“The duchess?”
“Yes. She is well learned in the way the body works and what is best when ill. She saved Lord Bellamore after he was shot and nursed Lady Georgina to health after she caught scarlet fever. She will know what to do.” His wife took his hand. “Do notworry it will come to that. I am quite sure my guess is correct.” She leaned in close, her unique scent filling his nostrils as she whispered in his ear. “I’ve had Mrs. Torbett and Cook keeping track of what Peter has been eating. I did not wish him to starve just to make the point that he wasn’t happy I am here.”
Many contradictory feelings assailed him at once. While her caring and kindness filled him with relief, her cleverness caused him concern. But it was her scent, her hand in his, and the air from her lips brushing against his ear that had him wanting to take her in his arms and kiss her. He reached around with his free arm just as she stepped back, and he used his position to pretend a concern for her balance.
“Oh.”
“I didn’t wish you to bump into the table. Thank you for your knowledge and informed hypothesis. If you would be so good as to update me throughout the day, I would be much relieved.”
“Of course. Do not worry.” She squeezed his hand in hers before letting go. “I will have Peter up and running about as soon as possible.”
His hand felt cold, now that hers wasn’t in it, and he took a step toward the door. “Thank you.” With one last look at Peter, his sister sitting on the bed by his side, he left the room and strode downstairs to his study.
No sooner had he entered than he poured himself a scotch and took a gulp. It was not his drink of choice, but its particular burn helped distract his mind for a moment. He walked to the wingback chair before the fireplace, but did not sit, standing behind it to shield himself from the heat. Finding himself attracted to his new wife was enough heat for the moment, especially if they could not consummate the marriage this night.
He set the drink down on the small, round table next to the chair and strode toward the window, too anxious to stand still. He was torn by his need to see Peter well and the need tobind his wife to him so that his children would have someone caring for them. In the back of his mind, he was aware that he worried needlessly. If not tonight, there was always tomorrow night, since he never had two black moods in quick succession. He needed to be confident his son would heal. And he was quite sure she wouldn’t welcome him to her bed until Peter was well once more.
Striding to the bookcases on the other side of the room, he didn’t halt until he reached the bust of Plato. “Your words, dear philosopher, ring hollow before my quandary. For what did you know of marriage and children? Great thinker that you are, even you are limited. Which makes me far more limited, for I am merely a man, and a fatally flawed one at that.”
He returned to the small table and took a sip of the whisky. He should be celebrating the easy attraction he had for his wife. But in his current state of mind, wanting to enjoy her and bring them both fulfillment immediately, it would just make it more difficult to be courteous and understanding of her naïveté on their first coupling.
Setting the glass down again, he examined the room. He needed a distraction. He strode to his desk and unlocked the second drawer, pulling out the ledger. He opened it to the last page that still needed to be totaled and forced himself to sit. After concentrating for a few minutes and coming up with three different totals, he set the quill back in the ink and rose.
It would be better to arrange the shelves so his wife couldn’t knock anything else from them. He moved to the bookcase behind his desk and immediately removed a vase and set it on his desk. That raised the question about all other vases in the house. There was a very valuable vase in the parlor, an area she would use quite often. Immediately, he headed out of his office, anxious to make any changes necessary to ensure his wife’s continued happiness in the house.
Chapter Seven
Ellie, in hernightclothes and robe, hurried through the dark corridor toward her husband’s bedroom, her small lamp lighting her way. It was well past midnight, but Peter was finally sleeping peacefully and had held down his last plate of toast and breakfast tea. She’d promised Darius an update, but didn’t feel waking the servants at such an hour was necessary. Besides, she wanted to give him the news herself.
She counted the doors past his dressing room and parlor until she came to his bedroom. There was only her dressing room between their two beds, a fact that had made her nervous when she first arrived, but one she appreciated now. She’d not been immune to the excitement she’d felt at touching him in the nursery. The heady feeling had her wishing she’d read more of the book Lissa had given her, which sat in the chest at the end of her bed, still wrapped in its brown paper. She would rectify that oversight as soon as possible, but first she needed to talk to her husband.
Even as she thought the word, her step slowed. She was truly married, at least according to the law. She was quite sure that Darius wished to consummate the marriage this very night, which was part of her reasoning for telling him about Peter. Would he be fast asleep or barely resting, worried about his son? Should she wake him with a kiss on the cheek, or would that be too bold? While she knew what to expect—Lady Northwick hadbeen adamant that they all know—she didn’t know how it would feel. Both Dory and Lissa had been quite thrilled with their marriage beds.
She stopped before Darius’s bedroom door. Her friends had married the men they loved. Her marriage was quite different, but she could easily see herself loving Darius. She already loved his children and it hadn’t been a fortnight yet. But could he love her?
Doubt assailed her. Her mother had made her aware that she was not quite up to snuff as marriage material due to her hair color, lack of grace, and inability to be quiet and sit still. Would those characteristics still be important to a man who had already married? She thought back on her limited interactions with Darius. Not once had he remarked on her hair, nor had she had a mishap, as she liked to call them, while in his presence since the signing of their marriage register, and he’d only had to suggest she quiet her voice once.
There may very well be a chance that he could fall in love with her!
Unable to wait another moment, she opened the door and walked in, remembering to close the door softly. Quickly, she lowered the flame on her lamp and strode to the bed, which boasted four posts and a large canopy, much like her own. Limited moonlight shone through the windows, as the curtains hadn’t been drawn. She stepped up to the bed and held the lamp aloft, but it was empty.
Empty? Where could he be at such an hour? Had he gone to her bedroom in the hope that she’d return? The thought warmed her heart, and she quickly made her way through the door that connected to her dressing room and then moved into her bedroom, only to find it empty as well.
Where was he? Did he stay awake in his study pacing, waiting for news? Was he in the dining room having a late-night mealto settle his worried belly? Had he been called away on business again so soon?
Even as questions filled her head, she strode to her door and out into the corridor once more. She would find her husband. She opened the door to his bedroom once again and walked into his dressing room before shining her lamp on his parlor. He was absent.
Not deterred, she left the room and headed downstairs. Walking into the parlor, she held her lamp aloft, shedding light on the quiet furniture, but no one was present. Proceeding into the dining room despite the lack of a fire, she bumped into a chair in the dark, bruising her elbow. She halted and set the lamp on the table to rub her arm. Clearly he wasn’t in the room, or he would have remarked on the loud noise. Still, she lifted her lamp, just to be sure he hadn’t fallen asleep at the table, but he wasn’t there.
Now she worried that he might have been called away after all. Deep disappointment filled her, but she straightened her shoulders and carefully avoided the chair she’d bumped into as she made her way out of the dining room and parlor and into the corridor once again. There was a lamp lit on the wall, which made traversing the narrow space a bit easier. When she came to the double doors of Darius’s study, she composed herself in case he was there. Then she slowly opened the door.
The room was dark except for limited light from what was left of a fire in the fireplace. That wasn’t a good sign. She started forward and bumped into a stack of books, which toppled over onto the dark Persian rug. Barely keeping herself upright, she turned up her lamp and held it higher.
There were stacks of books all over the floor. Her first thought was that the Duke and Duchess of Northwick would be appalled, since they revered books so completely. She turned toward the fireplace and slowly walked between the books tosee if Darius was there, as she could see a half-empty glass on a small round table. As she stepped around the large wingback chair, she halted. Darius wasn’t in it, but Plato, Caesar, and—if she wasn’t mistaken—Alexander the Great, or their busts, were. All quite notable men, but not her husband.
Turning back toward the rest of the room, she held her lamp high and navigated toward where she knew his desk to be. Was the room like this because the servants were reorganizing, since he had indeed left on business once again? As she drew closer to the desk, the light reflected off a number of vases placed haphazardly upon it. It must be the servants. Disappointed she hadn’t found him, she’d started to turn back when she noticed his desk chair was not at the desk. It had probably been moved out of the way, but still she was bent upon finding it.
Staying closer to the half-empty shelves of the bookcases, where there seemed to be an easier path, she followed them around the room until she came upon the chair…and her husband. Her breath caught at the sight. He’d discarded his waistcoat and cravat, the opening of his shirt revealing very dark hair upon his chest. In sleep, his face was relaxed, even friendly. His hair was messy as if he’d run his hand through it more than once. His feet rested on the windowsill, of all places, crossed at the ankles.
