Page 29 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“Excuse me?”

Suddenly, she could not stop herself from blurting out the words.

“I saw a man in the rain that night, standing over a body, holding that cane. The very same cane you set against my wall a moment ago. And the next morning, a woman was found dead at the Merrigold estate, not a mile from where I stood. Everyone told me I was wrong. The constables told me I was wrong. You told me I was wrong. But I know what I saw, Your Grace, and no wedding vow has changed that. So forgive me if it takes more than your word to convince me I imagined a murder.”

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said slowly, as if working it out even as he spoke it aloud. “You’re afraid there’s a murderer walking free in England, and you married him.”

For a moment Ronan only looked at her, and then something in his face eased, and the corner of his mouth lifted in what was very nearly a smile. It transformed him entirely, softened the hard lines of his jaw, warmed the black of his eyes, and Augusta felt her own face heat in response before she could stop it, furious with herself for noticing at all, tonight of every night.

“Every woman who has ever been frightened of me in this house,” Ronan said, “has been frightened for herself. My temper, or my scowl. You are the first to be frightened for the safety of England.” He shook his head slightly, as though still deciding what to make of her. “It is, I confess, a novel experience.”

Augusta pressed her lips together, unwilling to let herself be charmed out of a grievance so recently and so righteously held. “That does not answer my concern.”

“There is no reason for you to trust me immediately. We are strangers to each other, whatever the law now calls us, and I would think less of you if you handed over your trust simply because a ring sits on your finger.” He paused, his gaze steady on hers. “As for the rest, I have no need of an heir at present. None at all. You need not lie awake wondering whether tonight is the night I come to collect on that particular duty. We have years ahead of us, if you want them. There’s no need to rush toward anything neither of us is ready for.”

Whatever Augusta had braced herself to hear, it was not this, and the relief that moved through her was so sudden and so complete that she felt almost light-headed with it. “You mean that?”

“I am not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it, and Ronan’s eyes flicked to her face at the sound of it, something unreadable passing behind them.

“What I would like,” he went on, quieter now, “is for us to be friends, before we are anything else. I have a daughter who needs a mother more than I need a wife, if I am honest with you, and I would rather you and Sarah find your way to each other in your own time than have either of you forced into affection neither of you feels yet. The same is true for us.”

“Is it?”

“Take things slowly,” Ronan said. “Learn what there is to know of each other, in your own time. That’s all I ask.”

The relief that moved through Augusta was so sudden she nearly smiled before she meant to. “That is... more than fair.”

“I have little use for a wife who resents me. Sarah has far greater need of a mother than I have of anything else.” He watched her a moment, something almost gentle in it. “So let us start simply. Dinner tomorrow evening, just the two of us.”

“I can agree to that.” Her smile came easier this time.

“Goodnight, Augusta.”

“Goodnight.”

He inclined his head and let himself out, the door clicking shut behind him.

CHAPTER 7

Augusta spent the day learning the house. It was a step forward, and a good way to ease into her new role, she had told herself.

Besides, knowing the house seemed like an easier task than knowing her husband, who still appeared to her as an impenetrable wall.

So in her quest to know more, she started with the housekeeper, who answered every question carefully, like she wasn’t used to being asked.

“How long since the linens were properly inventoried?” Augusta asked, standing in a storage room.

“I couldn’t say, Your Grace. His Grace has never asked.”

“Never asked?” Augusta nodded, cataloging the information away in her mind. So, he didn’t care for knowing the little details, but made sure to take care of the large ones. Like financing the operations of the staff and the workings of the house. “And the kitchen accounts, are they kept separate from the household ledger, or together?”

“Together, mostly. The steward handles the numbers. I only manage the staff.”

Augusta’s questions were rather particular, but she had always been the sort to ask questions like that. She liked to understand things, and the best way to do that was to come up with good, detailed questions.

She hoped that she wouldn’t annoy the staff too much with her questions, but then remembered that she was the Duchess now. There was little reason for them to deny her an answer.