Page 12 of Duke with a Debt (Wicked Dukes Society #2)

CHAPTER 12

S tuart returned to the town house later than planned that evening.

“Dinner is awaiting you, Your Grace,” Fleetwood informed him as Stuart handed off his coat, hat, and gloves.

“Where is my wife?” he asked, hoping Rosamund wouldn’t be cross with him over his disappearance.

“Her Grace is awaiting you in the gold salon, Your Grace,” the butler informed him.

The gold salon hadn’t been used since Mother had been well. It was a small chamber, lined with some bric-à-brac Mother had collected over the years—family paintings, pictures, some sketches. The paintings that had been worth anything had long since been sold, as had a great deal of the furniture. Stuart thought the space sad and preferred to keep to his study rather than dwell among the ghosts of the past.

“Did she choose the salon herself, Fleetwood, or was it a recommendation made to her?” he asked curiously.

“I do believe that she inquired with Mrs. Wadham,” the butler told him, referring to the housekeeper, who had been jubilant at the prospect of having a mistress to oversee the menus once again.

Like many roles Mother now eschewed, household management had fallen to the housekeeper. The fewer demands made upon his mother, the better.

He nodded. “I see. Might I ask how long she has been awaiting me?”

“Dinner has been held for the last hour,” his butler told him, his face an expressionless mask.

Blast. Rosamund had spent the last hour in the gold salon, likely wondering where he was. It wasn’t how he had intended to begin their marriage. But there had been no help for the delivery of the funds. One more day, and he ran the risk of his blackmailer revealing all.

He thanked the unsmiling Fleetwood and hastened in the direction of that forlorn room, hoping he wouldn’t find a wife who was outraged by his absence. They had made love for the better portion of the afternoon, and he must have fallen into a deep and sated asleep afterward. He had awoken in a panic, having recalled that he was due to deliver the funds to the solicitor’s office so that his blackmailer could hopefully slink away into whatever hell he had emerged from. The small fortune in return for that bastard’s silence was a sum he would pay again and again if it meant protecting his mother, however.

Taking great care not to awaken Rosamund, he had slid from the inviting warmth of his bed and her arms, dressing with silent haste to make his grim delivery. As luck would have it, he had been waylaid by a snarl of carriage traffic, and now he had returned, an unpunctual arse on his own wedding day. All he could hope was that this damned business of blackmail was finally at an end, that all family secrets in danger of being revealed would be forever kept, and that he could begin to move forward with his life.

Whatever the hell that meant.

At the moment, he couldn’t be certain. He hadn’t expected to marry at all, let alone to feel the depth of emotion he had earlier when he’d made love to Rosamund. He couldn’t lie to himself—although he was no innocent and he’d earned his reputation as a rake, he had never in all his days experienced what he had with her earlier.

It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

As he approached the gold salon, he heard voices. Rosamund’s soft tones coupled with a familiar—and damned infuriating—baritone.

Stuart didn’t bother to knock, striding across the threshold of the room, fury igniting something deep within him. Rosamund was by the lone window, frowning at Wesley, who was standing entirely too bloody near to her. Stuart had a moment to appreciate her luscious figure molded in a cream brocade gown à la polonaise , adorned with blonde lace at the cuffs and decolletage, the entire affair accented with a vivid floral embroidery. He had to swallow hard against a rush of desire and force himself to concentrate on the tableau before him rather than merely upon his wife.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked his brother without preamble.

Wesley turned to him with a smug grin that he longed to wipe off his face with his fist. “What am I doing here? Lovely to see you this evening as well, brother. I was merely keeping my new sister company. After all, she was left alone, and on her wedding day.”

Stuart clenched his fists at his sides. “You never take dinner here.”

“This is not an ordinary day,” Wesley said, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, it has been so long since I have been able to spend time with dear Rosamund. I missed her, and I daresay she missed me as well.”

The pointed reminder of the past was enough to have Stuart clenching his jaw so hard that it would be a miracle if he didn’t crack a bloody molar. “You aren’t welcome here, Wesley.”

“But this is my home.” His brother was smiling and still far too close to Rosamund for Stuart’s liking.

His new wife was watching the verbal parrying between himself and Wesley with a frown, and he didn’t know if the look was meant for him, for his brother, or for the both of them.

“Was he troubling you?” Stuart demanded of Rosamund.

“Lord Wesley only just joined me whilst I awaited your return,” Rosamund said quietly.

There was something in her countenance that gave him pause. He turned back to his brother. “If you insist upon dining here this evening, then you may as well go to the dining room ahead of us. I would like a moment alone with my wife .”

If he placed emphasis upon the last phrase, it couldn’t be helped. He was still thinking about what had happened with Lady Flora. About Wesley’s claims that he would have Rosamund as well. After the intensity of the passion they had shared earlier, he was feeling raw and possessive.

Wesley would touch Rosamund again over his lifeless corpse, by God.

“But surely there’s no need—” Wesley began smoothly.

“There is every need,” Stuart interrupted harshly. “You will go to the goddamned dining room because that is what I told you to do and because your presence in this very household is dependent upon my goodwill. Is that clear?”

Wesley’s mask of sham civility slipped for a moment, his lip curling into a sneer. “Perfectly, brother. I shall see the two of you at dinner.”

With an elegant bow that was far more for Rosamund’s benefit than his, Wesley took his leave of the gold salon, stalking out of the room like a petulant child and slamming the door in his wake with more force than necessary. Had there been any paintings yet adorning the walls, they likely would have gone toppling to the threadbare Axminster.

Stuart blew out a breath of frustration and raked his hand through his hair. “Forgive me for my tardiness, Rosamund,” he said. “And for the presence of my villainous brother as well. I had no notion that he intended to join us for dinner. If I had, I would have told him in no uncertain terms that he was to spend the evening elsewhere.”

And Wesley bloody well knew it, the devious miscreant.

Rosamund moved toward him, still unsmiling. “Where were you? When I woke, you had left, and no one in the household seemed to know where you had gone. Either they didn’t know, or they refused to tell me. I’m still not certain which it was.”

He didn’t want to lie to her, and yet he could not confide the truth in her either. It was a truth that wasn’t his to reveal. Either way, this was decidedly not how he had planned to return home to her after the time they had spent in his bed that afternoon. Those hours had been so much more than he had dared to hope, and they had changed everything for him. There was no denying the compatibility they shared, as she had so maddeningly called it.

“I had a few small business matters requiring my attention,” he explained instead, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a reverent kiss. “You look every bit as beautiful in this gown as you did in that sinful red creation. Are you hungry? I must beg your forgiveness—there was a snarl of carriages that couldn’t be avoided on my return. It cost me an extra half an hour, if not more.”

He was aware that he was babbling and that it was most unlike him. But then, he had also never had a wife before. And he was deceiving her on the first day of their marriage, which he most assuredly regretted. Guilt hung heavy in his gut as her gaze searched his.

“What matters so distracted you on your wedding day?” she asked quietly. “I didn’t think you were a man of business.”

Hellfire. He wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t—at least, not beyond the club he ran with his friends.

“It was something I couldn’t help,” he said noncommittally.

“Your mistress.” Her voice was hushed and yet laden with raw hurt.

“I don’t have a mistress,” he hastened to reassure her.

But she was already moving past him in her elegant gown, the lamplight catching in her red-gold hair to reveal the burnished glints hiding in her silken tresses. She looked every inch the duchess this evening, utterly beautiful and entirely formidable. He wanted to take her in his arms and beg her forgiveness, but he had a suspicion she wouldn’t allow it just now.

“You don’t have one any longer, I suppose,” she said, a tremble in her voice that hit him like a slap to the face.

He moved swiftly, blocking her from the door and making her draw to a halt, her voluminous gown swaying from the sudden cessation of motion.

“My business did not concern a mistress, Rosamund,” he said softly, hoping she would believe him without requiring him to offer more.

Her chin went up. “So, you dashed away without telling me, in the middle of our wedding day and after you had consummated our marriage, leaving me to be awakened by a strange man, for some reason other than to give your mistress the congé?”

His mind caught on one part of her sentence in particular. “A strange man woke you?”

Pink color blossomed on her cheeks as she pinned him with a glare. “Your valet, I believe,” she said with icy sangfroid.

“Sharpe,” he provided. “Damn it. I apologize, Rosamund. I ought to have sent word to him that you weren’t to be disturbed before I left.”

“It is understandable, I suppose. You were likely too preoccupied with the unpleasant nature of the conversation awaiting you.” Her voice was sharp and pointed as any blade.

“Christ.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the full prickle of his whiskers in desperate need of a shave and realizing the sight he must present, bedraggled from the rain, unshaven, and back in his old favorite lounge suit. “Listen to me, sweetheart. I didn’t leave your side so that I could cut ties with my mistress. I hadn’t a mistress when I first came to you with my proposal, and I most assuredly don’t have one now.”

“Then why would you leave me after…after…” she stammered, her flush deepening.

Fuck , she was adorable. He couldn’t restrain himself a moment longer. Stuart reached for her, hands settling on her cinched waist, and pulled her gently into him, her decadent scent in his lungs and her softness filling him with fire.

“The truth is,” he began, looking down into her upturned face, “that I had no intention of bedding my glorious wife in the midst of the afternoon. I had wanted to woo you properly. But then I brought you to your chamber, and we were alone at last, and I couldn’t wait a moment more to have you naked beneath me.”

“You expect me to believe that? I fear you think me every bit the fool that your brother did.”

“Don’t,” he bit out.

“Don’t what?” she asked, her gaze crackling with defiance.

“Don’t compare me to him,” he ground out. “I am nothing like him, Rosamund. Nothing .”

“You are brothers, are you not?”

“To my everlasting regret.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and dispel the inevitable rage that rose within him when he discussed Wesley. “What did he say to you when you were alone? Did he try to do anything untoward? If he did, by God, I will beat him to a bloody fucking husk.”

Rosamund’s hands had settled on his chest as lightly as butterflies, a pale comparison to the way she had scraped her nails down his back earlier. “I don’t wish for violence. Regardless of how terrible he is, he is your brother. He had only just joined me here in the salon when you arrived. You needn’t be concerned that anything happened. But neither have you offered an explanation as to why you were gone this afternoon, if not to throw your mistress over.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling and gathering the calm that was fast fleeing him before opening his eyes and meeting her brown gaze. “I swear to you, Rosamund, that I was not throwing my mistress over, that I had no mistress. I’ll not lie. I did not come to our marriage bed without a complicated past. But I can assure you that I intend to honor my vows to you.”

Her brow furrowed, a sheen of tears glistening in her eyes. “Then tell me where you were, Stuart. I beg of you.”

He knew a moment of painful indecision as he warred against himself. Could he tell her? And reveal the secret that wasn’t his? Was there another way to convince her? Could he confide just enough and keep the rest enshrouded in mystery, all the better to protect Mother?

“Very well,” he relented. “I will tell you what I can. But you must first promise to me that you will not carry this secret beyond these four walls. Can you do that?”

She frowned. “Stuart?—”

He flexed his fingers on her waist, interrupting her. “Rosamund, promise me.”

“Very well, if that is what you need from me.” She nodded, unsmiling. “I promise not to carry your secret from this room.”

“I’m being blackmailed,” he blurted.

Her lips parted, and she stared at him in shock. “Blackmailed?”

The mere admission had his inner rage boiling to the surface again. He hated that he was at the mercy of some unknown foe, hated feeling so powerless and vulnerable.

With a heavy sigh, he nodded. “Yes. I fell asleep after we made love, and when I woke, I realized I had reached the designated day for the funds to be delivered. I hadn’t the ability to pay the bastard until our marriage was complete. That’s where I was, Rosamund. Not throwing over a mistress. Not seeing another woman. I was arranging for the payment to be made.”

“My goodness, why did you not tell me this before?” she asked.

“Because I wanted to handle it without causing you any undue worry,” he admitted. “Also, it is a point of pride, I suppose. I hate that I’ve been reduced to paying an unknown foe for secrecy.”

“What secrecy? Why are you being blackmailed? Help me to understand, Stuart.”

“That is what I cannot tell you. The reason for the blackmail is…a family matter.”

Her brows rose. “Concerning you?”

He might have known that she would not simply accept his explanation. Rosamund’s agile mind was busy churning. Wondering.

“Not directly,” he relented.

“Your brother, then?” she guessed next.

“Do not ask of me what I cannot give you.”

“But, Stuart?—”

He interrupted her protest with a kiss, pressing his mouth to hers. It didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen. She parted for him with a soft, needy sound that had his cock twitching to attention, making him forget all about blackmailers, his troublesome brother, and family secrets. He gave her his tongue, tasting her—sweetness and passion and Rosamund.

His Rosamund.

By the time he raised his head, they were both breathless. He held her stare, unwavering. “The secret I protect is not my own. Either way, this business is done. The debt has been paid, and I don’t expect to hear anything more of this.”

His gut clenched at his words, because he wasn’t as certain of that as he would like to be. His blackmailer could become greedy. There was every chance that Stuart hadn’t heard the last of him.

“Very well,” Rosamund said. “I’ll not ask you to unburden yourself further. But this has reminded me of another stipulation I neglected to include in the marriage contract.”

He flattened his palm over the small of her back, caressing her there. “Oh? And what is that?”

“Fidelity. Do you intend to take lovers, Stuart?”

He stared down into her upturned face and realized suddenly that the thought of any woman other than Rosamund in his bed was foreign and hateful. When the hell had this happened? He had become besotted with his wife of less than one day. He wanted to be faithful to her.

Good sweet God.

How?

Why?

He reeled, the discovery taking him by complete surprise.

Rosamund stiffened in his arms, misunderstanding his silence. “No need to answer. I shouldn’t have asked. This is a marriage of convenience, of course.”

But he wouldn’t allow her to push away, instead tightening his hold to keep her anchored to him, their bodies aligned.

“There is only one woman I want in my bed,” he told her honestly, “and that is you.”

But she wasn’t persuaded, flattening her hands on his chest and pushing. “Please, Stuart. Don’t lie to protect my feelings. I understand that this is a business arrangement and nothing more. You get your coffers replenished, and I get the children I’ve longed for. I’m not expecting anything else. But I do hope that you’ll at least wait until?—”

He kissed her again, halting her words for the second time. It seemed a most efficient means of silencing her, and he couldn’t resist the potent lure of her lush mouth. She responded for a moment before jerking her head back and pinning him with a hard look.

“You can’t just kiss me to keep me from speaking, you know.”

She was even more adorable when she was vexed. What was wrong with him? Where was all this tenderness coming from?

“I can’t help myself.” He grinned down at her. “You’ve cast some manner of spell on me.”

She pursed her lips. “You’re trying to distract me now.”

“No, I’m trying to tell you that I intend to have you in my bed every night.” He cupped her cheek gently, stroking the elegant curvature with his thumb as he fell into her gold-brown gaze. “I’m going to pleasure you every way I know how. And I’m going to be faithful, Rosamund. I expect the same from you. If, at some point in the future, something should change, we will decide upon a mutually agreeable course.”

“If you grow bored of only bedding your wife, you mean.”

He didn’t know what he meant, only that the notion of cleaving to one woman forever was vaguely terrifying.

“Perhaps you shall grow bored of me,” he pointed out, hating the notion even as he spoke it.

He would kill any man who dared to touch her. The vehemence of his reaction—guttural and instinctive—again took Stuart by surprise. He would tear any bastard who dared to attempt to seduce her away limb from limb.

She searched his gaze for a long moment, and he wondered what her clever mind was thinking. “I don’t think there is any danger of that for now.”

For now.

He kissed her again, not stopping until she had softened against him, her tongue gliding eagerly against his. Reluctantly, he withdrew, pleased at the sight of her mouth, swollen and dark with his kisses.

“Good,” he said. “Now, I suppose we ought to go to dinner. I’ve delayed it long enough.”

Stuart straightened, offering her his arm. Rosamund settled her hand in the crook of his elbow, and together, they proceeded to the dining room.

Dinner was fast proving not only trying but dreadful. The unwanted presence of Lord Wesley at the table left both Rosamund and Stuart in a heightened state of discomfort. Wesley’s nettlesome insistence upon interjecting his conversation didn’t help.

“I am so pleased to have you here at our table with us, sister,” he said with ebullient enthusiasm.

Rosamund summoned every bit of kindness she had and forced a smile at Lord Wesley for the benefit of the servants working on the next course. “I am happy to be here.”

In truth, she wished she were back in the haven of Stuart’s bed. That he had never left and neither had she. It troubled her anew to think of someone blackmailing him over a mysterious secret he refused to reveal to her. She didn’t like the notion of anyone knowing something about him that would cause sufficient harm that he would pay to keep the truth from being revealed.

She also didn’t like that he was keeping whatever it was from her. But that was a matter for another day. This was the first of many they would share together, and there was time aplenty to learn more about her new husband along the way.

An awkward silence fell as the servants completed their task. Stuart’s glare was murderous, aimed in Wesley’s direction. His brother, meanwhile, was on his third glass of wine. The pair of footmen were newly hired, and they took their time, whisking away the soup course and laying out the mutton pie à la Perigord and asperge à la sauce vinaigrette . Rosamund had scarcely tasted the potage à la Prince before it and had only managed a few spoonsful.

The footmen excused themselves and disappeared, leaving Rosamund, Stuart, and Wesley to the course, which was laid out beautifully on the table. The silver epergne at the table’s center was one that Rosamund had brought with her, but the serving dishes were Gilden family relics, some of which were flawed with hairline cracks and chips. The preparations for her move to Stuart’s town house had been frenzied, but she fully intended to see the home and household restored to its former glory.

The three of them tucked into the mutton pie and asparagus, Stuart continuing to glower at his brother. Heavens , to think how he would look at Wesley if he knew what had happened earlier at the wedding breakfast. Rosamund had been torn between telling Stuart and simply ignoring it. If anything, Wesley’s cloying cheer at dinner this evening persuaded her that she should tell her husband. She wanted honesty between them at all costs.

And she would have it, too. He couldn’t keep his secrets from her forever.

Could he?

“My, but this mutton is tender and delicious,” Wesley drawled, his gaze pinned on Rosamund. “It’s so moist that it practically falls apart in one’s mouth.”

There was an insinuation in his words that set Rosamund on edge. Apparently, Stuart felt the same way.

“I’ll not countenance any of your antics today, Wesley,” he warned his brother coldly. “It is purely out of deference to my wife’s charity that you are joining us at this table at all. Don’t think I won’t have you hauled out of this room like a petty thief at the first opportunity if I must.”

His words were harsh, and so too was the expression on his face. Gone was the gentleness he had shown her that afternoon in his bedroom. The icy duke had returned.

Wesley, however, appeared unperturbed by his brother’s ire, lifting his wineglass instead with such haste and lack of care that some of it sloshed over the rim of the crystal and splashed on the back of his hand. “To dear Rosamund’s charity. I, for one, am terribly thankful that it is so…generous.”

His gaze dropped to Rosamund’s breasts in a pointed leer. She straightened her spine, barely suppressing the childish urge to launch a fork of mutton at his face from across the table.

“Take care, brother,” Stuart warned. “You are treading very dangerously.”

“Or what shall happen?” Wesley laughed, then took a lengthy draught of his wine. “I rather doubt you would deign to have me removed from dinner before your bride and new domestics. Only think of how the tongues shall wag.”

Wesley was not wrong about that. Gossip traveled quickly through polite society, like fire burning up dry kindling.

“You will conduct yourself as a gentleman at this dinner, damn you,” Stuart seethed.

“There is also the matter of how dear, sweet Rosamund was once my betrothed,” Wesley said snidely. “Only think of what the scandal broth shall be. Everyone will think you’ve turned me out of my own home because Rosamund prefers me and the jealousy is eating you alive. It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has come to pass. I daresay they’ll all swallow it down like mother’s milk.”

“You do not have leave to refer to my wife by her given name,” Stuart snapped, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis and making the dishes rattle in the process.

“I threw you over, if you will recall,” Rosamund interjected with as much calm as she could muster. “I sincerely doubt anyone would believe that I would prefer a drunkard second son I’ve already rejected over the handsome, mighty Duke of Camden.”

Her biting words hit their mark. Wesley cast a dark look in her direction and reached for his wine. “Cheers, sister . You seem to have already learned my brother’s ability for cutting family down as if we were enemy soldiers.”

“I am merely speaking plainly,” she pointed out, unmoved by his attempt to cast himself as innocent.

He was toying with both her and Stuart, just as he had toyed with her earlier at the wedding breakfast. She wanted nothing to do with his games. It made her sick to think that she had once been so foolish that she had believed in his silver tongue, his pretty words and lies. He had only ever been manipulating her and using her to gain what he’d wanted most—her fortune. And now that it would never be his, he wanted something else instead. But she was not about to betray her husband with anyone, let alone with a venomous snake such as Lord Wesley.

“Leave her out of this,” Stuart warned him. “My wife is no concern of yours.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Wesley asked lightly. “Strange, that. I thought the reason you wanted to marry her was so that you could throw her fortune in my face. Perhaps I was wrong. My mistake.”

The insincerity in his voice couldn’t be denied.

“Shut up, Wesley,” Stuart commanded.

“Why should I when I’m only stating the obvious? Everyone at the wedding breakfast knew why you’d married the great heiress Miss Rosamund Payne,” Wesley sneered. “What other reason could you possibly have to want her other than that she was mine first and she’s hideously wealthy?”

Rosamund’s stomach twisted in a knot. It wasn’t as if what Wesley said came as a surprise. She knew precisely why Stuart had married her. Rather, it was having the truth thrown so viciously in her face after everything she and Stuart had shared hours earlier. She felt raw and uncertain and perilously close to the heartbroken woman who had thrown over Wesley after she’d learned the truth.

Stuart shot from his seat, his expression harder than granite as he faced his brother. “You will never speak of my wife so callously again. Get out of this dining room at once. You are no longer welcome here. Indeed, you never were welcome, but it was the duchess’s good graces that enabled you to remain.”

“I haven’t finished eating my dinner yet,” Wesley said with a careless shrug. “Besides, what are you going to do if I don’t leave? Order Mother to come down from her room so she can listen to your tantrums? We both know she hasn’t left her chamber in years.”

Rosamund’s gaze went from her husband to Wesley, then back as she tried to dissect the anger and the accusations the two men were hurling at each other. The dowager’s absence from today’s wedding ceremony and breakfast suddenly made sense if what Lord Wesley had just said was true. Stuart was livid—she had never seen him so furious.

“Leave,” he insisted with quiet menace.

Wesley at last stood as well, staggering a bit as he reached for his wineglass, sending the freshly poured crystal tipping over, a blot of fine French wine seeping into the snowy table linen and spreading quickly. “I seem to have lost my appetite,” he snarled, and then he snagged the bottle with more force than necessary.

Without another word, he stormed from the dining room, slamming the door at his back. When he had gone, the tension instantly began to leach from her. Her shoulders sagged, and she exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“Damn him,” Stuart growled, scrubbing a hand over his jaw before raking his fingers through his hair.

He looked extraordinarily weary in that moment, as if the burden of so much obligation were upon his shoulders. And indeed, given what she had learned today, and after seeing what his relationship with his brother was like, it was clear that he did have a great deal weighing him down. Although she loathed the notion of causing him any further unease, she knew she needed to tell him about her interaction with his brother at the wedding breakfast.

His gaze went to her. “Forgive me, Rosamund. This wasn’t how I intended to spend our first dinner together as husband and wife.”

“You need not apologize. You aren’t responsible for your brother’s actions. However, there is something I must tell you about Lord Wesley, and I ought to have done so before now, but I…”

She allowed her words to trail away, uncertain of how she should proceed.

Stuart tensed anew, his jaw on edge, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he clenched the back of his chair in a death grip. “What of him?”

Somehow, he looked even more rigid, emanating icy fury. Rosamund bit her lip, considering what she would say next with great care. “He seems to have forgotten the manner in which our betrothal ended. I, however, have not.”

“What do you mean, he seems to have forgotten?” he asked, his voice and gaze taking on an urgency that quite unnerved her. “Were you lying to me earlier when you said he wasn’t untoward with you? Did he touch you?”

She thought of the familiar way Wesley had touched her arm that morning, how he had stood in impolite proximity to her. Thought of the blatant innuendo in his smile and eyes. These things, taken apart, could not be deemed untoward. Moreover, she had no wish to kindle further discord between the brothers.

“He laid a hand on my arm this morning when I left the wedding breakfast for the lady’s withdrawing room,” she conceded. “Nothing more. I can assure you that you need not concern yourself that I have any interest in his…attentions. I wasn’t certain if it was worth noting, and I didn’t wish to cause a row on our first day as husband and wife.”

“Of course it was worth noting.” Stuart strode toward her, their plates cooling and forgotten in the aftermath of his brother’s antics. “You should have told me at once.”

“As I said, I didn’t want to be the cause of any upset. I handled him myself.”

He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, taking her by surprise, embracing her quickly and firmly, his chin resting atop her crown. “I’ve no doubt you did, but I should be the one to handle him. He’s my brother. You needn’t suffer him.”

She wanted to ask how she wouldn’t have to suffer him when he lived beneath the same roof, but she also didn’t want to push Stuart further than he’d already been shoved. Rosamund wrapped her arms around his waist, breathing in his clean, heady scent, listening to the steady, reassuring thump of his heart.

“I assure you,” she told him quietly, “I’m more than capable of seeing to myself. I have done for these last thirty years.”

“He intends to seduce you, just as he did my former betrothed,” Stuart said. “You may as well know it. He has told me as much himself.”

His words shocked her. She jerked her head back, searching her husband’s handsome face, which was still stony, his jaw tense.

“But he made his disdain for me more than clear three years ago when I threw him over, and then again this evening,” she protested. “I cannot imagine why he would take an interest in me now that my fortune is no longer available for him to seize.”

“You are beautiful and you are my wife, and Wesley has always coveted everything that is mine. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

“He will stop at me,” she said, old rage she’d thought long cooled burning back to life. “He cannot have me, and my loyalty is to you, Stuart. You know how I feel about him after the way he treated me.”

She hoped that her new husband knew how she felt about him as well. But her pride was too strong, prevailing over her tongue, and these were words she could not make herself speak. Not now. Not yet.

Stuart inhaled sharply, then slowly exhaled. “Thank you. I am sorry to mention such ugliness to you, let alone force you to witness what you did at this table, but I felt you were better warned. My brother is devious and manipulative. He isn’t to be trusted.”

Had their conversation not been so serious and earnest, she might have laughed. “I am more than aware that he isn’t trustworthy. I learned that on my own.”

“Of course you did. Jesus, what am I thinking?” He raked long fingers through his hair, looking suddenly weary. “He makes me half-mad.”

“You have many burdens and obligations resting on you, I think.” She reached up to cup his jaw, unthinking, needing to offer comfort. “I hope you can share them with me. Let me take on some of them for you. We are husband and wife now.”

Rosamund settled her other hand on his shoulder blade, gently rubbing in a circular motion. Beneath her hand, he was all lean, muscled strength. She couldn’t help but admire the way he felt, so masculine and powerful. And much to her shame, although she was meant to be offering solace and understanding in this moment, she was also thinking about his body beneath the trappings of civility. Of how it had felt to be naked with him in his bed, his mouth between her thighs, his cock deep inside her.

Longing sliced through her. What a wanton she was proving to be.

He stared down at her, unspeaking, and then slowly, as if they weren’t in the midst of an interrupted dinner with footmen about to arrive at any second, he lowered his head toward hers. Their lips met, his soft yet insistent, hot and tasting of the sweetness of the wine he’d consumed with dinner thus far. He groaned, crushing her nearer to him, as if he intended to never let her go.

She returned his kiss, trying to show him without words where her loyalty lay, to tell him how much he had somehow come to mean to her. Because she had grown to care for him. There was so much more to Stuart than she had initially supposed. More than she had ever been privy to previously. He kissed her passionately but tenderly, demonstrating with actions rather than words how he felt for her.

And she was grateful for that. She didn’t feel unwanted. Lord Wesley’s cruel words fell away as Stuart’s lips moved over hers with aching skill and care. She held him close, her body already attuned to his, heat pooling at the apex of her thighs. Shamelessly, she rubbed her breasts against his chest, seeking all the contact with him she could have. Still, it wasn’t enough. With Stuart, she always wanted more. And more and more and more.

Lucidity returned to her in the form of the dining room door opening, followed by the hushed footsteps of footmen retreating with the next course, serving ware clinking, the floor creaking. The reminder was necessary. She couldn’t have that just now, not in the dining hall, of all places.

He lifted his head abruptly. “I fear we’ve mortified the footmen,” he said, grinning down at her.

She smiled back at him, his lack of concern infectious. “Do you think they will return with the next course?”

“It depends if I order it.” He kissed the bridge of her nose. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

Was he implying what she thought he was? Did he intend to skip the rest of the meal so that they might entertain themselves by other means? Her heart pounded harder.

“I think I’ve had my fill of this dinner,” she answered honestly.

Because all she wanted was more Stuart. She wanted to be alone with him. Naked with him. In his bed with him. Was it wrong to say such sinful things aloud to one’s husband? She wasn’t sure, so she held her tongue. This was all yet so very new.

“Excellent.” He kissed her swiftly before releasing her mouth to stare down at her, his gaze dark with sensual intent. “So have I. But I haven’t yet had my fill of you. Indeed, I don’t think it’s possible to.”

“I feel the same.”

His mouth found hers yet again for a deep, drugging kiss that had her swaying on her feet before it was done. “I reckon we should leave this dining room before I make a feast of you here on this bloody table. Then we would truly scandalize the servants.”

She held his gaze, feeling bold and powerful and desired. “I’m not certain I would mind if we scandalized them.”

“Sweet God, woman. What you do to me.” Taking her hand in his, he led her from the dining room, the remnants of dinner abandoned on the table linens and the chipped Gilden family porcelain.