Her hands were folded on her lap, and she studied him with solemn gray eyes.
“I’ve been advised that there’s something called the Matrimonial Causes Act. That it’s possible to have a marriage dissolved.”
“Is that what you want, Douglas?” she asked in a very small, very composed voice.
A knock on the door interrupted his answer.
Sarah stood, opened the door, and remained motionless as two maids and a footman delivered their dinner. She waved them away when the footman would have set up a table, and closed the door after them.
Slowly, she turned to face him.
“Was what happened in Scotland all a ruse, then? Did you feel nothing for me?”
Did she have any idea how sensuous she looked, standing there attired all in black? Black was the color of mourning, true, but it was also the color of night, of sin, of secrets whispered by lovers, and soft, moaning sighs. She was exquisite in black, a creature with acreamy complexion and a mouth that hinted at bruising kisses.
“That’s an absurd question,” he said, pulling back the sheet to reveal his growing erection.
“But you don’t want to be married.”
His wishes weren’t important here, but hers. Before he could say that, his queen of the night, his specter of darkness, his enchantress, fled the Duke’s Suite without another word.
She’d failed dismally at seduction. She’d failed so horribly that she was almost in tears when she’d reached her room. She didn’t run back to her chamber, exactly, but the journey was certainly quickly done. She closed the door behind her and sagged against it.
She should begin a mental inventory of Chavensworth’s linens. Keeping a proper tally of the sheets, pillowcases, mattress covers, lengths of toweling, cloths, and rags was an ever-present problem. After so many months of checking and rechecking the numbers, before and after laundry day, she knew exactly how many of each item she should have. Or if that didn’t suffice to take her mind from Douglas, perhaps she should simply scour her memory for anything her mother might have said about Kilmarin and about a man named Michael.
Anything but think of how hideously she’d just shamed herself, just when he was thinking of ending their marriage.
Dear God, what did she do now?
Perhaps it was just as well he’d hurt her. It was a lesson for him, was it not? He should begin to tamp out any feelings he had for her. Lady Sarah could accede to her father’s demands and find herself without ahusband without any appreciable loss of dignity. Would such an act ruin her in polite society? He doubted it. She was, after all, a duke’s daughter, and society seemed created for such people.
He doubted she’d even miss him.
She’d lain in his arms and welcomed him into her body.
The act of a woman who knew what was expected in marriage.
She’d wept in front of him and clutched at him as if she’d be bereft if he were gone.
The act of a woman lost in a fog of grief.
This marriage had been a gift. A present, perhaps, from a suddenly beneficent Almighty. Remember that time on the Nile when you nearly drowned in the floods? Or the bite from the spider in the Africa savannah? Do you recall when you were certain you’d lose a toe or two from frostbite in the Alps? And when you were robbed by pirates in the Caribbean? For all those adventures, for all your suffering, I’m granting you a boon, a precious one at that. Here, into your keeping, is the daughter of a duke, a sweet lass with eyes the color of fog and a nature just as impenetrable. She’s a beauty, she is, but she’s also her own woman. She’ll not take lightly to being given as a gift. You’ll have to woo her until you’ve won her.
She’d been dressed for seduction, and he’d been frozen by his pride.
Just what sort of idiot was he?
“Open the door, Sarah.”
She stood in front of the door and stared at the pane. He sounded angry.
“Sarah.”
“I think we should both retire for the night,” she said.
“Exactly my thoughts. Open the door.”
She jerked it open, but the words she was about to say vanished when she saw him. He only wore a shirt, nothing more, and the shirt was left unbuttoned.
