If she meant to betray him, if she had been somehow colluding against him, he would show her no mercy. He needed her as his wife, but he was not afraid to do what he must.
“Since I have been traveling, as I said,” she repeated, her gaze flitting from his as she sat up. “Long carriage rides do not agree with me, I am afraid. They make me dreadfully weary.”
She was lying.
Dom knew it.
Why? And what was she seeking to hide from him? He would have to get to the heart of the matter later.
“The fare here is not what you are accustomed to, but my lad and coachman tell me the meat pies are quite good.” He extended his hand to her. “If you wish it, I will have a tray of them sent up with some wine and ale.”
Her small, elegant hand settled in his big, rough one. “That sounds lovely, Dom.”
She had called him by his given name again. His fingers tightened on hers and he pulled her to her feet in one effortless gesture. There was much he needed to learn about this wife of his.
But first, dinner.
* * *
Dinner was an unusually intimate affair compared to the multiple courses served by dozens of liveried servants Adele was accustomed to. Wine, fresh bread and butter, and a meat pie on humble crockery, and yet there was something about the simplicity that pleased her. She was seated opposite her husband at a scarred table, the firelight and a lone brace of candles their sole illumination.
Her stomach rumbled noisily at the scent on the air—meat and crust, buttery and rich. She pressed a hand to her midriff, all too aware of the gentle swell beneath her gown. Soon enough, she would have to see her stays altered, her gowns let out. Or perhaps commission a new wardrobe that would accommodate her changing form…
Oh, who was she fooling? That is what she would have done as the wife of a lord. What did the wife of a London crime lord do?
“You are hungry, Duchess. Eat.”
Her husband’s baritone rumbled through the silence that had fallen between them, and she wished she did not like it quite as much as she did.
Shewashungry. However, she wanted to speak with him first, to find her footing on this slippery, unfamiliar ground she trod. “You make a habit of feeding me, it seems.”
“You make a habit of needing to be fed.”
His concern for her wellbeing took her by surprise. It was not what she would have expected from the hardened, merciless man she supposed him. But his actions this evening took her back to the man she had met almost three months ago at The Devil’s Spawn.
He had been formidable, yes. Terrifying also. But then, he had been the man who had insisted they dine before following through with their bargain. He had kissed her with such tenderness. He had touched her as if she were fashioned of the finest Sèvres.
And this evening, when she had fallen into an exhausted sleep, she had risen to find he had removed her boots and tucked the bedclothes around her. Adele’s lady’s maid had not made the journey to Oxfordshire from London, and she had been using first her sister’s lady’s maid for the duration of the house party, then sharing with her obliging hostess after Hannah and Evie had departed.
Still, she hesitated to eat. She had before her a rare opportunity with Dominic Winter, and she meant to seize it.
“I am wearing the straps today, indeed,” she said, remembering what he had said to Devereaux Winter and thinking to impress him with her use of cant.
But her husband gave her a puzzled frown instead. “Wearing the straps, Duchess? Is that some sort of lady’s undergarment?”
“Yes, wearing the straps,” she said agreeably. “That is what you said to Mr. Winter to indicate you were hungry, is it not?”
A short burst of laughter fled him.
Drat.Apparently, it was not. How had she mucked it up? She had been so certain…
Adele’s cheeks went hot.
“Near enough, Duchess. Wearing thebandsis what you want.” He grinned. “I applaud the attempt. We’ll have you speaking flash in no time.”
His words seemed somewhat ominous to her.
“We?”
