“Is the room to your taste?” the duke asked.
She spun toward him. “It is incomparably lovely. I fear I will have no need to leave. Almost everything I require is right here.” She swept her arm out to encompass the grandeur. “Except food, of course.”
The duke looked about the room, his stoic reserve still firmly in place. But when his eyes met hers, she could swear they held a hint of restraint. She would have to be very astute being married to this man. He did not give his feelings away freely.
Though, neither did she.
He did nothing so bold as shift his feet, but he did clear his throat, as if it had a tickle. “Do you plan to dine with us this evening?”
“Unless you would like me to squirrel away food in my wardrobe.”
He narrowed his eyes as he kept her gaze. “I think it would be good for us to dine together.”
Just as Louisa opened her mouth to assure him she had been teasing, he interrupted her.
“Less temptation for rats, you see.”
Before Louisa could cover her mouth, a short, scoff-like snort erupted from her throat and nose. “Your Grace, did you just make a joke?” Or perhaps he had been serious and was actually concerned about the prospect.
A grin quirked his mouth for a second before disappearing. “Truly though. I hope you plan to take your meals downstairs.”
He evaded her question. How interesting. “Of course. Is there a standard of dress I should be aware of?” She couldn’t seem to stop her quips. They were waiting on the tip of her tongue with every remark she made. Something about his stuffy demeanor made her want to crack it wide open and see what was underneath it all. Unless this was it. The stuffy and serious demeanor might very well be at his core. But his comment about the rats—she was sure there was something else.
“We dress in evening attire for dinner.”
Ah. Of course they did. But as Louisa listened to his answer, her eyes swung about and caught on another door.
The one that joined their rooms.
Her cheeks warmed and her gaze inadvertently swung back to the duke, who stood staring at the same door with wide eyes. She wasn’t sure if time actually slowed, or if they both were so severely uncomfortable that it had really only been a few seconds.
Finally, the duke dipped his head, quickly clearing his throat. “I will see you at dinner, Miss Morgan.” He turned and left, leaving her alone with her thoughts and questions. Questions such as, what all did a marriage of convenience entail? And why on earth was he still calling her Miss Morgan?
Chapter six
Dinner was lovely, delicious,extravagant . . . and quiet.
Louisa sat at her dressing table, lightly brushing her hair as it cascaded over her shoulder. Her maid, Beatrice, had already brushed it to a silky shine, but Louisa found the action soothing, letting the bristles glide repeatedly over the strands. Her hands were restless, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to sleep for some time. And the shared door in her room was troubling her.
She did not think the duke intended to come and visit her tonight, but by all rights, he could. Slipping into her bed, she burrowed deep within its covers.
Louisa tossed and turned as she kept awaiting a knock, and as she did, her mind turned to other matters that would not seem to settle.
She could not allow her contractual marriage to compromise her pledge.
She would never love a man.
Henry had questioned her for so long about why she did not wish to marry—but never had she confided in him the reason.He would have thought it an unreasonable answer, so instead of opening up, she had closed walls around her heart. But nothing would diminish the heartache Louisa had watched her mother go through. Nothing would appease the ache Louisa herself felt when she remembered her father’s frail form lying in his bed, slowly dying each day.
Her mother still had not recovered. She often took to her bed with headaches, and the familiar smile she had always held when her father was still alive was much harder to come by. She put it on in moments when their family was together, enjoying the sweetness of what remained of their family. But how much sweeter they would be if her father were still alive? And Louisa could see the ache in her mother’s heart whenever her eyes welled with tears when she thought no one was looking.
But Louisa saw.
She had made a vow to never allow herself to be vulnerable to love. If it held the power to break someone as it had her mother, then why risk it? Henry was an exception. He and Violet were made for one another, and he had needed someone by his side, helping him and loving him. Louisa was happy to do those things for the duke—at least, the helping part. But he had not wanted love either. It was a perfect match.
An image of the duke beyond the doors, tucked into his bed, possibly sleeping, flitted into her mind. Was he the type of man that tucked himself into the sheets in militant order? Did he sleep in a nightshirt, or perhaps fling himself across his bed with childlike abandon? What did his physique look like unencumbered by his meticulous attire?
It was much too intimate an image, and the fact she had envisioned it at all made her disgusted with herself. She was not a romantic. She wanted nothing to do with love. From a practical standpoint, he needed to sleep. When he was in his bed, he wasdoing something his body required. Nothing beyond that needed to be dwelled upon.
