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Alaric withdrew from her body and cleaned himself. Please say something, she wanted to beg. Tell me what I should do.

But then, a moment later, he helped her put on her nightgown.

As Charlotte covered herself, she noticed that he wasn’t truly looking at her. ‘Should I…stay here with you?’

He hesitated a moment, as if he didn’t know how to answer. Then he said, ‘I suppose you’d be more comfortable in your own bed.’

She tried to smile in agreement but couldn’t quite manage it. Separate lives, she reminded herself as she walked back to her room alone. That was what she had agreed to.

But at least she had done her duty, and the marriage was finally consummated. She ought to feel happy about that.

Instead, she felt lost…as if he’d somehow kept himself apart from her.

The next morning, Alaric awakened with the scent of his wife upon his bedsheets and his body painfully aroused. He couldn’t deny his own regret that he hadn’t brought her to fulfillment. But he suspected that if he gave her that release, awakening her to what true lovemaking could be, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her. Even now, he wanted her back in his bed.

He’d sent her away, knowing that his desire for her was too strong. Her body had fit with his so perfectly, and her innocent attempts to bring him closer had been endearing. He’d been deeply mistaken, thinking he could consummate the marriage and behave as if it meant nothing. Charlotte had been so responsive, so eager, that he’d lost complete control. He had fully meant to pull out, but it had been so long since he’d been with a woman, he hadn’t been able to stop himself. The slick warmth of her body and the way she had squeezed him deep within had driven him over the edge.

Although he knew an heir was expected of him—and he wanted to be a father one day—he hadn’t wanted Charlotte to face the prospect so soon.

His own mother had died in childbirth, and there was a true risk to Charlotte, one he didn’t want to face. But the thought of his wife suffering made him wonder if he ought to be even more careful and limit their time together.

Already this marriage was shifting, and he had to stop before they grew too close. Her Christmas present to him, the return of the lost family paintings, was a gift he’d never imagined. Seeing his mother’s portrait in the dining room had been both a comfort and a reminder that he was already starting to walk in his father’s shoes.

He could not allow himself to fall in love with his wife. He refused to weaken himself in the way his father had—becoming so dependent that he lived only for someone else and lost the man he was.

Distance was what he needed. A fortnight or so away from her would give him the chance to re-establish the rules of their marriage.

He would go to Wintermere for a time, then London. He would let Charlotte believe he was managing his father’s debts and rebuilding the estate. She didn’t need to know the real reason—that he had to stay away from her until he could control himself.

Alaric walked towards their adjoining door that was still slightly ajar. From the small gap, he could see Charlotte tangled up in her bedsheets. His body reminded him of the sensual pleasure of being inside her, watching her face shift as he moved within her. He had loved tasting the softness of her generous breasts, cupping them as he tempted her.

His hand curled on the door frame, his body already aroused again with the memory.

Go inside, the darker side of him urged. Give in to your desires. But in the end, he closed the door between them.

He told himself it was better this way.

Her husband had deserted her the morning after they’d consummated their marriage. There was no other explanation for his sudden departure to London.

But Charlotte had never expected the multitude of emotions storming through her. The first week, she had been humiliated to realise that she truly hadn’t been good at lovemaking. The duke must not have liked it at all.

The second week, her thoughts had shifted again. He had known she was a virgin. How could she be good at something she’d never done before? She’d thought it had been pleasant enough, and he’d seemed satisfied. But maybe she was wrong?

After a month, Charlotte’s bewilderment and embarrassment had shifted into anger. She didn’t deserve to be abandoned by her husband. Hadn’t she obeyed all of his rules? Well, most of them anyway. It infuriated her that they had spent a lovely Christmas night together, only for him to leave the next day for weeks on end.

What bothered her most was knowing that London was only a few hours away from Severn. Even if he’d had business affairs or important meetings to attend, he could have returned at night now and then. Instead, he’d chosen to stay away—which only deepened the hurt.

Thankfully, Thornton had answered her letter, confirming that her husband had spent time at Wintermere before he’d gone to his London townhouse. Apparently, Alaric was occupying himself with clearing their father’s debts and was not, in fact, ill or dead.

After it was clear that the duke wasn’t returning any time soon, Charlotte had taken down all the Christmas greenery. Out of spite, she’d cut thorny rose canes and had placed vases of them throughout his bedroom and study. There. When he returned, let him make of those what he would.

She had renovated her own bedroom with new curtains and bedding in a soft sunshine yellow colour that made her smile whenever she entered the room. Although it was indeed breaking one of their rules about decorating, it was her own personal room, and she was not about to sleep in mouldy bedcovers. The curtains were dark gold, and Charlotte had hired men to brighten the walls with fresh paint.

She’d been sorely tempted—but had refrained—from redecorating her husband’s room in black.

Instead, she’d had his walls repainted in the same white colour, and she’d ordered the maids to deep clean the room. But whenever she glanced at his bed, it evoked memories of the time they’d shared in it. And it only deepened her frustration and humiliation.

She had written letters to her sister, asking for advice. But Evelyn had only invited her to visit, and Charlotte had inferred that some conversations were not suitable for letters. Though Charlotte had never really been close to her sister, she was considering it.