“You’ll forgive me,” he said, “for not wishing to see my duchess hauled before every gossip in London.”
She snorted. “I was hauled into this marriage. You may bear a little consequence.”
He almost laughed. Almost.
She went on, softer. “In Scotland … horses were simple. They never judged. Never asked me to be smaller. Or quieter.”
He listened. He found he wanted to. When she paused, he told her of the storms he had fared with the Argus. Of the night in the South Atlantic that he had dangled from a piece of broken rigging, clinging to a sailor who would otherwise have gone over the side.
A night I discovered that fear of death was nowhere near the fear of my father.
“What made you choose such a life?” Isla asked.
“It was an escape. My father never forgave it.”
She considered him. He felt her head turn, felt her breath against his cheek. He wanted to turn and look at her but knew it would bring their faces to within inches of each other. He doubted his self control in that scenario.
We are married for the sake of convenience. Anything more is a complication that neither of us needs. Or wants.
Outside, rain softened into a patter. The horses shook and settled.
Edward exhaled, long and low. “We will sleep in separate rooms,” he said. “We have not discussed it before but it should be spoken. Needless to say I will not compel … anything.”
He felt the relief in her. Her shoulders dropped. She shifted as though relaxing muscles that had been tight.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
A small, strange ache bloomed in him at that gratitude. He shifted slightly, their hips still pressed, arms brushing. The storm quieted. Neither moved away.
“We should return,” she said at last.
“Yes,” he agreed, though part of him wanted to stay in the small hut forever where the rules of rank and reputation could not reach them. They stood, almost in unison and for one breath neither moved toward the door. Then Isla reached for her reins.
“Come then,” she said lightly. “Race me back. Properly. No more foolish leaps.”
He found himself smiling, real and unguarded. “We’ll see.”
They rode back together.
Chapter 12
The valet fussed with his cuffs as if the fate of Wexford depended upon an even inch of linen. Edward bore it because habit made bearing easier than protest. The mirror reflected a man properly dressed for an evening he did not particularly want.
Black coat, starched shirt, fresh cravat, the small silver pin his mother insisted he wear. A duke hosting a ball in his own house after a decorous interval of marriage. All as it should be. Inside, nothing felt as it should.
“A fraction tighter, Your Grace?” the valet asked, fingers hovering at his throat.
“No.” Edward stilled his hand. “I mean to breathe at least once this evening.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The man retreated with a small bow.
Edward picked up his signet ring from the tray and slid it onto his finger, turning it once to seat the habit. A week. Seven daysmeasured out in ledgers and appointments and the Dowager’s precise complaints.
He had kept to his own routine with almost military zeal. Mornings with the steward, afternoons at his desk, evening hours spent where duty dictated. Isla had moved through the house like a new star in an old constellation. She was visible but studiously ignored.
Let neglect cool things. Let her think negatively of me and that will help keep distance between us.
He knew roughly where she had been at any given time because the servants’ reports reached him whether he wanted them or not.
