Page 5 of Courting the Duchess (Spy Society #1)

S terling awoke early the following day and dressed in buff breeches, a dove-gray waistcoat, and a hunter-green coat of the finest tailoring. He’d also insisted his new valet affix his cravat with nothing more than a simple knot—he was so very tired of the fussy fashions of the courts on the Continent, and he relished the simplicity and ease his life in London would now offer. His trunks had arrived from the docks the evening before, and his valet did an impeccable job of unpacking and organizing, following Sterling’s strict instructions that anything gaudy and absurd was to be immediately disposed of. He cared not if the items were donated for repurposing or made into rags, as long as he needn’t see them ever again. He was finished with dressing to perform.

Pleased, Sterling then sat down to an informal breakfast of eggs and sausage, toast, jam, and tea in the morning room. Not a pea in sight, thank Heaven. After taking a moment to savor the array laid out before him, he paused and then asked the maid who had appeared with another serving spoon, “Is there any coffee?” The poor girl apologized profusely for the deficiency, but Sterling kindly reassured her that they couldn’t have known he preferred it in the mornings since he’d developed a taste for it during his travels. Coffee was far more common in the myriad countries he’d visited; few held tea in such high esteem as the Brits. She bobbed a curtsy and rushed from the room with a promise to return as quickly as possible after the beans were procured and brewed. It was likely that they’d dip next door or across the square and beg some off another household to make due until the next time the kitchens could purchase their own store. Either way, Sterling appreciated the efficiency.

Taking a bite of the perfectly cooked eggs, he picked up the ironed paper and found that he was uncommonly pleased with how, for the first time in years, he could behave without censure. He could eat when he wanted, dress how he cared to, and do whatever he wished. He was able to act, speak, and move without dozens of eyes upon him. He no longer had to exist behind a facade. He was once more the master of his own future, his own man. An aura of peace settled around him, making his heart feel lighter. The buzzing in his skull lowered to a gentle hum—more background noise than insistent pressure.

He’d missed the warm closeness of this particular room in Morton House, and its familiar vista outside the window overlooking the park. It was comforting to return to England and see how not everything had been left irreparably damaged by his absence.

The maid eventually returned with coffee in a silver pot and Sterling savored the steaming black brew. It wasn’t quite as rich or strong as he was used to, but it was enjoyable, nonetheless. In all, it was a satisfying start to his first full day home.

When he’d eaten his fill, Sterling gathered up the newspaper and folded it beneath his arm, intending to finish reading it at his leisure in the library. He’d once enjoyed the warm morning light in that room regularly and he was determined to savor it once again. The day appeared pleasant, and it would be interesting to watch the characters in the street outside—though it would still be hours yet before the ton began making calls.

He wondered how long it would be before word of his return spread. Doubtless, the front table would soon creak beneath the weight of calling cards and invitations from old friends, acquaintances, and curiosity-seekers alike. A plethora of estate business needed attending to as well, but it would keep a few more hours while he continued pondering his day and the wonder of his new freedoms. He thought he deserved this much respite after doing nothing but work and put his neck on the line for eight years.

Until he collided with his wife as he exited the morning room.

Sterling immediately dropped his newspaper and steadied Alaina with his hands wrapped around her slim upper arms. Her wide blue eyes told him she was genuinely surprised by his appearance…as if she’d briefly forgotten his existence and was caught entirely off-guard by him all over again.

For his part, he was set on his heels by her intoxicating scent. Violets. Soap. Warm womanly flesh. It was all he could do not to haul her against him so he could drown in it. The fragrance was, at once, familiar and refreshing.

Instead of following his fanciful urge and bathing in her scent, his eyes swept her up and down, from her jaunty, wide-brimmed black hat pinned to her starkly contrasting golden curls to the long sweep of her gilt lashes, the raspberry sweetness of her wide lips, her lithe frame garbed in a high-waisted gown of plum and simple black beaded accents along the low neckline. She had yet to button her spencer, so he was afforded a delicious glimpse of her smooth, pale décolletage. Being so close to her—only a breath away from the sweet curve of her cheek—enticed him to recall the prior evening.

She’d been so stiff and determined while attempting to feign sleep in her bed; though she was a poor actress, his wife.

He’d never had any intention of following through on his threat…in fact, he’d gone to her hoping to apologize, have a civil discussion, and come to a reconciliation for that evening. When he’d seen the lengths to which she’d gone to ward him off, however, he’d felt nothing but simmering anger…at himself.

It was painfully evident that he’d done a horrific amount of damage to his marriage and—no matter how Alaina infuriated him—the blame was solely his.

She slipped from his grasp and took several steps back down the hallway, turning her attention to the task of tugging her kid gloves onto her graceful fingers. A beaded black reticule dangled from one of her wrists.

“You are going out?” His tone made it more of a statement than an inquiry.

“It would appear so,” Alaina murmured as she focused on the satin-covered buttons of her pelisse.

“So early? And without breaking your fast?”

She still refused to meet his eyes and, instead, plucked an invisible piece of lint from her sleeve. “I am a married woman, and I availed myself of my right to break my fast in my rooms.”

Sterling barely suppressed a sigh of annoyance at her flat tone. “Did you not think to inform me you would be leaving this morning?” he asked while carefully modulating his voice.

Alaina finally met his eye, the blue fire again springing to life there. “I never required permission before. And you did not seem overly concerned about what I did and when I did it while you were away on the Continent.”

Sterling’s fists clenched reflexively.

“I understand,” he began, schooling himself to tamp down the frustration welling inside his chest, “but now that I am in residence, it would be courteous to at least advise me of your comings and goings.” She said nothing, so he plodded on. “Perhaps I would like to join you…” he added more gently than he thought himself capable. “I should like to know you, Alaina.”

His wife remained silent, but she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Whether it was because she was considering his words or biting back a scathing retort, he could not be sure. Judging by what he’d experienced thus far, he wondered if it wasn’t the latter.

“It is the least we can do to try to be civil.” He hazarded a step closer to his wife. “I believe our lives would be better served if we aimed for civility.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Alaina saw Sterling’s hand begin to lift, but it quickly dropped back to his side.

Her mind spun helplessly with the possibilities. What had he been about to do? Did he desire to take her hand in a show of sincerity? Perhaps tuck another lock of hair behind her ear as he had last night in a confusing display of tenderness?

Alaina silently chided herself.

The last thing she should want is to have him touching her—no matter if she wondered if his hands were as soft as she recalled, or if they, too, had hardened and become calloused by time like the rest of him.

And Penny was far too skilled with hairpins to allow her to leave the house with wayward curls in need of tucking, so his touching her could only be born of something inexplicable—something she did not have the patience or stomach to analyze right then.

Alaina’s lips tightened into a fine line a moment before she finally spoke. “I plan to call upon a friend,” she offered.

One of his brows rose. “At this time of the morning? Unless the habits of the ton have changed drastically in my absence, there are hours yet until customary calling time.”

“She is a habitually early riser,” Alaina sighed impatiently; “and it is easier to meet uninterrupted before most others are out and about.”

Sterling’s lips tilted into a charming half smile and the clouds lifted from his hazel eyes.

Alaina’s traitorous heart stuttered.

It was disconcerting for her to witness these small glimpses of the young man she’d once known—the man who’d spent hours discussing literature with her, taking her on her favorite walks, endlessly wandering through the exhibits at the British Museum and lingering as long as she liked. His handsomeness had been a single facet of what had drawn her to him, the least of which being his title. She’d once genuinely believed him to be a man whom she could love with every part of her. It was far easier to hate Sterling when he was out of her sight and when he acted like the relative stranger he was. It was unfair how, with one glance, one tilt of his head, she was transported eight years in the past and he could make her blood hum.

“There now…” His deep voice vibrated the air between them. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

The momentary spell was shattered with those few words; Alaina rolled her eyes and stepped back further from his reach. She heard him mutter a curse beneath his breath as if berating himself for severing whatever thread of tenuous peace that had begun to form.

Good.

It would be satisfying to be the one to walk out on him for a change.

Before she could leave, however, he spoke once more.

“Upon which friend are you calling?”

“One you don’t know,” Alaina practically snapped. Why couldn’t he understand that she had created a life outside of this sham of a marriage? Why couldn’t he accept that she’d managed well enough on her own in his absence? She wasn’t about to report to him every one of her comings and goings. For one, he had no right to them; for another, she had her own duties and obligations to uphold. There were people who counted on her and she would rather die than let them down. Not everything in her life revolved around this man, and that was his own doing. She’d have given him everything if only he’d seen fit to stay by her side.

Sterling heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, tousling the once-tidy chestnut locks. Alaina hated that it only made him more attractive. “Fine,” he growled. “Just go.”

He snatched up the sheaves of newspaper from the floor and the heels of his polished hessians clipped across the entryway toward the library as he held his broad shoulders uncomfortably stiff within his rich green coat.

A niggling grain of guilt rubbed at Alaina’s conscience. Even she couldn’t lie to herself and call that exchange entirely “civil.”

It had been years since she’d had to answer to anyone. Having someone ask such questions of her—let alone the man whom she’d cursed for so long—felt like a scrape upon an old wound to her personality and sense of self.

Anyone could see that she’d managed well enough alone. She prided herself on the fact that she had found occupations of her own, remained free from scandal for the most part (above and beyond that which Sterling had caused), and had never been a woman who lived above her means (not that she could have spent her full pin money each month had she tried). And now to have Sterling question her—after all he’d put her through!—was beyond unfair and nauseatingly galling. He’d never had to answer for his actions, so why should she?

She shook off any hint of guilt and left the house, descending the front steps to the Morton carriage awaiting her.

*

“You must admit, Alaina, the duke is uncommonly handsome.”

Alaina did a poor job of masking a cough as she set down her cup of tea. Juliette had been counted among her friends for years and she liked to think they could speak plainly, but it seemed marriage had loosened her friend’s tongue and given her a new boldness.

For things like commenting on the attractiveness of one’s spouse, it appeared.

“From a purely objective standpoint, of course,” Juliette added, though Alaina never had any cause to doubt Juliette’s loyalty to her beloved husband.

Alaina dabbed at her lips with an embroidered napkin before setting it beside the tea service. The china and settings were finer than one would expect in a physician’s home; however, Dr. Ian McCullom was no ordinary physician, and his spouse was no ordinary physician’s wife.

Alaina and Juliette sat in the newly refinished parlor of the three-story townhouse the McCulloms had purchased shortly after their recent marriage. Juliette was the twin sister to the Earl of Hopesend and her marriage to a man who worked for a living—even one as respected and honored as Dr. McCullom—had caused quite the uproar. Nearly everyone in the ton had abandoned Juliette, looking down their patrician noses at the love match, but Alaina remained steadfastly true to her longtime friend.

Eventually, some of Society did follow Alaina’s example, setting aside their inane delicate sensibilities and, once more, calling upon and extending invitations to Juliette and her husband. It wasn’t a perfect recovery, but it was a far better result than it could have been. Alaina supposed this was an advantage to being a duchess—if one couldn’t use her position to help others, what was the point?

Juliette and her husband had recently moved from the rooms above his medical practice and handed over the space to Ian’s new protégé—a young Italian who had proven to be quick-minded and vastly talented. And now Juliette had her own space where she and Alaina could meet outside the uncomfortable shadow of Alaina’s awkward marriage.

Juliette tilted her dark head, letting Alaina know she was still awaiting a response. Alaina tried to look anywhere—the walls repapered in tasteful shades of blue stripes, the fresh ivory curtains, the well-made reclining sofa and spindle-legged table inlaid with alternating patterns of cherry and mahogany, a loose black glass bead dangling from the design on the skirt of her dress—anything to delay providing an answer to the question.

She sighed in resignation.

Sterling’s face materialized in her mind. He’d always been undeniably attractive to her—that and his kind personality had been the reasons she’d accepted his courtship in the first place. Her mother could overlook all of those for the dukedom, but even back then, Alaina had silently hoped for more…and she had thought she’d found it in the young Duke of Morton.

Fool child that she had been.

As handsome as Sterling once was, time had found a way to mature him into something more. His hazel eyes smoldered when he was upset, his straight, well-formed nose suited his strong features and the expressive set of his mouth possessed the possibility to be charming…when he wasn’t frustrated with her, of course. When he had steadied her that morning after their minor collision, his solid strength called to an afore-unknown primal part of her (much as she tried to deny it). Her better judgment chimed in to remind her that this was the man who had abandoned her…left her to shed her tears in lonely silence. She’d once cared for him, but his abrupt flight from their home following the marriage ceremony was surely proof that he hadn’t taken their contract and his responsibilities too seriously. It mattered not that she (still) found him objectively attractive—there were any number of attractive men of the ton , many of whom vied for her attention when she attended events—he was unequivocally a cad of the highest order.

Her friend, however, had seen Sterling at the prior day’s disastrous Reading Society meeting; Juliette would see right through any petty denial Alaina might attempt. Juliette was no fool. They’d known one another for many years at that point, had seen each other at least once each week, and worked together to organize various events and fundraising. If anyone was going to be able to sense Alaina was lying, Juliette was one of those people. It would only be fair, though, because Alaina had certainly done her fair share of meddling in Juliette’s love life. Normally, she quite liked the thought that Ian and Juliette might never have been able to find one another were it not for Alaina’s bold assistance, but she didn’t particularly care for the roles to be reversed. Perhaps she should have considered that earlier…

“I suppose,” Alaina began cautiously before gaining more speed; “when he isn’t doing his best to drive my sanity into the ground.”

Juliette chuckled. “It isn’t the least bit… enjoyable having him home?” Her dark brows rose suggestively.

Alaina wasn’t dim; she could see where this conversation was headed, and she hadn’t the slightest desire to discuss that aspect. She was too determined to continue clutching her animosity like a shield to examine Sterling’s shocking tenderness the night before.

And whether or not she’d welcome it again.

“The man has been on English soil less than twenty-four hours, and he’s already interrupted a meeting of my Reading Society, ran me out of supper, and interrogated me before allowing me to leave the house this morning. If this is any indication of things to come, then my life has been forever changed and I care not for it one bit.” What Alaina wouldn’t give for something stronger than tea… How unfair that men should be allowed to imbibe spirits from well-appointed sideboards while women were relegated to nothing stronger than watered-down wine on rare occasions. Woe be to the woman who took alcohol as a man would, regardless of the circumstances.

And Alaina felt rather strongly that these were, indeed, mitigating circumstances.

“What harm could there be in giving him another chance?” Juliette tilted her head and held her hands up in supplication. “You are still married, regardless.”

“As he gave our marriage a chance when he fled like a man outrunning his execution?” Alaina scoffed despite Juliette’s perfectly rational comment. “Right. I’ll begin the reconciliation immediately…” She narrowed her eyes, adding, “And whose side are you on?”

Juliette smiled and shook her head. “You have been my friend for more than a decade, Alaina; there is no side other than yours, as far as I am concerned. I’m simply…playing advocate to the devil. Trying could make your marriage more palatable. You’re living together and forced into each other’s presence, after all.”

“You sound like the duke,” Alaina groaned with a roll of her eyes, though more good-naturedly than not. “How can we possibly expect to get along when he has yet to explain why he left?”

Juliette’s shoulders lifted in a gentle shrug. “Part of marriage is working through those difficult questions; learning about one another. To practice being honest and open.”

Alaina heaved a heavy sigh. Juliette had been married for such a short while and she already knew vastly more about the matrimonial state than Alaina…who had been married for eight years… Undoubtedly, it came both from being confident in one’s state and—perhaps more so—actually living closely enough with one’s spouse to know him.

“I am not a woman who can simply forget the fact that he abandoned me and partook in any number of debauched activities on the Continent.” Alaina’s cheeks warmed and she averted her eyes from Juliette’s sympathetic gaze. They’d both read the same tabloids, heard the same rumors. If the ton enjoyed anything, it was a naughty scandal. Tales of the Runaway Duke who’d fled his new bride to live a life of freedom and vices fit that bill to perfection; and each time a rumor was presented to her with exaggerated sympathy, it pierced Alaina’s heart like a pin in a cushion.

Every member of the ton and their servants were privy to the rumors of the decadent, lush lifestyle Sterling had enjoyed while on the Continent; the salacious whispers of his many torrid love affairs with exotic, beautiful women. Alaina had always refused to discuss those rumors with anyone—or even acknowledge them openly until that very moment alone with Juliette. Now that Sterling was home, she was forced to face the embarrassment of the gossip and come to terms with the fact that, while he hadn’t seen fit to share her bed, he had so obviously found solace and satisfaction in the arms of many other women. It was beyond mortifying.

“I am not built that way,” she finally added.

“Do not feel sorry for yourself,” Juliette demanded as she rose and moved around the table to sit beside Alaina and take her hand. “This isn’t the hellion I know.” In spite of herself, Alaina cracked a smile at the moniker she’d been given by one of the popular tabloids following a scene at a ball wherein she’d publicly and bluntly chastised the hostess after the woman had slapped a maid for dropping a glass. Alaina had been accused of “inciting a scandal” when no less than two dozen guests had followed her example and immediately quit the event. She didn’t think “hellion” was necessarily an apt title for her, but she’d come to enjoy ruffling feathers and shows of social justice, and if that was how she was viewed, then so be it. “If you won’t forgive him, and you’re so determined not to allow him to live this down, what will you do about it?”

Alaina’s despondent mind perked at that.

What would she do about it?

Her mind instantly reeled with the possibilities. There were few things sweeter to her than someone receiving their comeuppance, and all the ways this might be served to her husband nearly made her giddy. She’d been made to weather embarrassment alone for all these years and she felt it was well past time Sterling had a taste of it.

She wouldn’t attempt to divorce him (for a multitude of reasons she’d already spun round and round in her skull many times over the years) and she refused to be the one to tuck tail and run to live elsewhere now that he’d once more taken up residence in Morton House. It was her home.

Sure, he’d been the one to grow up there, but it had been the only home she’d ever known as a married woman. She’d traveled outside of London several times for respites in their country seat at the end of the Season, but, as far as Alaina was concerned, Morton House was the touchstone of her life as she knew it. To leave it was unthinkable, even if so many other married couples of the ton led relatively separate lives…sometimes in entirely different spaces.

No.

Alaina knew she could do better than that.

She would get even.

She didn’t think she’d be able to make her husband’s life eight years’ worth of hell, but she could certainly do her damnedest. If Sterling was going to try to tame her to fit into this vision of his life he suddenly decided to live and impress upon her, then she vowed to make it as difficult and miserable as possible for him.

The Supper of Peas the previous evening was a start…

But she had a glimmer of inspiration that would be even better.

She squeezed Juliette’s fingers with her own, a mischievous smile curling her lips. “We have a trip to make to the bookseller; there are manuscripts to purchase.”

Just then, Juliette’s husband had the misfortune of walking into the room. The tall, broad Highlander was built more for battle than healing, so one might be forgiven for initially doubting his profession as one of London’s most sought-after physicians. Alaina quite liked the man’s dry sense of humor and their shared desire to help those less fortunate; she positively adored him for the way he cherished Juliette and treated her like the blessing she was. Dr. McCullom inclined his auburn head in a friendly, deferential greeting to Alaina but froze when he witnessed the glint in her eye.

“Why do I have the distinct impression I’ve walked in on something terrible?” His rich green eyes made his discomfort evident. The poor man obviously regretted his interruption, and he’d known Alaina long enough to realize the gravity of any mischief she might be plotting.

“Do not fret, my love,” Juliette said, attempting to reassure her husband. “You are not the aim of the duchess’s scheming this time.”