Page 6 of Courting the Duchess (Spy Society #1)

S everal hours later, Alaina returned to Morton House with a footman trailing in her formidable footsteps. He carried a large parcel neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with a cobalt blue ribbon, as was the custom of her preferred bookseller in London, Thorpe thank you.”

The footman nodded and left to do as he was told.

By the time Alaina turned around, Sterling had propped his tall body against the doorframe, his strong arms crossed over his broad chest as he eyed her. His inscrutable expression made her unsure of her reception, especially after their encounter earlier that morning. Those fascinating eyes of his were shuttered against her, refusing to reveal any hint of what simmered in that maddening mind.

Not only was his stare unnerving, but she was yet unused to having anyone else in the house with her, aside from the servants. Part of her wondered how long it might be before she grew used to his presence; the other part reminded her that, if she achieved her aim, he would not be around long enough for that to happen.

If she had her way, he’d leave her in peace to continue her life as she pleased.

“Your Grace,” she greeted him coolly. Even she wasn’t rude enough to brush past her husband without acknowledging him.

She began plucking her gloves from her fingers and, absently, she conceded how right Juliette had been about Sterling’s looks. He was undeniably attractive in a magnetic way. Were he any man other than her wayward husband, then she might have admitted to the way her feet tried to pull her in his direction. She refused to be swayed as she reminded herself of all the ways he’d put those looks to good use during his time on the Continent.

“Alaina,” he greeted her with only a touch more warmth than she’d shown him. “I see you managed to accomplish some shopping as well.”

“It is for my Reading Society. Surely you can find no fault in that pursuit.”

“Actually,” he began and pushed himself to his full imposing height; “I have been intending to speak with you about your ‘reading society.’”

Alaina’s stomach plummeted and her hackles raised with startling suddenness, her every sense immediately preparing for a battle.

Oblivious to the ire he’d raised in his wife, Sterling signaled to the butler and requested tea and something to eat before he bade Alaina join him in the library. She hesitated only a moment before rolling back her shoulders and following him into the room, mentally preparing herself for yet another argument.

With a motion, Sterling made an invitation for his wife to sit upon the overstuffed sofa upholstered in a comfortable red fabric. He recognized the ornately carved furniture frame from his youth, but Alaina had had it reupholstered for a more modern look. He appreciated her taste and her economy. As he’d meandered through the house in her absence that day, he’d discovered little changes like this throughout, and he’d been unable to find fault with any of them.

It had been simultaneously admirable and irksome, his wife’s eye for design and avoidance of over-spending. She had brilliant taste, a blend of classic and contemporary. The petty part of him tired of being prodded like a bear in a cage wished to find faults with any of her choices or her spending, but there were none.

Alaina seemed to be judging his motives for several heartbeats before begrudgingly assuming her perch, spreading the layers of her plum-colored skirt around her with all the grace and elegance of years of practice. Her poise was remarkable. It always had been. She’d been bred and raised to be the wife of a prominent lord, and, in that regard, Sterling had always known she’d been the right choice for his duchess.

Rather than crowd her, he took up a nearby seat in a brown leather armchair, crossing his outstretched legs at the ankle. He’d much rather have been nearer to her, to have caught a whiff of her intoxicating scent again, but it was probably safer for his well-being that he be just out of arm’s reach.

Alaina looked about as eager as a child about to be on the receiving end of a lecture.

She didn’t like it.

At all.

And her expression did a poor job of hiding it.

He might have found her inability to shutter her emotions more amusing, were he not so certain that he was in for another spat. He could already see her mentally preparing herself for it.

“What fault can you find with my Reading Society, Your Grace?” she asked stiffly.

He tilted his head and gazed at her.

Then surprised her when the corner of his mouth tipped up into a disarming smile.

“I wish you would dispense with the formality and call me by my given name.” It was something Sterling had thought about an inordinate amount of time since his return. He practically ached to hear his name on her tongue, to watch her mouth as she formed the word, to hear his name in her voice. He’d never heard her address him as such, and, more than longing for the sound of it, he wanted the comfort with a fierce desperation. After so many years of holding everyone at arm’s length, he longed for the closeness and intimacy it would provide. And he felt almost certain that her doing so would make him more human—less easily dismissed.

Her eyes widened. She clearly hadn’t been prepared for such a request and Sterling took pleasure in the parting of her luscious lips.

“I—I would rather not. The familiarity is discomfiting.”

He rewarded Alaina with a scoff as he steepled his long, elegant fingers together. “Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.” He paused and searched her face—for what, she was unsure. “Then at least call me Morton. No more ‘Your Grace’…especially when we are in private.”

Alaina hesitated but found it impossible to completely deny him. A part of her she’d believed long dead and crumbled to dust began to rise and prod her conscience. A part that had once desired to please this man above all else…to be the object of his desire and his pride. She eventually nodded in acquiescence.

Just then, two maids arrived with the tea service and a small variety of finger sandwiches prepared with cucumbers and some cold cuts. After they took their leave, Alaina’s schooling overrode her desire to stay as far away as possible from Sterling. She leaned forward and began to pour the steaming brew from the pot decorated in a delicate pattern of Grecian scrollwork, preparing his tea with several spoons of sugar and a wafer-thin slice of lemon. When she was done, she held out the dainty bone china cup to Sterling, only looking up when he didn’t accept the saucer from her fingers. He stared at her offering as if he expected it to contain an elixir of death.

“You watched me prepare it; I hardly had an opportunity to slip poison into the tea,” Alaina said acerbically.

This seemed to snap Sterling from whatever oddity had occupied his mind. He accepted the drink and it took everything in her power not to snatch her hand back as the tip of his middle finger grazed hers. Instead, she averted her eyes and busied herself preparing her own drink as she waited for him to resume whatever he’d been about to say.

There was a gentle click of china as he took a sip and set down the saucer.

“I have heard about your reading society, Alaina,” he began slowly—more calmly than cautiously. “You have created quite the stir.”

Alaina took a bracing sip of her tea, wishing all the while it was something stronger. “And how, pray tell, would you know that? I wouldn’t expect the news of our humble meetings to survive the distance to whatever Continental city in which you found yourself.” Her tone was bitter, but not venomous. She decided to hold that in check until she heard what he had to say.

As it was, however, she didn’t think this was headed anywhere she wished to go.

“I may have been out of the country, but do not believe I ever for a single moment forgot I had a wife here in England.”

Alaina released a most unladylike snort of disbelief, and she was shocked to find she felt not the least bit of remorse or embarrassment over it.

“I always watched over you as much as I could,” Sterling continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I made sure you never wanted for funds to be used as you saw fit, the staff’s wages have always been timely, and I helped ensure a replacement with immaculate references arrived whenever a new addition was required.”

Alaina couldn’t argue those points. On those things, Sterling had remained…well…sterling. The issue was that he’d failed to consider her emotional needs.

And, perhaps, some physical ones…

“But what I have learned of your society leaves something to be desired.”

Alaina carefully set down her saucer, believing it to be safer than continuing to hold the steaming cup, and modulated her tone with cautious intensity. “And what, may I ask, have you heard which has given you such an opinion? I find it difficult to believe anything you might have learned could have been so catastrophic as to precipitate your return to English soil.” He cocked a chastising brow, but she continued. “Why don’t you tell me what you believe you know, and I shall tell you if there is any merit?”

Sterling leaned forward to speak, pulling a folded bit of parchment from an inside pocket of his coat. “You have become rather notorious for hosting meetings where women of rank are encouraged to read incendiary literature.” He opened the letter and read what was written there. “‘Works touting extreme social reform, lurid romances, explicit and violent plays—’”

“Things which might cause some women to question their world and their place within it—might make them think with their God-given brains and intelligence? Why, that does sound terribly dangerous ,” she mocked, crossing her arms beneath her bosom, incensed that anyone would be so bold as to write to her husband to complain of her activities. This earned her a stern glower from her husband, making him look remarkably similar to the great-grandfather whose portrait she steadfastly avoided in the upstairs gallery. Sterling’s ducal bearing and authority were undeniable and intimidating—even to Alaina—but she refused to be cowed on this.

“I should hope you know that I, of all men, do not condemn reading for knowledge and the joy of it,” he said, referencing the fact that they’d once bonded over a shared passion for the written word.

“I do not think I know you at all, Morton.”

The words hit Sterling with the burning suddenness of a bee sting. This was now the second time Alaina had told him she didn’t know him, and the unwelcome truth of it was discomfiting.

He’d once known her.

And well enough to believe he wanted to marry her, to have her as the mother to his children, to grow old with her.

But now they’d been made strangers by time and distance, and the animosity boiling between them was thicker than treacle.

“I only mean that the act of encouraging other women—wives and daughters and sisters of fellow peers—is problematic. The reputation that comes with some of this behavior is unflattering for a duchess. I didn’t expect such descriptions to reach me when I’d married a quiet, proper, demure young woman.”

The effect his words had on Alaina was instantaneous. The elegant rises of her lightly freckled cheekbones bloomed crimson, and her fists wound around the plum fabric of her skirts so tightly that it was a wonder it didn’t shred in her grasp.

“A great deal can change in a few years when people are left to their own devices…to find their own place in the world,” Alaina hissed dangerously, sapphire flames sparking in her eyes. She tilted her chin to the parchment he still held. “And it is so nice to know some letters made their way to you. I wonder if that one was important enough to warrant a response.”

The jab struck as intended, but if only she knew how he’d longed to reply to her letters, how he’d yearned to let her know she was not as alone as she felt. Sterling opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted when a maid arrived, flanked by one of the footmen.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Graces,” the blond girl chirped, bobbing an apologetic curtsy as she flicked her eyes between her employers. “Mrs. Frank and Cook asked me to see if you’d like to discuss the rest of the week’s menus now.” The query was directed at Alaina, but the young woman’s wide, pale eyes darted to Sterling. She seemed to assess the tenseness of his posture, his impatience that he be left alone with his wife to continue the conversation, his frustration as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.

“Her Grace will be available shortly,” he finally answered for Alaina.

The maid and footman did not move.

Sterling turned to face them fully.

“That will be all,” he added in no uncertain terms.

They remained unmoving like bloody gargoyles.

Until they looked at Alaina.

Sterling followed their gazes quickly enough to catch the subtle nod from Alaina, to which the servants bowed and curtseyed before taking their leave.

First, the footmen at dinner the previous eve, and now the servants today?

Something inside of Sterling shattered.

“Why in bloody hell does it take everyone multiple commands before they obey an order?” he demanded, not caring who overheard. Perhaps it might even be good for the servants to witness this. “This is my home, and I am lord and master here!”

“You may be their lord, but these people have become near to friends to me these last eight years!” Alaina punctuated her words with a closed fist upon the embroidered cushion beside her.

“What?” he asked, taken aback by the waver in her voice.

“You may pay their wages, but you’ve been naught but a faceless name to everyone for so long—some of the staff had never even laid eyes upon you until the last twenty-four hours. I am the one who has been here. They—” Her voice broke and she averted her eyes for a moment before regaining her composure and meeting his gaze once more. “These people were my only company in the early days of my tenure as your wife when I was little more than a girl, unsure where to go or how to navigate the incomprehensible hand I’d been dealt.”

Too ashamed to show her face after the scandal of his flight.

The ensuing silence rang with emotion as if following the last tone of an enormous brass bell.

The words had been said, the message had been laid across the table between them.

Sterling’s fingers maintained their steady tap-tapping against the arm of his chair, disguising the thick, tar-like discomfort welling up from somewhere deep and long-suppressed within his gut.

Alaina’s words struck him more deeply than he’d expected. He hadn’t been blind to the fact that her life would be drastically changed by his absence; he’d just been too young and na?ve to believe it wouldn’t alter her in some irrevocable way—that she’d have felt so alone in the early weeks and months of their marriage that her only companions would have been his staff.

His fingers stilled and then moved to rub at an uncomfortable knot in the back of his neck.

He had tried apologizing to her. His regrets were sincere, whether or not she accepted that fact. Did she expect him to apologize for the rest of his days? He was beginning to suspect his rash decision in his youth would forever color their marriage and his life.

His fingers worked around to press against his eyes and the bridge of his nose to quell a burgeoning pounding in his skull.

She’d never accept the truth behind his absence—not that he’d ever once felt that a full explanation could truly compensate for their lost time…however, he must have been an unmitigated fool to believe she’d accept him back with any warmth or gratitude.

And her revelation confirmed it with sickening permanence. The guilt roiling inside of him threatened to consume him. He’d grappled with it almost incessantly since he’d left England, so it was far from a new sensation, but that didn’t lessen its impact.

Alaina had been forced to move on and create her space in the world. She’d had to for the sake of their marriage’s appearance.

And for her own life.

Though, if they continued thusly, snarling at one another like caged lions, he just might strangle her…

He cleared the stickiness from his throat and diverted their conversation to its original topic. It was far too dangerous to continue down the vein upon which they had touched.

“Now that I have returned, I’ll be expected to exert some influence upon the materials in your society. I do not intend to forbid your meetings, only strongly suggest that you choose more suitable options. Your choices reflect upon us both, as well as the St. John name and Morton Duchy.” Sterling chose to ignore her insolent brow. “I will also be expected to place a bit of a leash upon your antics—your furniture jumping, for example—and to encourage you to take up your proper role. Divert your considerable energy into other—”

“So the prodigal husband returns, and the Duchess of Morton turns her life around to become a less scandalous Society matron?” she scoffed. “No doubt the ton will assume you’ve deigned to give up your life of pleasure to rein me in. And where is the fairness in that?” she demanded, flinging her arms out wide as if to demonstrate the breadth of the affront. “No one attempted to chastise you when you did whatever wished in the last eight years…but Heaven forbid I do something I enjoy in your absence—something which truly harms no one, mind you—and I am judged harshly for it. I do not see why I shouldn’t be allowed to continue my life as it was. I certainly managed well enough without you—”

“Because it is well past time both of us grew up and assumed our proper roles!” he roared, pounding a tight fist against the arm of his chair as an outlet for the tension thrumming throughout his body. “I, as Duke of Morton and in my proper place in the House of Lords; and you, Alaina, as my wife and the mother of my heir.”

The last caused an icy veil to fall over her face, and he berated himself all over again. What was it about her that made him say things he instantly regretted? He immediately cursed his unthinking words. The last thing he wanted her to believe was that he’d returned solely to turn her into his broodmare. He normally prided himself on his ability to craft cogent arguments and use words to his advantage. All that went out the window when it came to his wife. The color drained from her cheeks and the fire in her eyes fell painfully frigid and steely. She uttered nothing, but the accusation in her silence rang more loudly than words ever could have.

While the thought of finally consummating their marriage was a boon he had anticipated with more than a little eagerness, it was far from the only reason he’d finally come home. To make it seem as such was a grave injustice to the wounded woman before him.

Sterling sighed heavily, imagining his anger being released in a cloud between them before it thinned and dissipated in the air.

“I realize this will take a great deal of adjustment for us both, but we can accomplish it if we make the effort. Are you willing to give this a go with me, Alaina? As I requested this morning, can we try our hands at even the barest civility?”

Her silent response was unnerving. His only reassurance in this disaster of a marriage was that she’d have filed for an annulment long ago had she truly wished to be rid of him. It would have been within her right and there would have been embarrassingly little he could do about it. An unconsummated wedding would have been grounds enough, along with his abandonment. He assumed either her family had talked her out of it, or she’d seen that the advantages to being a duchess far outweighed the freedom from the marriage.

Whatever the reason, they remained married against all odds…and Sterling had held onto that knowledge throughout his time away. And, now that they were finally face-to-face again, he’d be damned if he lost everything he’d held dear all these years.

Finally, Alaina graced him with a curt nod.

Sterling couldn’t prevent the hopeful tilt of his mouth as he retrieved his tea and sat back in his chair. It was a victory…a small one, but a victory, nonetheless. He’d take it for what it was and relish the accomplishment.

“Now that we have dispensed with that unpleasantness, what do you plan next for your reading society—since I take it you’ll not be abandoning it altogether?” He took a sip of his tea and watched as she hesitated for a moment before picking up her own cup.

“Oh, only Shakespeare.”

Sterling nodded in approving reply before setting his tea aside and taking up the small plate Alaina had fixed for him with a selection of dainty sandwiches. He said a silent prayer in thanks that peas were blessedly absent.

How out of hand could Shakespeare possibly be in a room full of Society women? He quite enjoyed The Bard himself.

The cat in the cream grin spreading Alaina’s full lips should have warned him of the impending danger…