“Mmm. Your breathing changes when you think about certain things.”
“What things?”
He leaned close, his lips grazing her ear. “Tonight.”
The word sent a tremor through her. Their wedding night. When words would become deeds.
“Nervous?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. So am I.”
That startled a laugh out of her. “You? I thought you’d—well, surely you’ve—”
“Had women? Yes. Had a wife? Never.” His thumb traced slow circles through the fabric of her gown. “This is uncharted ground for us both.”
Silence fell between them, companionable but taut. The clatter of wheels softened as the city gave way to the hush of open country. Marianne studied him—the long, relaxed sprawl of his body across the carriage seat, the strong lines of his hands, the faint callus of a marksman’s finger, the scar that no longer seemed harsh in the morning light. He had leaned back with his head resting against the cushions, eyes closed, as though utterly at ease—or pretending to be. He smelled faintly of sandalwood and clean linen, an intoxicating combination she was already coming to crave.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said without opening his eyes.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to solve a puzzle.”
“Aren’t you something of a puzzle?”
“No,” he said, opening his eyes at last. “I’m exactly what I appear to be—a scarred duke with too much money and too little peace, who wanted something beautiful for himself.” His gaze lingered on her. “And now I have it.”
“I’m not a thing, Adrian.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “You’re far more dangerous. Things can be controlled. You, I suspect, will be my beautiful disaster.”
“Or you’ll be mine.”
He smiled then—an unguarded, fleeting smile that transformed his face. “Perhaps we’ll destroy each other. What a magnificent end that would be.”
The carriage slowed before massive iron gates bearing the Harrowmere crest. Beyond them stretched a long drive lined with oaks, their bare branches clawing at the pale sky.
“Welcome home,” Adrian said as they passed through. “I hope you like isolation. The nearest neighbour is five miles distant.”
“Trying to frighten me again?”
“Trying to prepare you. Harrowmere is… intense. Beautiful, but lonely. ”
“Rather like its master, then.”
For a heartbeat, something flickered across his face—surprise, perhaps even embarrassment. Then he looked away, a faint, rueful smile curving his mouth.
The house came into view, and her breath caught. It rose out of the mist like something half-remembered from a Gothic tale—dark stone, high gables, pointed arches.
“Sweet mercy.”
“Excessive, isn’t it? My grandfather believed himself descended from kings. Wait until you see the inside.”
The carriage drew up to the steps. The doors swung open, revealing a phalanx of servants assembled in rigid rows.
Adrian descended first, then turned to help her down, his hand warm at the small of her back. “Courage,” he murmured. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
