Page 56 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)

Eyes that made her want to cower from him, but also eyes that tugged at her, pulling her closer.

Irene resisted the urge to move from her spot.

The Duke wrinkled his nose and bared his teeth like a wounded animal. “Do you care to explain?”

Irene held her head high, ensuring her lips were set in a straight line, not turned up or down in any way. She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. “Explain what?”

The Duke stepped into the room, looking around wildly and shaking his head. “First, you go through my mail, and then you make a mess of my library. What is the meaning of this?”

“There needs to be some order,” Irene argued. “You told me I could manage the household and only bother you with major decisions. The library needed reorganization. Should I have bothered you first?”

The Duke snatched the book on top of the pile closest to him and turned it over in his hands. “I have a system.”

“And what system is that?” Irene challenged.

“That does not concern you.” He tapped the book against his free hand.

“So, am I to manage the household or not?” Irene walked over to the table and stared at him, not backing down.

“I wish that you would not cause chaos. The library was perfectly fine, and the books are supposed to be on the shelves, not on the floor. I don’t know how you did things before, but it is a perfectly reasonable way of storing books.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Irene huffed. “Why did I not think of putting them on the shelves? Where I come from, we put all our belongings on the floor, but I’m glad to be in the company of someone so wise and?—”

“Enough.” The Duke rolled his eyes and waved a hand in the air.

Irene slowly closed her mouth.

“I will tolerate a discussion, but I will not be spoken to in this way in my own home. Do you understand me?”

Irene looked into his eyes, now that they were close to each other. Intense was the best way to describe them, and while that heightened his frustration at the current moment, she couldn’t help but wonder what the intensity would do to his eyes at other times.

She held her ground, but the Duke showed no signs of relenting, so she had to be the one to do it.

Irene looked down at the carpet and nodded. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she felt a flicker of satisfaction at eliciting a reaction from her cold husband. She would rather it were not anger, but she was angry, and her anger was hungry for company.

“Good.” The Duke walked further into the room. “Now, will you please tell me what you are doing with my books?”

Irene looked up, catching his eyes for a moment before looking past him toward the shelves.

She didn’t know how Cordelia managed to be so rebellious without constantly being shouted at.

Perhaps it was better to be decorous and be told what to do.

Some anger was fine, but she didn’t like being shouted at.

“I need something to occupy my time,” she explained.

She thought about mentioning the housekeeper, but she didn’t want to involve her in case she evoked the Duke’s wrath.

“I noticed that there were a lot of books in here, but they were not organized in any way that made sense to me, so I took it upon myself to arrange them by type and genre. I thought I could separate poetry from prose, and encyclopedias from novels. I can rearrange the books as they were before—if I remember exactly where they all went. Perhaps you can explain your system to me.”

She looked up at the Duke, seeing a glint in his eyes, before she looked back down again.

Is it the light in here? At our wedding, he was dark, and there is still some underlying fury. But even in his anger, there’s more of his humanity.

Irene didn’t mean to cause any trouble, not really.

“I suppose if the books occupy your time, there will be less chance for you to make a mess elsewhere.” The Duke picked up another book as he wound his way through the piles before arbitrarily placing it back on another pile.

“What I am more concerned about is why you thought it appropriate to go through my correspondence.”

“I didn’t—” Irene bit her tongue when her voice rose.

“I simply opened the drawer and found the letters in there. The one addressed to you and still sealed, I sent it straight to you, and you have my word that I didn’t look inside.

As for the others, I only read the ones that were already opened and those that were addressed to me or both of us. ”

She thought about asking why no one had delivered the letters addressed only to her.

“Do you not think they were in the drawer for a reason?” the Duke asked.

“I didn’t think about that,” Irene admitted. “There are a lot of invitations from people in London. You are a popular man.”

“It has nothing to do with me.”

Irene looked up. “Oh!”

“Nor you,” he added.

She looked down again. “Oh.”

“They talk about us.” The Duke walked over to her, putting the table between them.

He reached down to pick up the teacup just as she did, and her hand fell on his.

“Oh!” she gasped.

She looked down at her hand covering his, the warmth emanating from him as opposed to the coldness he projected.

Take your hand off his! Take your hand off his!

Perhaps she craved the warmth that came from a connection, a relationship, and that was why she kept her hand on his for a long moment. She’d already been in one loveless marriage, not having enough time to form any connection with her first husband before he was taken from her.

Eventually, she withdrew her hand before the Duke demanded she do so.

I must know my place.

He looked at her, and for a moment, his eyes were not blazing. Then, he picked up the cup and took a sip, before turning his nose up at how sweet the tea was.

“They don’t ever see me, and they took our marriage as a chance to draw me out and gawk at me like an animal in a private menagerie.

” He placed the cup back down on the table between them.

“And you? The widow who had been in mourning for two years and then married me? They wish to see that with their own eyes, too. They didn’t invite us to events out of the goodness of their hearts; they want to see us so they can talk about us more. ”

“So?” Irene scoffed. “Do you care if people talk about you? Because I sure don’t. I’d rather be talked about than forgotten entirely.”

“The words of someone who has not been gossiped about.” The Duke pushed a scone around on one of the plates. “Believe me, it’s better not to engage in any way.”

“So, we are both to remain alone here for the rest of our lives?” Irene asked. “That is the best solution to the matter? I’ll take them saying anything they want about me rather than that.”

The Duke leaned forward, and she took an involuntary step back.

“Would you?” he challenged. “They believe you know some deep, dark secret about me, and the reason I married you was to silence you, to secrete you away in my home so no one would ever know the truth.”

Irene’s face contorted as if she had tasted something sour. “Then why not appear in public and show them that it’s not the case?”

“I’m not a pony to be paraded around. The moment I prove their gossip to be false, they will come up with a new story—the cycle will never end. I have nothing to prove to them, and neither do you.”

“Yes, but it would be fun to attend just one event, wouldn’t it?” Irene begged. “They can create as many scandals as they want, and we shall ignore them all.”

The Duke’s eyes flashed. “There are worse things in the world than scandals, Duchess. Be glad that you don’t know them.”

That same fire in his eyes sparked in her stomach, the flames licking at her heart.

“No? I don’t know anything about the world? My first husband was taken from me, and now my second husband takes me from the world. Am I mistaken in how I feel? Should I be grateful for my lot in life?”

“You should watch your tongue,” he growled. “I told you how I wanted to be spoken to, and I won’t always be as patient as I am right now. You are still settling in, so I’m giving you some leeway. Do not push me, and do not test me. I am in charge, and that is the way it is.”

Irene bowed her head again. Everything inside of her raged at his words, but some battles were not meant to be won.

“Of course, Your Grace.” She bit her tongue, but she couldn’t help saying the next part. “Might I be allowed to take another sip of tea, or will I create something worse than scandal?”

Her body trembled. She daredn’t look at her husband; his complete silence was worse than his shouting at her. She tried not to move a muscle, waiting for his outburst, but it never came.

She watched his boots as he turned on his heel and walked out of the room. She expected a door to slam shut or a pile of books to topple over, but his rage was calm and measured. She worried that it would resurface sometime in the future.

I am only making my life worse.

When she finally looked up, she was alone in the room.

She picked up the teacup and took a sip. She’d added twice as much sugar as usual, but the tea didn’t taste sweet anymore.

Perhaps it was not better to see his emotion flare than his indifference.

I want adventure in my life. I want to feel something again. My dear husband offers both, but not in the way I want.

Still, deep down, she sensed the Duke was troubled. When he raged at her, she felt his pain deep inside.

She didn’t want to be married to him, but he was her husband, and perhaps it was time to start acting more like his wife.

For both their sakes.