‘So it would seem. Did you have a good trip, Rawden?’ she said stiffly.
‘I did.’
‘Good,’ she said, turning back to the water.
‘Grace, have you been comfortable here at Marshgrave?’
‘Yes, I have had my every need attended to.’
Rawden could tell from her tone that not every need had been attended to. ‘I hear you have been busy with the house, and I can credit you for its more welcoming atmosphere, though I am not feeling it particularly at this moment.’ He gave her a wry smile, but she ignored him, so he walked over to stand beside her. There was silence for a while as they both contemplated the horizon.
‘I have kept myself busy, Rawden. What did you expect me to do, just sit around waiting with bated breath for your return?’
‘No, of course not. But I do hope you have not become too comfortable, for we are soon going on a trip together.’
‘Where?’
‘Back to London. I have imprisoned you here for long enough. It is time we re-entered society as we are currently the gossip of the ton. The cruel Earl Voss has whisked away his mysterious bride before anyone got a good look at her.’
‘So you are to appease the ton. I thought those fools meant nothing to you,’ she said.
‘They do not, but we can’t have them nursing a bad opinion of you, now can we? And I have a mind to spoil you a little with the indulgences of town. I want to show off my beautiful young bride.’ Rawden tried to take Grace in his arms, but she rebuffed him.
‘No, Rawden. You cannot pick me up and then drop me when you get bored. I am not your opera mistress. I am your wife.’
He flinched as if she had slapped him. ‘It is not like that. I should not have stayed away so long.’
‘It has been over three weeks.’
‘And I missed you every moment of it, Grace. I will make it up to you if you let me,’ he said, nuzzling her neck. It was fragrant and warm, but her response was not.
‘If you have an itch, I suggest you scratch it elsewhere. I am done with being an occasional wife, and I shall lock my door tonight.’
Grace walked away from him, and Rawden followed all the way into Marshgrave and up to her bedroom, where she did not lock the door. Instead, she let him inside, and when he took her in his arms, stiff and unyielding, Grace let him kiss her. Slowly, she softened under his caresses and suffered his attentions without any show of resentment or reluctance but without the passion she had displayed before he went away.
Grace was keeping him at arm’s length, and it was his fault. For his part, Rawden found that his desire for her company had only intensified while he was away, and as he lay inside her compliant body, he felt an ache in his heart and reached a release of such perfection that it made him cry her name into the night, in agony and ecstasy.
In the afterglow of lovemaking, Rawden was forced to acknowledge that he was veering dangerously close to falling for his wife.
It terrified him.
He pulled Grace close and whispered into her hair, ‘Once I climb back into your bed, I find it increasingly hard to climb out again.’
‘I suppose that comes as a surprise to us both,’ she replied, and Rawden had no idea what she meant and dared not ask as she wriggled around, turning her back on him.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Their journey back to London was blessed with bright sunshine, so London seemed more cheery than when she had left it to face an uncertain future. Little was said between them, and Grace felt a gulf had opened up in her marriage, which she had no idea how to breach. She had let Rawden make love to her but had been careful to guard her heart, for she could not make out Rawden’s motives for sharing her bed beyond sating a need. He was quiet, too, and probably offended by her lack of passion the previous night.
But there was no discussing it, so they sat like two surly strangers as they sped through lush parkland. It was dotted with herds of fallow deer and veined with bridle paths along which fashionable people rode to see and be seen. In the distance, Grace spied smoke from the chimneys of the poor, crammed into slums like the one Rawden had taken her to. Poverty was never far away in London. It had been stalking her all her life.
Eventually, they alighted the carriage at a grand house on the outskirts of the park. Grace stared up at the elegant, buttery façade set with white windows and graceful columns and turned to Rawden in confusion.
‘Why are we here? Are we visiting someone?’ she asked Rawden.
‘No. This is Oak Park House, and it will be our home whilst we are in London. I have taken a lease on it for the rest of the year. The owner is touring on the continent and let me have it on excellent terms as we saw action together at Waterloo.’
‘But what about Causton House?’
