“Of course I do,” Lucien said quickly. “But they are human. And everything about our marriage was so sudden and unusual that it wouldn’t surprise me--or even anger me--if one or two of them let something slip while at the local tavern or in a letter to family or friends in London. People are by nature very curious and nosey, and I cannot blame my servants if they whispered about this.”
“Well I can!” Emery cried hotly, indignantly. “This is my life, and I am so sick of everyone trying to control it! Even our servants now are forcing me into situations in which I do not want. It is galling to say the least to have so little control over my own life!”
“I know,” Lucien said, in what he hoped was a calming voice. “And I am angry as well. But the truth is, the damage is done. There is nothing we can do but move forward.”
“You always say that,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “How is that you are so accepting of situations?”
Lucien shrugged. “Well, I’ve had a lot of disappointment in my life. And I’ve found that it’s easier if you don’t try to fight it, but merely forge the best path forward.”
She swallowed and nodded. “And this is the path forward? To show the servants--and thus theton--that we are happily married by sharing a bedchamber?”
“Yes. But it will be a bedchamber only for sleeping. Nothing else. You have my word on that.”
“I wasn’t truly worried about that,” she said, relenting slightly. “I was just frustrated and perhaps nervous. But I trust you.”
It was funny how much three little words could make Lucien’s heart soar the way it currently was.I trust you.In all his life, he wasn’t sure he had ever heard such sweet, perfect words. No one had ever said them to him before. And they were like music to his ears.
“What?” she asked, smiling slightly. “Why are you smiling?”
“No reason,” he said, turning away and moving toward the door that would take them to the inner chamber and the bed. “You will find your things in here,” he said, gesturing inside. “The servants brought them in earlier. You may change first. I will wait out here, of course.”
“Of course.”
She moved past him into the room and, closing the door behind her, he heard her ring for her lady’s maid. A minute passed, then the maid entered the antechamber, her eyes widening slightly as she took in Lucien.
“Your Grace,” she murmured, dropping into a curtsy.
“The Duchess is through there,” Lucien said, pointing at the inner chamber.
With a stunned expression, the maid entered the bedchamber, and in her surprise at the situation, she forgot to close the door all the way. Lucien turned away. He wanted to give his wife privacy, and watching through the crack in the door as she undressed would be paramount to breaking his word to her that they would be man and wife only on paper.
But he couldn’t stop himself from hearing.
And as he paced around the antechamber, he could hear, unmistakably, the low murmur of voices as his wife spoke to the maid, then the silky sound of clothes coming off and on. Hisheart was pounding uncomfortably loudly in his chest, and his throat was very dry. Even worse, his hands were sweating.
Why should these perfectly ordinary sounds make me feel anything other than calm indifference?
Spotting the sideboard where he always kept a handy bottle of scotch, he went to it and poured himself two fingers. The sound of his wife laughing gently came from the room next door, and he looked up at once, heart straining in his chest.
As he did, he caught a glimpse of her through the doorway. She was dressed in her night rail, a long white gown of silk and lace. Her hair was down, the black tresses falling to her waist, while the maid brushed out the ends.
Lucien swallowed. He had never seen anything so beautiful, ethereal, and angelic. It reminded him of how she had looked the night before, when he’d found her dancing in the ballroom at Dredford Castle.
He must have moved suddenly, because all at once, Emery looked up and stared right at him, her eyes meeting his. For several seconds, they stared at each other. There was a hard, blazing look in her eyes that he could not interpret, and he felt his cheeks redden absurdly.
I am a duke! Not a blushing bride!
Forcing himself to remain calm, he looked away, and didn’t look over at the door again until the maid came out of it and curtsied to him.
“Goodnight, Your Grace.”
After she left, Lucien moved slowly toward the room. The door was still open ajar, and he pushed it all the way open and stepped inside. Emery was already in the bed, under the covers, her hands folded over her stomach and her long black hair spread around her on the pillow like a crown.
“Good evening,” he said, stopping in the doorway and looking at her. She frowned at him.
“I didn’t purposefully put my hair like this,” she said. “The maid recommended it. She said it made me look like a Greek goddess and that…” she blushed. “And that you wouldn’t be able to resist it.”
“I see.” Her hair did look otherworldly spread over the pillow like that, but he was more reminded of a nymph.
