Page 53

And then she pushed him away.

Stephen staggered backward, more surprised than anything. He’d been so sure that she felt… Well, enough about that.

Beatrice was paler than ever and shaking slightly. She cleared her throat, not meeting his eyes.

“That,” she said carefully, “is against the rules.”

“Not exactly.”

“Have your opera girls deserted you?”

He rolled his eyes. “You are rather adept at killing the mood, my dear.”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. Snatching up a loose, disappointingly opaque robe from a hanger, she wrapped it around herself, like armor.

“And how long are you staying, or have you not decided?”

He paused, biting his lip. “I thought I would come back for good.”

There was a little pause.

“For good?” Beatrice echoed. “What, and we’ll live in the same house? How will that work?”

He shrugged, folding his arms across his chest. It felt good to have some distance between them again. Whatever it was that Beatrice did to him, it was not going to help them maintain the terms of their marriage.

Rules were rules, after all.

“It will be fine,” he said firmly. “Although I must insist on having my bedroom back. A room of one’s own is a fine thing.”

She barely smothered an irritated sigh. “Six months. You disappeared for six months, Stephen. Not a single letter. Not even a note did I receive in that time.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you were yearning for my correspondence.”

“Oh, don’t be so obtuse. Do you know how embarrassing it has been for me, having everybody look at me with such pity? Oh,there goes that poor little bluestocking spinster, they say. She married a fine duke who can’t stand her and spends all of his time abroad. It ishumiliating.”

“And you’ve been consoling yourself by having orgies,” he responded, more snappishly than he had intended.

There was another silence during which Beatrice stared at him as if he’d grown two heads.

“I’m sorry, did you say… did you sayorgies? Do you think I’ve been havingorgieshere?”

An uncomfortable feeling that seemed entirely too much like embarrassment welled up inside him, no matter how energetically he tried to tamp it down.

“Yes, well, according to what I read…”

“I am ascholar, Stephen! I host book clubs and reading parties at my house! Just because I drank a little too much at a rather raucous birthday party?—”

“Aha! Youarehungover! I knew it!”

“What are you accusing me of? I was not hiding it!”

“I merely?—”

“Excuse me, Your Graces.”

They both stopped mid-argument and turned to the doorway. Mouse stood there, still in his shirtsleeves, looking embarrassed yet determined.

“What is it?” Stephen barked, with a little more sharpness than the loyal servant deserved. “I am talking with the Duchess, Mouse. What is so important it cannot wait?”