“Oh my,” Harriet let out as she took a turn about the room.
“Marvelous, isn’t it?” Mrs. Tanning asked with a shy smile. It transformed her face entirely and Harriet couldn’t help but like the woman.
“Unbelievable,” Harriet answered, her eyes trained on the ornate ceiling. Then they fell to the bedside table, where a small stack of books sat. She crossed over to them immediately. On top was a small card that said simply:
For you.
—A
“I’ll send Anne up to you, my lady, and a bath. Ring the bell for anything else you need,” Mrs. Tanning said from behind her, and with that, she disappeared.
Had she known this room awaited her, she would have put up far less resistance to moving in. Harriet suspected she was going to get the best sleep of her life that evening.
Alexander had gotten the worst sleep of his life that evening. He woke the next morning, gripped with fear. He’d dreamt a most concerning dream the night before: a dream of her, beneath him. That part hadn’t been anything less than glorious. It was the rest of the dream—the emotions he’d felt for her that lingered in the morning—that frightened him.
In turn she was, it seemed, entirely uncharmed by him, if yesterday’s confrontation was anything to go by. He’d had to practically beg her to even entertain living here. It was a most unusual occurrence, he mused. One which only made her more tantalizing. Of course, women hadperformedindifference before for him, hoping to beguile. But Harriet’s disinterest seemed genuine.
He’d felt it in the library the night they met. She hadn’t been rapturous or flattering. He couldn’t remember a woman so unmoved by his presence. Well, he could remember one. But that had been ages ago and didn’t signify.
She wanted to befriends. If she could only see the dream he’d had the night before, she would dispose of the notion entirely.
Perhaps he might convince her of the foolishness of her vow of chastity. One didn’t want to be immodest, but Alexander was certain she would enjoy his company. The pleasure she was leaving on thetable was significant. Of course, it wasn’t entirely an unselfish line of thinking. Having her—even once—would be worth almost any effort. If anyone in thetoncould win a woman over, surely it was him.
No.No.
Alexander had never had to persuade a woman of his appeal. It ought to be evident.
This was not that sort of marriage. She was not that sort of lady. Lord. One night with her in his house and he was starting to go mad.
He rose and dressed and packed himself into a carriage to be delivered to White’s posthaste. His previous habits needed to be attended to.
He stalked inside the club, nerves raw.
Unfortunately, his dark mood was not to be ameliorated. His father sat in a corner, smoking a cheroot and holding court, at least seven young bucks hanging on his every word. It was pathetic the way the duke soaked up admiration; baseless fawning seemed to be the only thing that fueled the old man outside of snatching up properties from vulnerable parties. Miserable man. Lifting two fingers, his father summoned him. Alexander braced himself, ordered a drink from a passing footman, and headed over. Meetings with his father were never pleasant, but perhaps the public venue would forestall the duke’s worst impulses.
“You must excuse us, gentlemen. I need a word with my son,” the Duke of Belhaven instructed his admirers. “Come, let’s find a room,” he commanded Alexander.
Never mind about the audience then. This was to be a true confrontation. He should have known; his father cared far too much for appearances to set down his son in the middle of White’s. And far too muchnotto set him down in a private room of the club. The blessed footman discreetly handed Alexander a scotch as he followed his father like a man sent to the gallows.
They reached a small private room, similarly appointed as the rest of the club in dark, comfortable leather, ideal for spending time away from one’s wife, opulent curtains to hide the time of day, and wood-paneled walls to maintain the power within. Something about the forced masculinity of the room struck Alexander at that moment. It was a room—a whole club—designed to assure men like his father of their virility, their belonging and influence. It was an odd observation to come to after years of membership, and one he had the urge to share with someone, though he imagined his father might strike him if he did.
The duke gestured toward a chair across from him, as if he were “allowing” Alexander to sit before him. In his own club. That he paid his own dues to be a member of. Alexander fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Everything his father did irked him. Whether the duke drank scotch or brandy, smoked or refrained, crossed his legs or his arms, Alexander was determined to loathe the choice. And to do the opposite.
“I understand you’ve married.” No preamble. The duke often seemed to go out of his way to avoid addressing Alexander, as if doing so would lend legitimacy to his birth.
“I have.” Two could play the game of withholding. One wasn’t raised as the Duke of Belhaven’s son without learning that information was an asset to be guarded.
“I must admit somesurpriseat your choice,” the duke sneered. He had a flair for eking out sentences like a snake.Me too, Alexander thought, but remained silent; his father wasn’t waiting on his words anyhow. “No doubt this was meant to punish me for something.”
“Imust admit, Father,” Alexander began, the term of address meant as both an insult and a reminder, “you didn’t enter into the decision at all.”
“You compromise a mopsy wallflower and we’re all to believe …? What? That it’s a love match?” The man’s face was turning an even deeper shade of red than normal. Most unpleasant.
“I didn’t compromise her.” Alexander shrugged. The rest of his father’s sentence wasn’t worth addressing, since the one proper response would have ended with him in Newgate.
The duke’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the suggestion that the marriage had not been strictly required. Another shade of vermilion was achieved. Alexander normally would delight in rousing so much ire, but he found himself strikingly bored. “We were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I’m expected to believe that bitch just happened upon a duke’s heir in Lady Dunley’s library?” Alexander flinched at the slur, at the casual dismissal of his brother’s existence, at the amount his father knew about the situation, at the unfeeling laugh the man let out.Despite years of practice in not reacting to his father’s outbursts, this moment tested him.
