When he drew back, his voice was for her alone.
“You make quite a beautiful wife, Dee.”
She frowned at him but felt the heat rise up in her cheeks. “Thank you. And you look quite charming as well.”
Austin chuckled as they stepped out of the chapel into the cool late-afternoon air. He briefly let go of Deena’s hand and leaned close to Dominic, murmuring something too low for Deena to catch. Dominic’s brows rose, then he gave a short nod, lips twitching in annoyance.
Deena glanced between them, but Austin grabbed her hand and continued walking to their carriage with her family following closely behind. “What was that?”
Austin only smiled at her wickedly.
“Nothing you need worry about,Duchess.” He teased her, but the title landed strangely new and heavy.
She looked up at him, heart still racing from the vows, from the ring, from the kiss, but his smile somehow calmed her nerves.
Maybe they could make this work.
As friends.
Dominic clapped Austin on the shoulder just before they could enter their carriage. “Welcome to the family, Windemere.”
Twenty-One
Austin stood in the center of his library, listening to the last echo of carriage wheels fade into the night. The servants had long since withdrawn after lighting the fires and turning down the beds. The house was quiet, too quiet, save for the soft crackle of coals in the grate and the distant tick of the hall clock.
Deena stood near the window, back to him, arms wrapped around herself as though the room were colder than it was. She had changed into a simple evening gown of deep green silk after the guests left. She had barely spoken to him since they crossed the threshold.
He wanted to go to her. To pull her against him, press his lips to the nape of her neck, feel her relax the way she had that night in her bedchamber. But he stayed where he was. Comfort, he had discovered, was a skill he possessed in theory but not always in practice.
He cleared his throat. “Deena.”
She turned. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. She offered a small, brittle smile. “Austin.”
He crossed the carpet in three strides and took her hand before he could talk himself out of it. Her fingers were cold; he closed both of his around them.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Of course not.”
She looked down at their joined hands and slowly pulled her hand free. Austin hid his disappointment. “I sent three letters to Penelope before we left Greystone. Once every day after the article appeared. But I’ve received nothing back. The post from Paris is reliable; it should have reached her. But the rumors are everywhere now; her name is linked with mine. If the Mother Superior saw even one of those sheets…” Her voice cracked. “I assume the worst. I must.”
Austin shook his head. “You don’t know that.”
“I know the convent rules. I know how quickly they act when scandal touches their walls.” She turned her back to him, and her shoulders sagged tiredly. “She’s alone. Terrified. And I’m here, married to a duke, playing at being respectable while she faces ruin.”
He exhaled through his nose. “You did what you could.”
“But it wasn’t enough.”
Austin felt guilty for keeping another secret from her. The letter he had received from Penelope proved that she was alive and well, but he received that a few days ago, and who knows what could have happened to her since then.
“You’re still breathing fire at me,” he said quietly. “That gives me hope.”
She looked up at him then, lips twitching slightly. “I don’t want to fight with you. Not tonight.”
“Then don’t.” He stepped closer to her, slowly, giving her room to retreat, and yet she didn’t. “Tell me what you do want.”
Deena wrapped her arms around herself again. “I want an equal marriage. Not… whatever this is. You treat me like a little sister you must protect. Like I’m fragile.”
