But the Marquess stayed.
Camelia could never have imagined that the Duke had friends with such humor.
“Tell me the truth, Your Grace. Did he bribe you? Blackmail you? Hypnotize you with those brooding stares? Blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”
Camelia laughed as the Duke fixed his friend with an icy glare.
“Relax, Raph. I’m merely performing my sacred duty as your best friend: testing whether your bride has a sense of humor. She has passed the test with flying colors.” The Marquess winked at Camelia. “He’s secretly terrified you’ll discover he’s mortal.”
Camelia arched an eyebrow. “I suspected as much.”
The Marquess threw his head back and laughed. “I like her, Raph. You don’t deserve her.”
“Undoubtedly,” the Duke growled, sliding a possessive arm around Camelia’s waist and tugging her firmly against his side. “Now, sod off, before I have you thrown into the fountain.”
The Marquess held up both hands in mock surrender, walking backward with a grin. “Message received, Your Grace. I’ll retreat… for now.” He spun on his heel, calling over his shoulder, “Congratulations, you beautiful, doomed pair!”
The Duke muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll murder him in his sleep,” while Camelia bit her lip to stifle a laugh.
Another guest rose and toasted their union. “To the Duke and Duchess of Brentmere! May your days be filled with prosperity and joy.”
The Duke raised his glass. “Thank you, Lord Harrington. We appreciate your well-wishes.”
Camelia forced a bright smile, but her mind was still on Lady Pamela and the Duke’s secrecy. As the breakfast progressed, she stole glances at Lady Pamela, who picked at her food quietly.
Has she received any warmth in this grand, cold manor?
As the footmen brought out delicate pastries, Camelia turned to the Duke. “Tell me more about Brentmere Manor. How long has it been in your family?”
He sipped his wine, and she tried not to get distracted by his red-tinged lips. “Generations. My great-grandfather expanded the gardens. They’re a point of pride.”
“They should be,” she said, admiring the view. “I could spend hours exploring them.”
“You will,” he replied, his unreadable gaze lingering on her.
Camelia nodded, then lowered her voice lest they draw attention from the nearby guests. “And Lady Pamela? Does she enjoy the gardens?”
The Duke glanced at the girl. “She reads there often. Alone.”
“Not for long,” Camelia murmured.
He studied her, and her body reacted immediately. “She needs… company.”
Camelia’s heart fluttered. “As do we all. Evendukes.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Solitude has served me well enough.”
“And yet here we are,” she replied coolly, meeting his stare, “two solitary creatures sharing the same cage.”
He gave a short, humorless huff. “Don’t mistake necessity for companionship.”
“Don’t mistake silence for peace, Your Grace,” she shot back. “Some animals rattle louder when they’re locked in cages.”
“That is why animals in cages get tamed by their masters,” the Duke murmured, lifting his wine glass in a mock toast while keeping his eyes on hers, like a challenge.
She didn’t flinch. “True,” she said icily. “Though history shows that the clever beasts eventually learn to escape their sleeping masters.”
“Careful, Duchess,” he warned, his voice a silken whip, “you’re testing me again. Keep it up, and I’ll have to bind that bold tongue of yours.”
