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I thought Edward would be the one to do this.

She knew, of course, that it was silly to pin her hopes on him like that. Edward had shown no inclination to join her for the night. In fact, his conversation aboutrulesandboundaries in a marriagesuggested quite the opposite.

However, his last words to her still sent prickles down her spine. His voice had been so low and hungry when he spoke, intense enough to make her knees feel like jelly.

“You want my company, then, Duchess? How very interesting.”

She shivered at the memory, placing the end of her freshly plaited hair in her mouth and biting down. What had he meant by that? Was it possible that he meant that he intended their marriage to be alittlemore traditional?

He must visit me tonight. After all, for the marriage to be legally binding, it must be consummated, mustn’t it? The history books talked about that a good deal, as well as some of the more risky novels.

Why would he not come to me? He did desire me, I was sure of it.

Or was she? Daphne reluctantly admitted, to herself at least, that she did not know the ways of men very well. She did not understand how attraction between men and women came about.

For example, Anna and Theodore. Daphne liked her brother-in-law well enough but did not understand how Annaadoredhim. He was handsome, yes, but also infuriating and rather hot-tempered.

But then so is my sister.

Oh, bother. What does any of this have to do with Anna, or Theo, or men in general? Edward must be coming to visit me tonight if only to say goodnight.

She got up and crossed to the door, carrying a candle with her. In the hope of creating a romantic atmosphere, Daphne had blown out all the candles except one, and of course the fire. It was rather a mistake because now her room was entirely too dark, and long, ominous shadows flickered across the floor. It was cold, too, and drafts whistled about her bare feet and ankles.

If it had been a scene from one of her favorite novels, she would have opened the door to find Edward outside, his fist raised to knock. After a moment’s shy amusement, they would have fallen into each other’s arms and, from there, into bed.

But her life was not a novel, and Edward was not there, and Daphne found herself glumly staring at the empty hallway beyond. The candle guttered in a sudden breeze. She poked her head out into the corridor, looking this way and that. Nothing. Nobody.

A surge of annoyance rushed through her.

Well, I am not a swooning heroine.

She angrily stamped back into her room and swung a robe around her shoulders.

I am not going to die of love on a moor or waste away for no discernable reason at all. I’m a Belmont, and that means trouble.

Trouble for everybody else, of course.

Shoving her feet into a pair of thin slippers—they didn’t do much to ward off the chill coming up from the floor, but they were better than nothing—Daphne snatched up the candle again and stormed out into the corridor.

She probably made a great deal of noise as she stamped along, but nobody came to shout at her for waking them up. Her room was in the west wing of the house, and she was fairly sure that Edward’s was in the east wing. The gentlemen’s rooms, they called it. When she crossed the landing into the other wing, she slowed, keeping an eye out for lights under the doors.

Thankfully, each spare room was labeled with a discreet brass plaque on the door. Her rooms, she knew, were theDuchess’s Rooms,always set aside for the first lady of the house. Therefore, she knew which room she was looking for now.

TheDuke’s Roomswere set at the very end of a corridor, facing towards her. There was a thin beam of light creeping out from under the door. Swallowing back a flutter of nerves, Daphne banged on the door before she could let herself lose her nerve.

A few tense seconds followed. There was shuffling on the other side. Her heart pounded in her ears. Was that normal? She was sure it could not be.

A lock clicked, and the door opened.

And there he was.

Edward stared down at his bride, looking faintly confused. He wasn’t yet dressed for bed, still wearing a pair of tight breeches, a loose white shirt, and his unbuttoned waistcoat, which hung loosely around him. His hair was disheveled as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly.

“Daphne,” he burst out, his eyes wide. She had the satisfaction of knowing that, for one, she’d surprised him. “What are you doing here?”

“We have to talk,” Daphne responded, shouldering him aside and stepping inside, without waiting for an invitation. “Close the door, won’t you, dear?”

CHAPTER 17