Page 9 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars (Ton’s Beasts #1)
“ Y ou mean, I am supposed to sleep here?”
The Duke regarded her with a raised eyebrow, barely hiding his amusement. “Why? Did you think that I would squeeze you into the cupboard or exile you to the attic?”
“I do not doubt that your cupboard is larger than even Mother Superior’s room,” she replied with a wry smile.
“I do not care much for your Mother Superior, but if the clear distaste on your face is any indication, I just might enjoy throwing her into a cupboard.”
Theresa stiffened. And then burst out laughing.
“You might want to throw Sister Mary in with her, too,” she suggested mischievously. “She would have absolutely curdled your blood at the slightest opportunity.”
“Why, she might be an actual witch then.”
“Sister Mary would never countenance witchcraft…” Theresa trailed off when she saw the mischievous glint in his eyes. Basked in the radiance of his amusement at the expense of the people who tormented her.
If Sister Mary ever heard of the things they were speaking of, she would have an apoplexy where she stood. Or rained down the wrath of God upon them both.
Which is quite interesting, since Sister Edith keeps telling me that the Bible teaches us to be kind and forgiving . Slow to anger and quick to mercy.
“Well, whoever this Sister Martha character is, I am fortunate to have never made her acquaintance.” The Duke shrugged with a grimace. “Perhaps the only thing uglier than my countenance is most people’s character.”
“But you are not…”
But he had already turned his back and begun walking away from her before she could finish her sentence.
“…ugly.”
Indeed, he was easily the most devastating man she had ever laid her eyes on. Sister Edith would have admonished her for her mischief, but Margaret would have teased her for it.
And for the longest time, the two of them were the only comfort she had ever known in St. Agatha’s.
But now, she had a husband.
Who had a sister.
And a grandmother.
Theresa herself now had a mother and a father, although she was still a little appalled at the swiftness with which they had married her off to the Duke of Blackwell. She did hope and pray that they would find their daughter, Hope.
Her sister .
She sighed as she stepped into the suite reserved solely for the Duchesses of Blackwell and wondered if Hope ever regretted running away from the marriage the Queen herself had arranged for her.
But if she had not, then maybe Theresa would have never known a world outside of the nunnery. She would have lived all her life confined in that dark place, bound by rules that chafed far worse than shackles on her wrists and ankles.
She absently rubbed her wrists and then stopped herself.
Mother Superior and Sister Mary are no longer here to punish me . They cannot do anything to me now.
But would her husband—and the rules he had insisted she adhere to—be more of the same? Had she somehow just swapped one devil for another?
“A penny for your thoughts, my dear?”
Theresa turned around to find the Dowager Duchess smiling kindly at her.
Despite her advanced age, her spine was still ramrod straight, and her eyes sparkled with intelligence. She conducted herself with such regal grace that Theresa could not help but wipe her hands on the back of her dress.
“I… His Grace told me that this was to be my room,” she stammered, feeling like a complete and utter fool before her husband’s grandmother.
What does one say to a dowager duchess? And was she supposed to curtsy?
“Ah, yes. The Duchess’s Suite.” The Dowager Duchess looked around the room with a smile.
They even name their rooms here . Perhaps because the whole manor itself is large enough to require its own mailing address.
Theresa’s lips twitched with amusement.
“I used to stay in this very room myself when I married Aaron’s grandfather.” The Dowager Duchess smiled wistfully as she walked into the room. “And then his mother after me, when she married my son.”
“It is quite lovely,” Theresa admitted, biting her lower lip as she followed her inside. “And awfully…”
“Massive? Ridiculously opulent?” The Dowager Duchess supplied with a grin.
Theresa nodded. “It feels so spacious and empty, and in turn, I feel smaller than a speck of dust inside it.”
The Dowager Duchess shook her head. “My dear, if you were a speck of dust, the staff would have gotten rid of you with a good swipe of their feather dusters.” She reached out and gently cupped Theresa’s cheek.
“I understand that it can all feel so overwhelming at first—marriage can be like that. Just remember that you are the Duchess of Blackwell now, and you have a strength and kindness within you that this manor has long needed.”
“I… I am not really sure I am what anything needs, Your Grace,” Theresa murmured.
“Grandmama,” the Dowager Duchess corrected her. “It is what Juliette calls me—and your husband, too, when he was much younger or when he needed something.”
Theresa smiled a little. “It is hard to imagine His Grace ever needing anything from anyone.”
“Oh, he does—that one I can assure you!” The Dowager Duchess winked at her conspiratorially. “And more importantly, he needs you, although he is too obtuse to admit it.”
“His Grace needs me?” Theresa nearly burst out laughing.
Her husband always seemed so arrogant. So self-assured. Like a man who knew his place in the center of the world and reveled in it.
Aaron Lennox, the Duke of Blackwell, was not the kind of man who needed anyone .
“Oh, my dear.” The Dowager Duchess smiled mysteriously.
“But it is the ones who look so strong that need saving most of all.” She pressed an affectionate kiss to her temple.
“This old woman has kept you from your rest long enough, when I simply came by to show you the wardrobe my grandson had us put together for you. If there is anything else you need to help you feel right at home in Blackwell Manor, please do not hesitate to let me know.”
The ‘homes’ Theresa had been to in London were all magnificently empty. They were not homes by any stretch of her imagination, more like grand mausoleums where one could hear their own footfalls echoing in their skulls day in and day out.
And she could not live the rest of her life like that, listening to her own footsteps and her own voice. Not if she could help it.
“Will you excuse me for a moment, Your—Grandmama? I feel like there is something I need to do.”
The Dowager Duchess smiled knowingly. “Well, do not let this old woman keep you from such pressing matters, my dear.”
Theresa smiled and nodded, bobbed a quick curtsy, and then turned in the direction her husband had left.
He must be going out of his damned mind.
Any man would be pleased to find himself attracted to his wife, but Aaron was a different case entirely. He took one look at her and the suite behind her, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from dragging her inside, slamming the door shut behind them, and then dragging her under him.
“Like that would go so well,” he scoffed bitterly to himself.
It was barely noontime. The sun was as high up in the sky as it could be, and here he was, thinking of having his wicked way with his new duchess.
Where she could see him in his full, wretched glory.
Absolutely not.
He poured himself a glass of his favorite scotch when the door suddenly burst open and a whirlwind of blue chiffon crashed inside.
“So nice of you to knock,” he muttered sarcastically to his sister, who was glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “All those etiquette lessons have been wasted on you, Sister dear.”
“You are one to talk about manners, Aaron Lennox! Leaving your bride all alone on your wedding day is the height of rudeness.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And why are you still here in your study, getting foxed with the sun still up?”
He raised the glass in her direction in a mock salute. “Would you rather I did it as soon as the sun set, then?”
“Oh, you are the most vexing man alive!” She seethed, stomping her foot. “Are you truly going to leave your bride all alone on your wedding day?”
So, that was why she stormed in like a hurricane breaking upon the beach.
His poor sister, and her mind addled by whimsical fantasies—she thought that he was going to play the romantic fool right off the bat!
Clearly, he and the Dowager Duchess had coddled her too much if she was entertaining such a ridiculous notion.
He threw his head back and finished the scotch in one gulp.
“I do not want a wife attached to my hip,” he told her, scowling. “This is just a matter of convenience, nothing more, and you had better stay out of it, Juliette.”
His sister opened her mouth to argue, but the voice that came out was different—one that called to his most forbidden desires. The ones he would not admit even to himself.
“Well, unfortunately for you, husband, I am about to make things very, very inconvenient for you!”
The siblings turned to the doorway, where Theresa stood, her eyes flashing with fire, her lips set in a resolute line. And, curses, she was still wearing the same dress she had arrived in—the one with the low neckline that afforded him a rather delectable view of the swell of her breasts.
“I thought I had the Dowager Duchess show you your new wardrobe so that you may change into more comfortable clothing,” he told her gently, his tone the complete opposite of what he was feeling at that moment.
The woman needed a dress with a higher neckline yesterday . Preferably one that went right up to her chin.
His gaze followed his thoughts up to the soft, luscious pink of her lips, and his cock instantly hardened.
Damned dress. Damned woman.
All of them seemed to be determined to thwart him in every single way today.
“I was about to get changed,” she explained with a casual wave of her hand. She stepped into the study, and his heart beat louder than the drums on the battlefield. “But before all of that, there is something very important I must tell you.”
“Can it not wait until after you have changed?”
“Is there something wrong with my clothing, husband?”
Yes , he wanted to scream. I want it off of you this instant.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his sister’s gaze swing between him and Theresa like the pendulum of that clock his grandmother refused to get rid of. Then, she grinned widely.
“And… I think that is my cue to leave,” she announced.
“Lovely,” he bit out, not even taking his eyes off the breasts.
His wife.
And his wife’s breasts.
Damn it all to hell.
Juliette made a grand show of exiting the study and closing the door behind her with an audible click. Now, there was only he and his lovely bride.
“Now, what was it you wanted so desperately to tell me?” He growled.
Theresa looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Have I come at an inopportune time?”
“No, not really. I was just about to have my second glass to celebrate our nuptials.” He poured himself another glass and drained it. “And then, my third.”
She gawked at him. “Are you planning to drink in broad daylight?”
“Now, that is a capital idea, my dear.” He grinned. “This is my wedding day, after all.”
“Well, I suppose that is reasonable…”
He poured himself a third glass. “Did you come to my study just to tell me this?” He frowned. “And how did you find my study, anyway?”
She flushed. “Oh, well, I asked one of the maids where I could find you at this time of the day, and she pointed me in this direction. Honestly, Blackwell Manor is huge …”
If she kept talking, another huge thing was soon going to make its presence impossible to ignore.
“… and I feared I was going to get lost when I heard you and Lady Juliette talking.”
Arguing was more like it, but what else were younger sisters for?
He sighed. “So, you decided to put yourself in the line of fire? How noble of you.”
“No, I thought I should wait for my turn before telling you what I have to say.”
Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose. “And that is?”
“I have decided what rules to impose on you,” she announced. “And I insist that you follow them, too.”
Of course, she would.
Aaron smiled coldly at her. “All right. What are they?”