Alaina refused to be unnerved. The bellpull was to the left of the doorway and there was no doubt the intruder would, if he so wished, be able to stop her before she could get near enough to use it. She could scream, but there were a dozen other women behind her, waiting nervously and mostly silently for her lead. She refused to show weakness—not even in front of her friends.
She crossed her arms over her chest and adopted the same strong stance as the uninvited guest. It immediately bolstered her nerves with a strange sort of power, drawing steel into her spine and cold fire into her veins.
“I shall ask you one more time,” Alaina began, secretly proud that the strength of her voice did not waver. “Who are you and what are you doing inmyhome?”
After another second of unnatural immobility, the man’s face split into a wicked half-grin. One of his powerful brows rose imperiously as he uttered words Alaina’s mind at first refused to process: “Aren’t you the least bit excited to welcome your husband home, darling? I’d take greater offense at your lack of recognition, but ithasbeen a spell.”
The world paused around her…her heart halted its rhythm. Her eyes frantically searched the man’s face for any sign of falsehood. But…
Those eyes.
It was at that moment that she realized what had seemed so familiar about him. The dust was swiftly wiped away from the looking glass of her memory. She had been living beneath those intense hazel eyes for the last eight years. They were the eyes of the Morton Dukedom. Piercing. Intelligent. Hawklike in their ability to make one feel as if he were laying bare her soul.
Generations of men in that family had possessed those eyes, and the London Townhouse’s soaring portrait gallery filled with several centuries-worth of paintings to prove it. After she’d first stumbled upon the gallery sometime following her husband’s secretive and hasty departure, Alaina had done everything she could to avoid the room. She couldn’t bear to be judged by those ancestors as the one duchess who couldn’t seem to even entice her husband stay long enough to consummate the marriage, let alone produce a legitimate heir. She recalled once wistfully thinking how she never would have married Sterling had his own hazel eyes been as cold as theirs; he’d only ever looked upon her with a fondness that had warmed the intensity of his mercurial gaze. But now…
Sterling?
The sounds of the world crashed over her all at once as her guests frantically gathered their papers and belongings—some taking longer than others as their morbid curiosity won out, and they none-too-subtly glanced between Alaina and this man who claimed to be the long-lost Duke of Morton.
Alaina silently cursed the situation ten times over and donned a well-practiced mask of impassivity to hide her humiliation, her panicking heart and roiling stomach. Not only had she not immediately recognized her wayward husband, but she had demonstrated said fact in one of the most mortifying ways possible: in front of a room of Society women. She loved them all dearly, but she didn’t doubt that at least a few might innocently let the incident slip.
Even more embarrassing, his first glimpse of her in nearly a decade had been her flopping around like a beached whale…
What an impression to make upon one’s spouse after an eight-year absence.
This man who claimed to be her husband didn’t watch the guests leave. Instead, he simply stepped to the side to allow her guests to pass with hasty curtsies, and those intense eyes of his bore into her from across the room. Alaina fought the childish urge to fidget under his scrutiny.
So much for his eyes being warmer and more inviting than his ancestors’.
Time had changed her husband in unexpected ways. Even at five-and-twenty, he’d been tall and self-assured. His features had been well-carved and unquestionably patrician with a strong, expressive brow and angular jaw. During his absence from England, his frame had since filled out in a pleasingly masculine way and sharpened his features like a whetstone from handsome to devastating. The boy she’d married had been undeniably attractive; the man standing before her was…ravishing. There was no other word for it in her rather extensive vocabulary.
Alaina swallowed hard through her tight throat and prayed he could not detect how unnerved she was.
Especially now that they were finally well and truly alone as the door clicked shut behind the final guest.
It was without a little trepidation that Alaina realized she’d never actually been alone with her husband before…and then how truly absurd it was that she was a married woman of six-and-twenty and that was a pathetic fact of her life.
Sterling took several steps toward her until he was close enough to make her tilt her head back so she might look up into his face. Her memory hadn’t failed her in this aspect; despite her best efforts, she’d never forgotten how tall he was and how much she’d had to tip her head to accept his kiss.
Alaina gave herself a rough mental shake, steeling her resolve.
This was the man who had abandoned me, she reminded herself.
Humiliated me.
Deserted the life we were supposed to create together and left me to pick up the pieces and weather the consequences alone.
She should slap him, kick him in the groin, spit on his boots, but she was far too well-bred for such behavior. That did not stop the malicious thoughts from playing out in her mind to a satisfactory degree.
Sterling’s mouth propped up into another half-smile that might have been charming had it reached his eyes.
“What? No welcome-home kiss for your husband?”
Chapter Two
The white-hot flashin Alaina’s remarkable sapphire eyes made Sterling tense as he awaited the stinging slap he undeniably deserved but it never came. Instead, a becoming blush tinged her smooth cheeks, lightly dusted in freckles he didn’t recall ever having graced the downy skin. It appeared his wife had on her strolls and excursions foregone her bonnet more often than not, allowing the sun’s caress to alter her porcelain features with flecks of pale cinnamon. Despite their antithesis to modern beauty standards, he didn’t mind the delicate marks. He found them intriguing as well as enticing because they spoke of a woman who no longer forced herself to adhere to strict standards and who forged her own way. He looked forward to finding out what else about her had changed now that the moment he’d dreamt about for years had finally come.
Alaina retreated a step without removing her stormy gaze from his face, crossing her arms over her bosom once more—a gesture that did not go unappreciated by Sterling. The devil inside him prodded his back with its pitchfork. It stirred to life urges so powerful, his fingers twitched with the need to pull her into his arms despite the evident danger to his person if he committed such an act.
