Albion might have smiled at the obvious, sharp intelligence of his wife, but his nervous lips would not cooperate.Theywere still misunderstanding her meaning, thinking she was trying to get a more ‘expected’ honeymoon out of him.
“I am not even considering breaking rule number three if that was your concern,” she remarked, meeting his gaze.
He immediately looked away again, perspiring profusely. “I’ll see you at the house for dinner,” he said flatly. “I’ll abide by your rules, you’ll abide by mine, and maybe…”
He fumbled for the right words and could not find them. He did not even know what it was he wanted to say—that maybe their life together might not be so unpleasant? That they might learn to tolerate one another? That they might develop a friendship? It all sounded too stupid, too coarse.
“Maybe?” she prodded, clearly seeing his struggle.
“Maybe you’ll learn to swim, and I’ll learn how to be a proper duke,” he said, bowing his head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”
Matilda smiled strangely. “I have a feeling I will soon get used to the sight of your back as you retreat.”
He was filled with a sudden urge to hold his ground, just to prove her wrong, but as mischief danced in her sparkling blue eyes, he made the tactical decision to show no weakness in her presence. Shewantedconflict, wanted him to retaliate, maybe even wanted him to keep her company, but she would have to be disappointed.
“Don’t stray from the path on your return. It’s there for a reason,” was all he said as he turned and headed for the woodland, entirely forgetting the rest of the belongings that he had folded in a neat pile on the beach. He would have to retrieve them later when he did not have his wife staring at him like that, goading him, urging him to show some fire.
He had faced war without so much as blinking, yet that woman had the power to make him sweat and squirm with just a few words and a sly look. And when faced with an unknown enemy with that sort of force, retreatingwasthe only option.
CHAPTERELEVEN
From the edge of the trees, Matilda watched the scene unfurling on the gravel driveway at the front of the manor.
Albion’s friend had arrived at the very moment she had returned from the cliff, carrying her husband’s forgotten belongings in her arms. She did not know why she had felt the urge to retrieve them, but there they were, clasped tight to her chest like a naughty secret. They smelled of him, of woodsmoke, salty air, and something rich and delicious that might have been bergamot.
All of a sudden, Albion’s friend turned his gaze toward her, his hand shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun. Matilda shrank back into the shadows, praying he would not see her.
“Your Grace!” he shouted, and she cringed inside. “Your Grace, please allow me to say my farewells!”
If she refused or continued to hide, the two men would think her feeble and cowardly. She could not have that. So, with a deep breath, she emerged from the woods and strolled as casually as her shaky legs would allow, toward the men.
“You left these,” Matilda said, thrusting the clothes and riding satchel at Albion.
It took him a moment to accept them, and in that moment, Matilda’s fingertips grazed the hard lines of his chest. A chest, a body, a series of scars and sculpted muscle that she could not, for the life of her, get out of her mind. The sight of him walking out of the water simply would not be forgotten, bursting back into her head every few minutes as she had enjoyed the warm sunlight on the cliff edge and the sand between her toes when she had ventured down to collect his things.
Albion blinked at the items, finally gathering them into his arms. “I would’ve gone back for them.”
“What I think you mean to say,” his friend cut in, “is ‘Thank you, dear wife. That was very kind of you.’ No?”
Albion shot his friend a dark look before turning his attention back to Matilda. “Thank you, Miss Elkins. Thatwasvery kind of you. However, I don’t like the thought of you making your way down those steps to the beach alone. They are dangerous at the best of times.”
“Yet, here I stand, unscathed,” she replied, her stomach fluttering against her will. He was concerned for her welfare; it had been a long time since anyone had shown that worry for her.
Albion’s friend, Lomax, chuckled. “I’m sorry for calling you over, Your Grace, but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t say farewell and ‘good luck’ to the poor woman who has been saddled with this one.” He grinned. “But you’ll find he’s sort of like a cabbage.”
“A cabbage?” Matilda arched an amused eyebrow, rather liking the candor of this Lomax fellow.
Lomax nodded. “Once you peel away all the outer layers—you know, all the ones that have been nibbled, dirtied, and are a bit bitter—you’ll find a decent vegetable inside. Sweet and good for soups.”
“I have always appreciated a muddled metaphor,” Matilda said, relaxing. “My… associate tells me that you are returning to the Continent. Will you be away for a long while?”
Lomax smiled. “A few years.”
“But youdidget to meet your nephew, did you not?”
“I did, Your Grace.” Lomax’s eyes brightened. “He’ll be a proper boy when I see him again. But who knows, there might be a legion of children to call me ‘uncle’ by the time I come back, considering the Captain is as much a brother to me as my own, actual brother.”
Albion’s eyes widened, his mouth tightening into a grim line. It intrigued Matilda, that visceral response in her husband every time someone mentioned heirs. She did not want to be the provider of any, but she knewherreasons. His remained a mystery that he seemed unwilling to unveil.
