Page 53 of Duke in Darkness

Appalled, she stared at her maid. “What? These gossips are getting quite out of hand. Exton has never hit me.”

“But you did cry in the carriage,” Dawn said unhappily, folding her arms as she stood next to the bed. “I saw your face with my own eyes. And he rode off early this morning, like a man fleeing his crimes.”

Lilian gritted her teeth. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass Exton by sharing personal information about his past, or further details of the ball incident. But if she didn’t say anything, the malicious falsehoods would continue to spread, and become more and more exaggerated. “I was upset. Not at His Grace. Believe me, while the location of the fisticuffs was most improper, the reason behind them was not. The gentleman Exton hit said some unforgivable things about his time in the army. Specifically, the last battle. And, er, what happened to him.”

Dawn’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. The duke got injured on the battlefield. I don’t see how that could be a matter of ridicule.”

“Unfortunately not,” said Lilian softly, shuddering at what her husband had actually endured. “I didn’t know the truth myself, that is why I cried. Exton was captured by the French. And…and…tortured.”

Her maid’s horrified gasp echoed in the bedchamber. “Oh, madam. Oh no. His leg…his face…oh, the poor man—”

“I don’t want this spoken of. At least not without Exton’s permission. I do not think he would welcome pity, or appreciate being the subject of further below stairs talk. But I will not stand for any nonsense about him striking me. That, you may silence in no uncertain terms. Tell them I heard some unpleasant news about…about a friend, and felt distressed about that.”

“Of course.”

“Please also make it clear that I will not tolerate a word of slander about His Grace,” she added crisply. “There will be warnings. And then there will be servants looking for new positions. Now, that bath?”

Dawn blinked. Then she curtsied. “I shall see to it right away.”

“By the by, what did you mean about Exton riding off?”

“He left early, just as the sun came up. Mr. Hobbs was cross because His Grace refused to wait to be shaved. Just got himself dressed and went out to the mews. A stable boy helped him mount his stallion with one of them wooden blocks on account of his limp, but after that, he was good as gold. Galloped away so finely you wouldn’t even know about his injuries.”

“But he, ah, didn’t say where he might be going?” asked Lilian casually, as though it didn’t cut her to the heart that he’d not only left her bed without a word, but the townhouse. Perhaps even the city.

“No ma’am.”

Forcing a smile, she waved her maid away to arrange the bath. Dawn would of course see the marks and bruises on her skin, but far better that conversation happened without the murky addition of last night’s crying in the carriage. More important was the miserable news of Exton’s abrupt departure.

Why had he left?

A man pleased with his wife didn’t do that. Had she done something wrong? Angered or disgusted him in some way? Perhaps the cold light of day had been sobering for him as well, and he blamed her for encouraging his attendance at the disastrous ball. Or maybe he just sensed in her this ridiculous, growing need for a much closer, more affectionate marriage, and wanted to make his refusal of that quite plain.

Sliding down under her quilt and sheets, Lilian pressed her face into her pillow. Not in a thousand years had she thought marriage would be this difficult, so filled with uncertainty and missteps. Wedding a stranger would never be easy for anyone, but living under the scrutiny of servants and the haut ton alike, made it so much worse. And she had a husband who forbade physical touch, and preferred to ride out in the gloomy early morning chill of London than speak to her.

It felt like abject failure. That she might never master the role of wife and duchess.

And that was very troubling indeed.

“COLONEL! COLONEL JORDAN-IVES!”

Startled from his self-inflicted fog of chill and limb numbness, Gabriel turned his head to see who hailed him on Rotten Row. Clearly not a member of the ton, the feminine call had been far too warm and cordial, and referred to him by his army rank. Besides the fact that no member of society would even be out of bed right now, let alone outdoors. It couldn’t yet be ten o’clock.

Then he smiled in genuine pleasure as a plump, pretty redhead trotted her horse toward him and maneuvered it alongside his. “Mrs. Aggie Taylor, as I live and breathe. What are you doing in London?”

The older woman, who had followed the drum for years as both the wife of a captain and an experienced nurse, glared at him and shook her head. “I think, more to the point, the question is what are you doing out this early? Far too cold for a man recovering from severe wounds.”

Gabriel grimaced, shifting uncomfortably on his saddle. “Don’t start with…a scolding. I’m not under…your care now, madam.”

“Perhaps you should be. On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in at present?”

He looked away. Thirty minutes ago he might have said ten, but as numbness set in and his limbs seized up, the pain had changed from sharp and shooting to a relentless dull ache. “Not far to go now. I…needed the air.”

Damned right he did. After somehow falling asleep in Lilian’s bed, he’d awakened a few hours later to a near-darkened room and the posts of her bed closing in on him. For a terrible moment as the night terror strangled his breathing and paralyzed his limbs, he wondered if he’d cried out, but his wife had slept on without so much as a twitch. And then, oh hell, then, moonlight had shone through a window and onto her naked body.

Bruises. Scrapes. Chafed raw wrists.

Inflicted by a monster. Him.