Chapter 15
Anger pulsed through Willow’s veins as she prowled the halls of her home in search of her husband.
Scurrilous beast! Rotten cad! Horrid ogre!
How dare he!
One hour after informing her maid she’d be joining her sister for ices at Gunter’s, a missive arrived from her husband—a missive forbidding her the outing. The utter gall of the man.
It was beyond the pale. Worse still, he had sent a note,anote, to convey the order and, conveniently, he was nowhere to be found on the property—a property she was not allowed to leave.
Well, she’d see about that.
More than anything, Willow was at a loss. Today had been one of those days where, had she possessed a diary, there’d be hearts and kisses scribbled all over her husband’s name. Revealing childhood dreams, kissing each other senseless and making off in a mad dash after knocking over a seventeenth century sculpture was the stuff of diaries.
It was almost impossible to reconcile this cold, infuriating note withthatman. Four steps forward and eleven steps back. It was as though Ambrose was purposefully backsliding to a more sheltered remoteness—one where his heart was not exposed.
And to some degree, Willow understood why. He loathed laying bare any vulnerability. On the other hand, he made her furious. Was it so hard to include a reason? Adopt a kinder tone?
The answer to that was a resoundno.
“Where is my husband?” Willow demanded as she entered her husband’s bedchamber, startling Benson, Ambrose’s valet. Her gaze swept the room, taking note of the dark furnishings and the large, quite enormous, bed in the center. Her eyes darted back to the valet, who stood ramrod stiff, a look of disapproval on his face.
Well bully for him. Willow did not rightly care what he thought.
“Your Grace, I believe his lordship is to be found in his study.”
“I just came from his study and have searched every other room in this house. The duke is nowhere to be found.”
“Perhaps he returned there during your search of him.”
“Do not be impertinent, Benson. You dress the duke. You know his plans long before anyone else in this house. Where is he?”
The servant’s lips pinched together. “I cannot say, Your Grace.”
Clearly, he had no intention of telling her. Well, Willow refused to be a puppet that danced according to her husband’s will. As things stood at that very moment, Benson had more privilege than her. He was free from any strings. He was free to leave the house!
“I must admit, I am astounded by the ease of which you lie.”
Benson’s face went slack. Hah! The man was not made of marble after all.
“Your Grace,” he began.
Willow stopped him with the lift of her hand. “Are you telling me that the duke does not inform you of his schedule?”
“That is for his man of affairs, Your Grace.”
“Yes, but don’t you dress him according to that schedule?”
A light shade of red surfaced in the valet’s jawline.
“Well, I shan’t keep you from your duties, then. Do send word to my husband, wherever he is, if he does not present himself to me in one hour, I will leave, and I will not return.”
She turned away. Let the valet stew on that! Of course, Willow could just disobey his missive and go for ices, but that would hardly send the message she wished to convey—he could not act the prince and then transform into a beast at a moment’s notice. She would not be treated in such a fashion.
“Are you certain that is wise, Your Grace?”
Willow pinned the man with her most frosty look. “Do not forget your place, Benson. You may be loyal to my husband and believe yourself to be under his protection, but I am not an enemy you want to make.”
