Page 11 of His Temporary Duchess
“We are not friends.”
Luke’s smile faltered a little. “Well… no,” he admitted. “But we were, and we could be again.”
“I suppose you expect me to invite you to the wedding breakfast?”
“Not at all, but I have already spoken to your lovely wife’s mother, and she graciously extended me an invitation.”
No doubt in case he might be tempted by one of her daughters, Eleanor thought cynically. Margaret never wasted an opportunity, no matter how fruitless it may be.
“Tomyhouse?” the Duke demanded. “She has a nerve... Very well, you may attend if you have a wish to, but do not speak with me, and it would be preferable if you stayed well out of my eyeline.” He tugged Eleanor after him as they left the man behind and left the church to where a carriage was already waiting.
“Who was that?” Eleanor whispered.
“No one. A man I used to know, and whom I very much wish I did not still know.”
“Why? Did he do something terrible?”
He handed her into the carriage and gave no answer. Fortunately, his home was not far away, and it only took them five minutes to ride there. Eleanor was not looking forward to that evening, when everyone would leave and it would be just them together in the house. Although if he had no particular desire to marry her, perhaps he would spend no time with her at all.
Until that evening.
She decided it would be better for her sanity if she did not think about that, especially in the wake of their kiss.
They entered his extravagant townhouse and breached the dining room, where their sumptuous wedding breakfast had been laid out. She paused in the doorway, all thoughts of her new husband passing out of her head. This had all been put on forher. Whether or not the Duke liked her, and she very much doubted from his behavior that he did, he had still made this effort for her. As his wife. For the first time in her life, she would be the center of attention, and not because Margaret wanted to point out her faults.
The Duke glanced down at her face and grunted, taking his place at the head of the table. “The sooner this is over, the better,” he said under his breath, and Eleanor’s smile faded. Still, she soon perked herself up. This was a rare opportunity, and she would make the most of it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sebastian watched Eleanor eat and talk with that good-for-nothing scoundrel Luke Thornton, the Earl of Greycliff. Yet another man who had left him, and who now sought to be in Sebastian’s good books because he figured it suited him.
He swirled his wine broodingly. For all intents and purposes, the wedding had gone off without a hitch. But he felt as though he had been trapped against his will, bound to a woman whom he cared nothing for, and whose idea of a delightful time appeared to be a distinctly mediocre dinner.
Still, as he watched her, an idea occurred to him. Whenever she glanced at her stepmother, she shrank back, as though fearing cruelty. A shy thing, his new wife, and nervous around those she perceived as some kind of threat.
A timid creature like her would be easy to intimidate, no doubt. Easier still, he was sure, to convince to dislike him. Perhaps evenloathehim. An unkind word or two, that was all it would take,and she would become dissatisfied in the marriage. Better still, she might even take it upon herself to annul it. If he were to keep himself from consummating the marriage, such a thing might be done with very little damage to either of them.
Well, perhaps some damage. But as he had no wish to marry anyone else at present, and he was certain that his name would carry Eleanor through any mishaps, he hardly saw any reason for concern.
Mr. Pratt had made his lamentable situation perfectly plain: he was not to end the marriage under any circumstances, or that might make it fraud and him ineligible for his inheritance. But if hiswifewere to independently take those steps, that would not render his agreement void. He would have fulfilled his duty; it would not be his fault that his chosen bride disliked him so much she could not bear to remain married to him.
He noted the way Eleanor’s head dipped when she spoke to her half-sister—the particularly nasty one. Isabel, perhaps? Yes, she certainly seemed timorous enough.
How fortunate that he had landed on both a wife that had not aspired to his title—thus meaning she would not feel any pang at relinquishing it to marry another—and that would submit so easily to his tormenting.
He pushed aside any qualms at the idea of frightening her enough to convince her to annul the marriage. It would not be so very difficult—a few cruelties on his end, enough unfair expectations on her as his wife, and she would be relieved toleave him. Then they could both enter a life they preferred. He would be free, and so would she.
“Your Grace?” the lady to his side asked, leaning in, her arms pressing her bosom together in a calculated, yet less-than-subtle way. “You appear deep in thought.”
Obnoxious family. He barely spared her a glance. “Indeed I am. Merely thinking how fortunate I am in my choice of bride.” He gave her a bland smile. This was the middle sister, he thought. Annalise? Annabel? Not that it mattered. “I believe it is time to leave. You must excuse me.” He pushed back his chair, and the entire room turned to look at him. Eleanor, engaged in conversation with Luke, glanced up in confusion.
“Come, wife,” he said brusquely. He may as well put his plan into action now, at least a little. Not too much in public—let them all think he was the contended groom—but enough to make her fearful of what was to come. “Jarvis, have the carriage brought around. We leave for the country at once. Is everything packed?”
His butler materialized in front of him. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Excellent. Busy day ahead. See that we depart without delay.”
Eleanor rose immediately and did not demur, barely even pausing in order to bid her family farewell before following him from the room. Well, that was hardly to be surprised about: she evidently had little love for the remainder of her family, and no doubt she thought they would be retiring to a life of marital bliss.