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CHAPTER10
The fire on the hearth had burned down to orange embers, and there was a distinct chill in the air. She was no longer Verity Stanton, but Duchess of Bainbridge. In truth, she had been the duchess for the last three days and fourteen hours. Verity stared at the dark ceiling of her bedchamber, wondering why the duke had not consummated their marriage. And she had to accept that all her preparation was for naught. Verity had bathed in rose-scented water, her long, wavy auburn hair brushed with over a hundred strokes, and had put on a silky emerald shift that revealed more than it covered.
The duke would not be visiting her chambers. Despite being exhausted from the events of the day—the wedding breakfast, meeting the few staff on the property, and then a tour of the grand estate, Verity had waited for him that night, her entire body tight with nerves and anticipation. However, the connecting door had remained closed. She had been both mortified and relieved.
The very next morning, she had joined him for breakfast, and they had exchanged only mild pleasantries before he had disappeared for the day to his study to meet with his steward and a solicitor. Verity had happily spent the day with Thomas, Artie, and their three cats. Of course, she had left them for a good part of it to see to her duty of staffing the palatial house, to the happiness of the housekeeper. That task that had blessedly kept her busy for the last three days, but there would now be enough maids, footmen, a butler, and groundsman serving the needs of a ducal home. Many of the wealthy, titled neighbors and landowners had also come to leave their cards, hoping for an audience with the new duchess. Verity had not seen anyone, wanting the house to be fully staffed before she asked Ethan if he wanted to accept callers.
With a groan, she dropped back against the well-padded mattress, tossing an arm across her forehead. Acting on the impulse driving her, she parted the sheer canopied curtains over the large four-poster bed, clambered off, and padded over to the connecting door. Reaching for the latch, she hesitated.
Oh, what am I truly thinking?
Verity stared at the connecting door in seething frustration, knowing her stretched nerves could no longer take the anticipation. Each night she waited for the door to open and for the duke to frame the doorway and demand she take off her clothes. Then he would proceed to debauch her. She wasn’t sure of the exact method of debauchery, but Verity knew enough to know it might be enjoyable. That would be the only reason so many women would cast themselves to ruin. Bedding was agreeable.
She opened the door to be met with a cold room and an empty bed. Curiosity driving her, for it was well after midnight, Verity first checked the nursery, to find it pleasantly warm and both Thomas and the nursemaid peacefully sleeping. Verity went downstairs, following the odd grunts that echoed in the stillness of the hallway. It took her to a room that had a fire burning low and the duke methodically punching what appeared to be a mounted punching bag with brutal strength.
Whack. Whack. Whack.
He was naked. Well, at least his shoulders and chest were, and they were roped with twisting muscles. Sweat slicked his skin, and the muscles of his arms bunched and contracted each time his fist slammed into the sandbag.
With a jolt, she realized he did this without protection on his hands. Surely the skin would break, and he would bleed and hurt. He paused, prowled over to a decanter, lifted it directly to his head, and took several swallows. When he lowered his head, it was almost the stance of a man defeated.
It was hard to see him so, when before, he had seemed too powerful and dominant. His chest lifted on a harsh breath, and the image of defeat melted away as he raised his head.
What drove him from his bed to…her thoughts careened when with a snarl, he shattered the decanter into the wall. Verity gasped, and her reaction informed Ethan he was no longer alone. Slower than she expected after that raw violence, he turned to face her.
Good heavens, he was beautiful. Her throat dried, and her belly went frightfully hot as she ran her gaze over his body. She felt his gaze on her, cool and prickling, and she lifted her regard to his. Ethan’s eyes gleamed with something that seemed almost savage. As he walked toward her, he brought with him an air of pain and torment and desperation. It frightened her. Suddenly she sensed it had been a mistake to seek him out. “I am sorry to intrude,” she gasped, whirled around, and ran away.
Verity dashed down the hallway and up the stairs as fast as she could when a sharp cramp in her leg hobbled her. She cried out and stumbled, and strong arms caught her.
Oh!She had not realized the duke chased her.
“Ethan, I…” With a sense of shock, Verity realized she trembled. She remained silent as he sat her on one of the steps and sat below her on another. He clasped her leg, and she cried out sharply at the awful pain. “It hurts,” she gasped.
“Shh,” he soothed, “the muscles are cramping. Let me knead out the knots.”
His fingers worked the twisting and contracting muscles of her calf until the pain eased. When her whimpering died down, his ministrations slowed. The sense of intimacy was immediately startling.
“It is better?” he murmured.
“Yes,” she whispered, painfully aware they were sitting on the wide stairs with only a few wall sconces to relieve the darkness. She could hardly discern their bodies, and that they could barely see each other somehow heightened the odd sensations crashing over Verity’s senses.
“Why did you run?”
“I do not know,” she whispered.
His fingers sank into her flesh again, then he rubbed her shin in a soothing motion. It was as if his touch singed her flesh. Just that slight contact set her whole body humming
“Why are you not sleeping?”
“I…I was looking for you.”
“Why?”
Her entire body blushed, and she was suddenly grateful for the darkness. Swallowing hard and drawing a slow, deep breath, she whispered, “You know why.”
His finger stilled, and she waited for his response, acutely aware of his masculine scent, the possessive yet gentle way he started massaging her calf, slowly sliding his hands down to her ankles and then up to her knees in a languorous glide. Not a whisper of sound passed between them as he continued touching her like that.
Finally, he replied, “I had a nightmare. Sometimes I find that I have to…I need the outlet.”
