If only she could shake the constant awareness of her husband’s presence in the house.
She developed an unfortunate habit of encountering him at the most inopportune moments. On Tuesday, she’d been exploringthe library when she’d heard voices from the terrace beyond. Through the French doors, she’d caught sight of him in animated conversation with his estate manager, and she’d been entirely unprepared for the sight of him in his shirtsleeves, his coat discarded in the morning warmth.
The fine linen of his shirt had clung to his broad chest, and when he’d raised his arm to gesture toward the stables, she’d caught a glimpse of the dark hair at the top of his chest, peeking out from the open top buttons. Her mouth had gone dry, and she’d fled before he could catch her staring.
But Thursday brought an even more mortifying encounter. She’d been walking through the grounds when she’d heard the rhythmic sound of something striking wood.
Following the noise, she’d discovered a small building she hadn’t noticed before, and through its open door, she’d seen him.
He’d been exercising with what appeared to be a wooden sword, his shirt discarded entirely, his dark hair damp with perspiration. The muscles of his back and shoulders had moved with fluid precision as he’d worked through what looked like a complex series of movements, and she’d found herself mesmerized by the play of light and shadow across his skin.
“Enjoying the view?”
Samantha gasped. “I was simply… I heard a noise,” she’d stammered, her cheeks burning.
His expression had been unreadable, but there’d been something predatory in his eyes that had made her stomach flutter. That gaze was dangerous… as it’d reminded her of the fact that she was standing in the presence of a very half-naked rake.
“Mmm.” He’d stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his skin, the salt and musk, a scent she’d never been this close before, or had been so intoxicated by. “And what did you think of what you saw?”
“I… that is… I should return to the house.” She stammered, taking a step back.
“Are you certain, duchess?” His voice had dropped to that dangerous whisper that made her knees weak. “You don’t want to watch me… finish?” The emphasis on the last word was positivelysinful.
She’d fled then, her heart hammering as his low laughter followed her across the lawn.
By Friday, she’d taken to checking around corners before venturing anywhere, terrified of what she might stumble upon next. The awareness of him was becoming unbearable; the way he moved through the house with that predatory grace, the way his eyes seemed to find her across any room, the way her traitorous body responded to his proximity.
She was clearly losing her mind.
And worse, she suspected he knew it.
“I trust you’re settling in well?”
Samantha looked up from her soup to find the duke studying her across the dinner table, which was considerably smaller than the one they’d used the night before. The intimate setting made her acutely aware of his presence, of the way the candlelight played across his features.
“Yes, thank you. Mrs. Thatcher has been most helpful.”
“She’s been with the household for fifteen years. Very reliable.” He cut into his roast beef with precise movements. “I understand you’ve been quite thorough in your exploration of the estate.”
Heat crept up her neck. “I believe it’s important to understand one’s responsibilities.”
“Indeed. And what conclusions have you drawn?”
“That Valemont Hall is very well-managed. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished here.”
Something flickered in his green eyes: surprise, pleasure? She couldn’t quite tell. “Thank you. That means a great deal, coming from you.”
“Why would my opinion matter more than anyone else’s?” She did not want to think too much about his words.
“Because you’re my wife.” The simple statement sent warmth flooding through her chest. “Your approval matters to me.”
“Ah.” She did not know what to say to that, so she said nothing else.
They ate in silence for several minutes, but Samantha was acutely aware of his every movement, every glance. When he finally spoke again, his voice was carefully controlled.
“I’ve been thinking about our conversation from the other day. About the… expectations of our marriage.”
Samantha’s hand stilled on her wine glass. “What about them?”
