She looked beautiful, even though it was quite obvious she had not slept the previous night. He kept meaning to compliment her, but the words would not be coaxed onto his tongue as though pleasantries might be more binding than the vows they had just made to one another.
Still, he allowed himself to admire the beauty of her, her features softer in the low light of the carriage, her eyes brighter. There was apprehension in her expression, but there was something else too—determination and courage. The very things he would have celebrated in his soldiers but had not thought to applaud in her.
I pray this is not the mistake she warned me it would be.Thus far, all was proceeding well between them. Too well, perhaps.
“Thank goodness,” Constance grumbled as the carriage came to a standstill outside the front terrace of Whitecliff Manor. She offered no other words as she let herself out, not bothering to wait for the footman, and marched off into the house.
Matilda mustered a hollow smile. “I believe she would have sprinted away from me if it were a more ladylike way of fleeing.”
“She has had a… difficult few months,” Albion said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if by tomorrow, she has decided she likes you best of all. She is a mercurial woman. You have that in common.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Would it put you in agony to say one nice thing when I have been torn from my home and friends today? ‘Mercurial’ is the best you can do? What manner of mercurial, hmm? Am I the inconstant or unpredictable kind, or am I the witty and brilliant kind?”
He sat back in shock, for hehadthought that “mercurial” was a nice thing to say. “I won’t do this now,” he said quietly. “I am tired. I don’t want to bicker and say something I’ll regret in the morning.”
“Does it matter whatIwant?” she challenged.
He could see right through her, for he had seen it often enough in his men; she was channeling her fear and apprehension into something she could control, something more solid than anxiety. Anger and conflict tended to be the most soothing alternatives.
His voice hardened. “I said, I won’t do this now.”
“My friends informed me that, when you are married, you should never retire to bed without resolution,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest. “Speaking of which, where am I to sleep tonight? Will I have my own bedchamber?”
He raised an eyebrow, not understanding the question.
She puffed out a sigh as she took in his expression. “Am I to shareyourchambers, as our… marital bedchamber, or am I to have my own tonight? It is my understanding that there are certain expectations. I would know what yours are, so I can decide what to do with myself.”
She was breathing unbearably fast, her chest rising and falling with such intensity that Albion feared she might faint. And her hands, though tucked under her armpits, were shaking so much that the shiver ran down the length of her forearms. In truth, she looked unwell. Nauseated.
In an instant, he understood her meaning. Understood what she thought of him still, despite what he had concluded to be a surprisingly amiable wedding. Understood that despite their more amusing, friendlier conversations, she could not—and, perhaps, would never—see past the scars and the face that war had given him.
Bitterness pinched the gap between his lungs. “I’m not the beast you think I am,” he growled. “You’ll have your own chambers. You may stay there indefinitely. I’ll make no demands of you or harbor any expectations, other than those of a society Duchess. In public, behave and perform the part of a lady. In private, do as you please.”
To his utter confusion, Matilda’s expression transformed into one of hurt, her arms hugging her body tighter. “I see.”
What is the matter with this woman?He had assumed that was what she had wanted to hear from him.
“Miss Elkins,” he said curtly, “I need a wife in order to be a decent Duke. I need you to help me in society matters and with the estate, nothing more.”
She nodded. “So, I shall be idle here. A prisoner, in essence, even if the cell is rather large.”
“For pity’s sake, Matilda—you are not a prisoner.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping to unknot the tangle of frustration she was winding there. “Let me put it more plainly. I have only three rules that youmustobey. Beyond that, do what you like.”
She sniffed. “What rules?”
“One, never disturb me when I’m working. It’s hard enough without distractions,” he replied. “Two, never leave the estate without informing me first though thatdoesn’tmean you can’t leave—just so we are clear. And three, never ask about us sharing a chamber again. It is not something I ever wish to do, for the sole reason that I don’t want an heir. Ever. As such, there’s no cause for us to share a bedchamber or… well, a bed.”
Matilda tilted her head to one side, highlighting the slender curve of her neck. “Why do you not wish to sire an heir?”
“Matilda,” he said with greater urgency, “I won’t do this now.Don’ttry and engage me in a conversation I am in no mind to have. I have laid out my three rules. That is all I have to say. Now, if you’ll excuse me,mybedchamber is waiting, and I am exhausted.”
He left the carriage, marching into the house with the same desire to escape her that his mother shared. The only difference was the reasoning, for if he did not hurry to his chambers and lock the door, he had a vague worry that she might try to follow him, to press him further about that last question.
Indeed, she was a rule-breaker if ever he had encountered one, and despite his strict instructions, he wondered how long it would be before she tried to disobey at least one of his unbendable three rules.
CHAPTERNINE
Alone in the vast, sparse bedchamber that had been appointed to her, Matilda sat upon the window seat and gazed out at the night-darkened world. An owl hooted from the smudge of forest in the distance, offering a morsel of companionship.
