that, he had a strange desire to win her over.
Rawden cursed aloud and went in search of his wife. He found her in his father’s dusty old library. She was engrossed in an ancient tome by Homer and jumped when she heard his approach. ‘Did you sleep well,’ he sputtered, somewhat taken aback by how fetching she looked, albeit in the plainest of grey cotton dresses. No doubt Grace had eschewed the more lavish ones he had provided to snub his attempt at generosity. The morning light burnished her hair, which was simply but neatly tied in a bun. Despite his efforts to debauch his wife, her face still bore a sweet, wide-eyed innocence.
‘I slept very well, thank you,’ she said.
So, they were to be formal strangers, were they? He could not allow it. ‘So how do you fare this morning?’
‘Well enough, thank you. I thought you would be gone by now.’
‘I must disappoint you on that score. I have a mind to remain for a few days to order my affairs here. And there is the small matter of us being joined forever in matrimony, so I have decided that today, we must get to know each other.’
‘The prisoner to know her jailor,’ said Grace, with more fight in her voice than the night before.
Rawden rather enjoyed her spirit. ‘I would not have it so,’ he said.
‘I would, for I am trapped here. And I suppose you have set the servants to spy on me?’
‘On the contrary. They are at your beck and call, and there are few enough of them for spying. Should you wish to go to the village, a man will take you. This house has been a dusty old ruin, mouldering away in lonely desolation for years. As my wife, you may spend my late father’s considerable funds on giving it a new lease of life. You may decorate, rip out and rebuild whatever you like without my leave. I will not be here to interfere.'
‘Where will you be?
‘I will go back to London. I said we would live separate lives, and I will be true to my word. I will visit occasionally to ensure you are well looked after, and we will find a way to make this marriage a success.’
‘And how will you measure that success, Rawden?’
‘Well, you not hating me will be a start.’
‘I have never hated you. It is just that you are …’
‘What?’
‘Unknowable, Rawden.’
‘If you took the trouble, you might find I am not so bad.’
‘How can I possibly know a man who keeps himself hidden and who is about to escape my company for the delights of London.’
