“No, I’m sorry. That was wrong of me,” he interrupted, reaching down to scoop her underneath her legs, hoisting her into a bridal hold. “I didn’t ask, and I swore to you I wasn’t the brute you thought me to be. Please, you don’t have to say anything. Accept my apology; that is my only request.”
He began carrying her toward the rocky ledge, lifting her up onto it before pulling himself out of the water. Dripping and ashamed, he swallowed thickly as he stared down at her, watching as her confused gaze turned toward the sparkling sea.
“I’m sorry.”
She did not look up at him. “So you keep saying.”
“Believe me, I am,” he urged.
Her shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “You are forgiven.”
He did not believe her, nor did he know how to fix what he had done. “Let’s return to the manor,” he said unevenly. “You must be cold, and you’ve had a shock. Some hot tea and breakfast will help.”
He picked up his greatcoat from the dry slab of rock where he had left it and draped it over her shoulders. She pulled it tighter around herself and got to her feet, refusing to look at him as she padded over to her own belongings and draped her greatcoat over the top of the first. Beneath both, she shivered.
Idiot. Utter, utter idiot.She would never look at him again after that; he was certain of it.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Even during her summers spent in secret at Oxford and Cambridge University, pretending to be a boy, attending every lecture she could—the more challenging, the better—she had never encountered a problem she could not solve. But a fortnight as a wife and Duchess, and her brain had begun to hurt, her thoughts foggy, the solutions to her problems just out of reach.
“Are you well, Your Grace?” Jenna, the maid who had become the closest thing to a friend, asked as Matilda sat alone at the breakfast table. She had reread the same sentence in the newspaper at least five times, her mind wandering.
Matilda looked up. “Hmm?”
“Are you well?” Jenna poured more coffee for her mistress. “You’ve been looking pale of late, and you’re paler than usual today—if I may be so bold as to say so.”
Matilda took up the cup of coffee and sipped, letting it warm her. “I have not been sleeping well. There is a pigeon outside my window, and it snores.”
“I could have someone chase it off if you like?”
Matilda smiled. “No, that will not be necessary. I am the newcomer, not the pigeon. As it was here first; I shall just have to get used to the sound of it.” She paused. “Has there been any word from His Grace this morning?”
“None, Your Grace.” Jenna pursed her lips. “Shall I send someone to fetch him from his study?”
Matilda waved the suggestion away. “No, no, it is quite all right. I was merely curious.”
It had been a week since she had seen her husband. A week since he had held her close and kissed her so fervently that she had forgotten all of her woes for those sweet, precious minutes. A week since she had last ventured into the water to learn how to swim.
She still did not know what had happened. One moment, she had been in paradise; the next, he had jolted away from her as if he had been stung and had not dared to come near to her since. He had vanished into his study, becoming a creature of the night, who only emerged when she had retired to her chambers—she knew because she heard his footfalls in the hallway outside her room as he snuck past.
“His Grace is tending to very important business and is not to be disturbed,” the butler had informed her whenever she asked, his answer rehearsed.
“His Grace will be dining in his study. He sends his apologies, but his work is taking longer than anticipated,”she was told in the evenings, without fail. An enforcement of rules she could not and would not break, despite her frustrations.
She had tried to catch him in the mornings, before he left for the cove, and had even gone to the cove twice to see if they could begin again or at least discuss what had occurred. But it appeared that he had foregone his morning swims, undoubtedly, to avoid her.
Was it that bad? Did I do it wrong?She was baffled by the entire situation and even more bewildered that she cared so much. This was not who she was. She was not someone who tied themselves in anguished knots over a man. Yet, for an entire week, she had thought of nothing but his lips on hers and the feeling of his warm arms and the cold water surrounding her, wondering what had gone awry.
“Oh… Your Grace!” Jenna squeaked, curtseying hurriedly and almost spilling the carafe of coffee in the process.
Matilda’s eyes darted to the doorway of the breakfast room. After a week of absence, there he was, looking just as powerful and brutally beautiful if a little worse for wear. There were crescents of bruised purple beneath his dimmed eyes, his cropped hair disheveled, his face gray with fatigue.
“There’s a ball next week,” he said, fixing his attention on Matilda. “I hadn’t intended for us to go, considering we’re supposed to be enjoying our honeymoon, but I think we ought to attend. It’s meant to be one of the grandest of the season. I wouldn’t deny you that.”
Matilda sat up straighter in her chair. “Whose ball is it?”
“The Countess of Grayling’s ball,” he replied. “I believe it’s very likely that your friends will be there. It’ll be good for you to see them again since I’ve been occupied with business matters and haven’t been able to keep you company.”
