Arabella suddenly felt as if she were locked in a cage with a feral animal. And what was even more dreadful was that she felt no fear, just a sudden surge of need.
She sat down on the sofa, ready to fix the skirt around her, when it dawned on her that she wore none. No layers upon layers of clothes, just her nightgown and the robe that she had already opened before she went to bed.
“I must apologize, Arabella,” the Duke said.
Arabella did not correct him.
“I’m terribly sorry I missed dinner, but I had business to attend to.”
Many fake polite answers came to mind, ones that projected a very understanding and docile wife. There were many roles that a lady of the ton had to adopt throughout her whole life. Arabella was not inclined to play this particular one. So her response was only a very conservative nod of her head that merely acknowledged that the Duke had, in fact, missed dinner and nothing more.
“If you remember, per the agreement, the first outing would be with the Pembletons. The letter I got was from the Earl himself to congratulate me on the wedding and invite me tonight at the opera to meet my new wife. So I would say the endeavor was very much successful.”
Arabella had the suspicion that by “endeavor” the Duke was referring to their marriage, and it was very… enlightening to see how the Duke viewed their new situation.
“I had to make some arrangements regarding the matter, and I also had to create a comprehensive proposal for the business investment I would like to discuss with him.”
Arabella, who prided herself as a very able conversationalist, failed to find the correct answer to that. It seemed that it was the recurrent theme of that night, a mere consequence of the absurdity of their situation.
“Regarding this outing,” the Duke continued, “we need to be prepared accordingly.”
Arabella blinked, trying to reconcile his calm, businesslike tone with the fact that it was, quite astonishingly, their wedding night.
“I think I have already explained to you how conservative the Earl is. But he is the least of your concerns. Your main target is Vera. The Earl appreciates his wife very much, and she plays a big role in his decisions.”
Arabella nodded. She knew of the Countess of Pembroke, they had met, though not properly introduced. She was more of a snob, looking down at people who were lower to her station, but also jealous of those above it. The Countess wouldn’t easily view her under a flattering light, since she embodied both things that made the Countess uneasy. She was of lower birth, the daughter of an almost penniless Marquess who had now risen to be a Duchess.
“They might appear cordial,” the Duke continued. “Do not be so easily swayed. Always be on guard, alert, and sharp.”
His look turned even colder as he spoke those last words. Arabella had noticed that all the time that she had known the Duke, he was always guarded, constantly looking around as if expecting some invisible enemy to attack. He trusted no one, and Arabella thought wistfully that she was among the people he distrusted.
“We will discuss more when the day comes,” the Duke said and got up to leave.
When Arabella saw him get up to retire for the night at wherever his quarters might be, she looked up in surprise. It was one thing to talk to her about business on their first night together, but to talk only about business, surely that was a novelty no other bride of the ton had been subjected to.
The Duke didn’t even notice that she was wearing practically nothing as they sat down in her private chambers. Was it because he was so used to seeing women in this state all the time? She had a hard time believing that, since there wasn’t even the slightest whiff of a scandal regarding the Duke. But then again, she didn’t exactly know the man.
Then again, it could simply be the fact that he didn’t care or see her under this light, despite the time he overstepped propriety.
Something rebelled inside her. She had kept quiet when he left her to discover her new residence, she made no requests when she ate alone in the echoing dining hall. She simply nodded as he strategized over his precious Pembletons. But she would be truly pitiful if she allowed him to leave her chambers tonight without at least acknowledging the rather astonishing reality that he had, only hours ago, made her his wife.
“Is that all, Your Grace?” she bit bitterly.
“For now, that is all. We will discuss when we-”
“I am not talking about the outing with the Pembletons,” she said, barely containing her frustration.
Her tone must have pierced through the heavy veil of indifference. And then he looked at her. He really looked at her for the first time since he entered the room. Arabella felt that gaze like a touch on her skin, piercing and heavy as it was.
His eyes first took in something that he had never seen: her hair, loose, brushed, a black waterfall over her shoulders, shining and silky. She noticed that his hands flexed. Perhaps he was nervous. Seeing the loose hair of a woman was immensely intimate, usually reserved for family, and especially the husband.
“What are you talking about then, Your Grace?” he said lowly.
“I am asking if that is why you came to me tonight,” she said, her voice firm.
His look went down to the open robe, almost unblinking as he took in the loose silk fabric of her nightgown. Arabella tried to control herself, not showing how his look affected her, how it made her feel, a burning mixture of anticipation and a hint of fear.
But mostly hunger. The kind of hunger that was both irrational and natural at the same time. How could she crave this much something that she didn’t exactly know what it was? And at the same time, how undeniable it was, visceral, almost primitive.
