“I was told I was born so,” he replied, coming to stand beside her. “Catherine was the light one. The laughing one.”
“Until the accident.”
His jaw tightened. “Yes.”
“Where is she now?”
“Rome, last I heard. Her letters are… dutiful. Empty.” He turned from the portrait. “Come. I want to show you something.”
He led her through another corridor to a quieter wing. He opened a door to reveal a comfortable sitting room—a man’s retreat of books, scattered papers, and a neglected glass of brandy.
“My private rooms,” he said. “The staff does not enter without leave.”
“Why bring me here?”
“Because you’re my wife. You have a right to every room under this roof.”
Her gaze met his. “Do I have a right to you?”
The silence was sharp.
“You have the right to everything I can give,” he said at last. “Whether that will suffice—”
“It’s more than I expected.”
He gave a low, humourless laugh. “Expectation is a dangerous thing, Duchess. But yes—everything changed the moment we wed.”
He moved closer, backing her against the wall with familiar ease. “Now you’re bound to me, as I am to you.”
“And that changes things?”
“It changes everything.” His hand came up to trace her jaw. “This morning, you might have walked away. Now you’re here—with me—for better or worse.”
“You make it sound like imprisonment.”
“Perhaps it is.” His thumb grazed her lower lip. “A gilded cage—with a beast for its keeper.”
“You’re not a beast.”
“No? Then what am I?”
She considered, studying his scarred face, his dark eyes that held so many secrets. “You’re a man who’s forgotten how to be anything but alone.”
Something in his expression wavered—then broke. He caught her mouth with his, fierce and hungry, the restraint of days snapping like thread. She met him with equal heat, her hands curling in his coat as he pressed her back against the wall.
“Tonight,” he said against her lips. “After dinner. Your room—or mine?”
“Yours,” she gasped as his mouth moved to her throat. “If we’re doing this, I want to know who you really are.”
He pulled back, his eyes dark with promise. “Careful what you ask for.”
“I’m never careful. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” He stepped back, putting proper distance between them, though his eyes still burned. “Seven o’clock. Wear the green silk.”
“The one from the opera?”
“That one.” His smile was wicked. “I have fond memories of that dress.”
