Page 4 of Courting the Duchess (Spy Society #1)

S terling returned another book to the shelf in the library after idly leafing through its pages. The collection of rows and rows of books in the room had already been substantial when he’d left, but, over the years, Alaina had made significant contributions of her own. Now, each shelf was stuffed from floor to ceiling with leather-bound tomes in shades of brown, black, blue, green, and even red. Where his materials—his favorite collections of essays and novels—had once been within easy reach, he’d had to search only to discover most of them relegated to the highest and most inconvenient corners of the room. It appeared that his wife had even installed several additional cases in his absence to accommodate the increase in the collection’s volume. He felt a grudging amount of admiration as he stood back and surveyed it all. Alaina had found a passion and possessed broad literary tastes… things which had initially drawn him to her and he was reminded of this as he examined the shelves. A quick skim of the titles showed him everything from philosophical works to popular literature commonly sold in smaller installments. Alaina had certainly made herself at home in his absence.

There were touches of her in every room he’d explored thus far.

Well…not every room.

The ducal chamber had remained untouched for nearly a decade.

The hearth had been clean but the room was stuffy, and likely hadn’t been aired in years, given the stale atmosphere and film of dust coating the sheets draped over the furniture. His old clothes remained in the wardrobe where they’d been left—woefully out of date, slightly moth-eaten, and likely wouldn’t have fit him even if they hadn’t been. He’d gained at least a stone on his frame; his routine of riding and boxing had kept him in fine physical form. What was intended to be a twelve-month absence had been continually extended and he’d needed a way to keep himself from going mad as he chafed against the role he’d been assigned to play. It was far easier for a debauched duke to flit in and out of the lavish parties and gatherings thrown by Europe’s powerful and influential men. He drew less attention when it was believed he was nothing more than a pleasure-seeking rogue with fewer thoughts in his brain than notches on his bedpost. However, because he’d cultivated his actions, behavior, and speech in public, that didn’t mean he’d changed who he was in his heart and soul; his greatest task was now getting Alaina to see and believe that. He was still a man who loved to ride and read, who enjoyed spirited verbal discourse and as many sweets as he could stomach.

Despite what anyone now believed, he was still the same man who’d been raised by a loving mother and a father who’d instilled in him a rampant sense of duty to King and country. When he’d inherited his title at only four-and-twenty after both his parents succumbed to separate illnesses within weeks of one another, Sterling had vowed to do whatever he could to uphold his father’s noble beliefs. And, when he’d been approached with an opportunity to do so, he’d accepted without a second of hesitation. He’d chastised himself for his rash decision time and time again over the years, but he couldn’t have known that he’d meet Alaina mere months after that choice, one that would alter the course of his life.

Now, nearly a decade later, he was both the same man and a different one. He maintained his unwavering loyalty to duty and he’d sheltered what parts of him he could while he molded his exterior to fit what was required. As much as he’d hoped to fall back into the life he’d left behind, it had become immediately apparent to him that it would not be so easy.

Walking into his bedchamber at Morton House felt like stepping into a shrine to his former life—a much simpler time when he had been foolish enough to form hopes and dreams and aspirations. His naiveté was nauseating to him now.

How could he not have predicted the impact his decisions would have on his life?

On Alaina’s?

Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention, his instincts tuning into the slight stirring in the air telling him he was no longer alone.

The thrum of his heart slowed, his senses pricking to full attention.

He pivoted on his heel; his muscles tensed in preparation, fists clenched at his sides, mind focusing with lethal intensity. His body reacted on instinct born of years of training and the honing of his senses. It had been impressed upon him early on that danger lurked in even the prettiest of settings.

Instead, he found only Alaina standing in the double doorway of the library…and his body clenched for an entirely different reason.

She dazzled in the golden lamplight of the room. Her blue gown, the color of the hot summer sky in the country, made her skin appear dewy and set her eyes aglow. Her golden hair had been woven into a complicated coiffure of ringlets and plaits, proving an unhindered view of her delicately wrought features. An impossibly long strand of perfect pearls was wound around her swan-like neck several times before it spilled down the delicate flesh of her décolletage framed by the low, scalloped neckline of her gown. His gaze was naturally pulled to follow the alluring trail of glowing, creamy pearls…

Through the years, he had steadfastly guarded and cherished the memory of how beautiful his wife had looked on their wedding day, but the image before him proved his recollection faulty. If he’d thought his wife an angel then, the woman before him was a goddess—regal and composed, self-assured and resplendent.

Realizing perhaps a moment too late that he was staring at his wife like a randy youth eyeing his first glimpse of female flesh, Sterling wrenched his gaze back up to Alaina’s face. He had to clear his throat before he could speak.

“You look quite lovely, Alaina,” he murmured before approaching her to bring her hand to his lips. The compliment sounded weak and unworthy to even his ears, but words seemed to escape him at that moment when faced with the more mature elegance of the woman who’d waited for him all these years. The knowledge that she’d remained in his house and had continued using his name despite it all was more humbling than he cared to admit, and it was a struggle when he attempted to reclaim his practiced cool composure with a quip. “That is when you’re not disheveled from jumping on the furniture like a manic spaniel.” The corner of his mouth lifted in an attempt at a flirtatious smile, but the years appeared to have eroded Alaina’s appreciation of his humor. Once, she had laughed at his jests; now, she stiffened and wrenched her hand away as if he were a particularly disgusting insect. He strongly suspected she called him several creative unsavory names beneath her breath as she stormed off unescorted toward the dining room.

Sterling shook his head and followed in her simmering wake.

*

Alaina watched with barely masked amusement while her husband less and less politely rejected dish after dish laid out by the footmen. It was obvious that Sterling’s patience had worn thin when yet another course smothered in green appeared on the white linen before them. She could feel his piercing eyes upon her as his suspicions grew, all while she tried not to smile as she took a bite from the mountain of peas on her plate. It was clear he still loathed the innocent little vegetable.

How utterly tragic .

Alaina should have been put off by this absurd quantity of legumes in a single meal, but it was more than worth it. In fact, she could see herself developing a passion for them.

Peering at him from the corner of her eye, she saw Sterling gesture for a second glass of wine. He had yet to place a single morsel from his plate into his mouth and, instead, feasted upon the fine vintage from the cellar.

To his credit, he steadfastly made several overtures at conversation throughout the meal. The best Alaina could force herself to do was provide monosyllabic responses. It was all she trusted herself to say without losing control of her emotions. Again. The last thing she wished to do was create a scene directly in front of the staff—her earlier confrontation with her husband had been bad enough.

Two footmen hovered around the periphery and, though she knew the men were longtime, faithful employees, she didn’t doubt any confrontation between the duke and duchess would be repeated below stairs as soon as it ended. She’d spent years garnering the loyalty and respect of her carefully selected staff, but she wasn’t blinded enough to realize a public spat would incite gossip from even the most loyal servants.

She settled for silent triumph, mentally placing a tally in her column of victories. Her wayward husband had caught her unawares when he’d arrived home so unexpectedly, but she refused to be set on her heel anymore when it came to this man. She was determined never to allow him to slip past the hard-won armor she had compiled piece by piece, tear by tear. She was a duchess now, not a frightened, shy young girl striving to be everything everyone told her she should be.

Not anymore.

“Is your plan to starve me out, then?” Sterling asked suddenly in a low, flat tone as he swallowed another sip from his crystal glass. He eyed Alaina as she savored another bite of beef and creamed peas. His stomach whined in desperation. As much rich food as he’d imbibed in his travels, he’d been looking forward to experiencing an English meal.

This particular menu was not at all what he’d had in mind.

She offered him a noncommittal tilt of her head. “I think Cook has quite outdone herself.” It was the longest response he’d managed to wrench from her that evening, but it certainly did not feel like progress to him. The chill in her tone could fairly freeze off a man’s bollocks.

His hand clenched with dangerous force around the stem of his goblet.

He’d reached his limit.

Stiffly, he raised his free hand to dismiss the footmen attending them.

They didn’t move.

Brows twitching in consternation, he made a more obvious gesture for them to leave…but again, it produced no results.

It wasn’t until he fixed deadly, pointed stares at each of the young men in Morton livery that they finally, very slowly retreated from the room.

Alaina sat down her utensils and took an inordinate interest in the yellow bouquet gracing the center of the table, flanked on either side by twisted gleaming silver candelabras.

“I don’t appreciate the frigid reception, Alaina,” he ground out when they were alone, the frustration coming to a rolling boil within his chest. “The least you can do is try, as I am trying. Do you hate me so intensely that you cannot feign the least bit of civility?” Her gaze remained stubbornly fixed upon the flowers, but the rigidity of her posture told him she was listening. “I gave you a bloody apology.”

Alaina threw her linen napkin on the table and finally turned her attention to him. “It is clear you don’t appreciate the gravity of your absence if you feel as if you can stride in after all these years and have all be well between us,” she snarled. “And if you believe your earlier apology qualified as such, then you must think very little of me, indeed.”

Sterling shot to his feet, his chair teetering dangerously on its back legs. “I said I was sorry! I told you there was a reason for my absence.” He ran a rough hand through his hair. “Dammit, I am your husband !”

“I dare you to name one instance from the past eight years when you acted the part,” she hissed in response.

His eyes strayed from the rancor in her face and sparks in her eyes to the heaving swells above the neckline of her gown. Despite his anger—despite every rational part of him—he wanted her. He ached for her.

He always had.

He’d never stopped.

The desire had haunted his every moment, conscious or not, suffusing his blood with tendrils of heat that burst into an inferno in Alaina’s presence. They sparred like warriors, and he couldn’t help but wonder how that might translate to their chemistry in bed.

“Perhaps I should change that, presently.” His tone was dangerously deep as he spoke without thinking. The threat rang through the room like cannon fire. It was a grave mistake that slipped from lips plied by the wine boiling in his empty stomach.

Several tense, impossibly heavy moments passed between them before Alaina rose from the table and made to storm from the room.

“Alaina,” he growled. She was wise enough to hesitate in her steps. “I would be well within my rights, and you know that.” Sterling doubled down on his blunder, unable to stop the words though he knew how awful they sounded.

“I don’t know who you are,” she whispered harshly before fleeing.

Sterling listened to her retreating steps and dropped back into his chair. He shoved away his glass of wine, spilling ruby drops of the liquid on the pristine tablecloth before he snagged a roll of bread from the platter. It had long since grown cold, but it somehow felt fitting, given the stale, inhospitable state of his marriage.

*

“There,” Penny patted Alaina’s hair when she finished the long plait and then turned to gather up the discarded items of clothing. As Alaina smoothed her hair over her shoulder and down the front of her cream-colored nightdress, her fingers went suddenly numb. Her mind returned to that night all those years ago when she’d sat in this very room and awaited her husband’s first nocturnal visit.

The night she’d been abandoned.

The start of her betrayal.

“Is…is everything alright, Your Grace?” Penny’s gentle voice broke through Alaina’s reverie.

Alaina attempted a wooden nod, but it didn’t fool her maid. Penny’s hand gently covered her own, silently forcing Alaina to meet her eye.

“I—I shouldn’t say anything, but they’re speaking of what happened in the servant’s quarters.” Lines of worry bracketed the maid’s mouth.

Alaina should have known the volume of their voices would have carried further than the dining room. She didn’t doubt the footmen, Paul and Andrew, would have stayed close by. even though they’d been told to leave—not primarily to eavesdrop, but in case they were needed. She had noted their hesitancy to exit the room when Sterling tried to dismiss them. It was likely clear to everyone in Morton House that the tension between Alaina and her husband was thick enough that Michelangelo, himself, probably couldn’t have chiseled away at it.

“You know,” Penny continued, “there are some who’ve been ’ere for a long time—longer than me. They say the duke ain’t a bad man.”

Alaina met her maid’s eyes. She realized Penny was trying to comfort her, to reassure her that Sterling wasn’t cruel….that he would not follow through on his threat to demand his husbandly right when she had made her aversion perfectly clear.

“If they were here before—” before he abandoned me “—before…then they knew the boy he once was. The man who returned is no boy. He is not the master they once knew, nor is he the man I agreed to marry. I doubt there is anyone who truly knows him anymore.” She squeezed Penny’s hand and released her before rising from the stool. “I certainly do not.”

The man who had once courted her—that she’d once agreed to marry what felt like a lifetime ago—would have replied to the multitude of letters she’d sent.

This man hadn’t bothered responding to a single one of them.

The man she’d married had been infinitely tender and patient in his pursuit of her.

The man who had returned from the Continent was boorish and unnerving.

Following Sterling’s abandonment of her on their wedding night, Alaina had collected the shards of her heart and reassembled them in some semblance of normalcy, and then made the decision to hunt down Sterling’s solicitor to demand he provide some way for her to contact her wayward spouse. It had taken several weeks of pestering, but she’d finally obtained a forwarding address. She knew it likely only led to a middleman who might deliver the correspondence wherever Sterling had landed that particular week, but it had been more than she’d begun with.

She’d heard enough in the gossip rags to know her husband moved around the Continent quite a bit…and enjoyed a variety of entertainments. He would have been near impossible to track down, even if she had been inclined to attempt a solo journey across the Channel. She’d cursed her limited skills and experience keeping her from anything bolder than putting ink on parchment.

Again and again, she’d written to her husband, persistent in her hope and faithfully sitting down to write to him several times each week and then sending them off to be delivered to the middleman who might then hand them over to her husband.

Regardless, Sterling hadn’t once seen fit to reply to any of her notes.

At first, she’d been pathetically hopeful that there was a delay in the post. Then, she told herself that perhaps some of the letters had been lost in transit.

Despite her husband’s silence, she’d kept writing.

And writing.

Until Alaina finally forced herself to admit her husband wanted nothing to do with her.

Two could play at that.

Despite her withered spirit, she’d decided to press onward. Her husband may have left, but he hadn’t taken all of her life with him. Gradually, Alaina had put herself back together and created an existence all her own. It had been hard-won and not without its mistakes, but she was proud of all she had achieved. Of who she had become. And nothing Sterling did or said could change that. She simply refused to allow it.

“I’m sure it’ll work itself out in the end,” Penny whispered as she carefully draped the blue gown over her arm. “Perhaps you just need to be reacquainted?”

Alaina wanted to say that she had no interest in knowing the man Sterling had become, but she simply nodded and Penny took her leave.

As soon as she was alone in the silence, Alaina’s heart began to pound painfully in her breast. Her limbs grew shaky with anticipation and she was forced to pace in an effort to channel her anxiety and restlessness.

What if Sterling did follow through on his thinly veiled threat to finally consummate their marriage?

Technically, there wasn’t anything she could do about it…he was correct, it was his right.

She could scream and fight, but he was much larger than she and undoubtedly much stronger. Additionally, no matter how the staff loved her and were loyal to her, they wouldn’t dare come to her rescue even if they did hear her pleas and cries. Deep down, she couldn’t blame them. How could she expect them to put their lives and positions at stake by defying a duke? They’d be forced to stand idly by as she was degraded in the worst possible way.

Alaina’s stomach roiled so terribly that she was forced to press the back of her hand to her lips to keep from being sick.

What was the natural wedding night anxiety eight years earlier had been left to fester with insecurities and anger, and it was now an ugly wound upon her soul. It gnawed at her, needled her in her most vulnerable moments; it cast doubt upon who she was and everything she could be. It had taken years for her to unlearn the meek and subservient ways her mother and the rest of Society had engrained in her before she could carve out the woman who’d lain buried and sleeping deep inside her soul, waiting for the moment to share her voice. It was only after a great deal of reflection and searching for the well of strength in her heart that she became who she was. As a result, she’d learned to project to the ton a confident, worldly woman who was a pillar of Society…but she knew a part of the hurt girl she once was would live in her heart forever. And she loathed it.

Her throat grew uncomfortably tight, and her palms became slick.

Her lungs moved in halting fits and bursts.

Her eyes darted back to the door adjoining her room to Sterling’s.

She couldn’t do this.

Not tonight.

She flew to the door in a whirl of gauzy white nightdress only to realize for the first time there was no lock on her side to bar the duke from entering… The blasted thing had probably been designed by a self-important man.

Frantically, she contemplated shoving something before the door to barricade herself in; however, the only furniture she had a chance of moving was the dressing table, and that delicate piece would provide pathetically little protection against a determined husband.

Her thoughts were cut short as heavy, muffled steps thudded on the other side of that dreaded barrier.

Not knowing what else to do now that her time had run out, Alaina sprang across the room, threw her dressing gown across a chair, and vaulted into the bed. Yanking the coverlet up to her ears, she turned to face the window and curled into what she hoped was a believable sleeping position. She attempted to slow her heavy breaths as her heartbeat throbbed and deafened her.

The slow turn of the knob grated on her frayed nerves.

She tried not to flinch when Sterling’s deep voice spoke her name.

She forced her eyes closed as she listened to his feet crossing the plush rug.

Then, he stood over her and every last one of her nerve endings screamed with anxiety.

She could sense his nearness, the heat rolling off his large body; she experienced the firm sweep of his piercing eyes upon her huddled form.

There was a small rustle of fabric as he bent over her, and her breath stalled as she waited for him to violently rip the covers from her body and have his way with her.

Instead, there was a gentle caress of knuckles upon her cheek and his long fingers tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. She felt him still as he watched her for several more heartbeats before his footsteps retreated.

The adjoining door closed with a soft click.

Alaina didn’t move or open her eyes for a long while, unable to believe he’d left her in peace after his earlier threat. She struggled to reconcile the angry man with the one who’d left her untouched. She hadn’t misheard his earlier threat, that was for certain. So why, when he had her alone and at his mercy, had he refrained? For that matter, why had he visited her with something akin to tenderness?

She’d been so solid in her convictions and now…the flutter low in her belly was most unwelcome, as was the cascade of unbidden memories unlocked and freed from the shadowed recesses of her memory. There had been a time when a girl fancied herself falling in love with a man who’d liked to tuck her hair behind her ear and trace the curve of her cheek as if she were the most precious creation.

It was a long while until Alaina’s mind slowed enough to allow sleep to finally claim her.