Page 107 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

Or for leaving her alone?

CHAPTERTWENTY

For four days, Alexandraalmostforgot she had killed a man.

That she’d been raped by one.

That someone perhaps wished her ill, or worse.

For fourblessed,busy days, she’d buried her troubled memories in the familiarity of a crypt. She’d toiled alongside her husband to unearth the bones of his celebrated ancestor.

Instead of focusing on her own grave concerns, she spent a great deal of time enjoying her husband’s company.

And lamenting the fact that he didn’t attempt to drag her into any more dark alcoves. That he hadn’t so much as kissed her since that night on the veranda.

Why that bothered her, she couldn’t tell, but it did.

It bothered her with increasing frequency and intensity.

He’d teased her, flirted with her. Tormented her, even, with scalding looks and brief, if titillating physical contact. A brush of his hand. A stroke of her hair. A memoryof what they’d already shared. A promise of what was to come.

But nothing more.

They dined together. Drank together. Laughed and chatted and socialized. Every moment in his company had been naught but a delight. And, from what she could tell, he enjoyed her company also. Despite his brutal features and intimidating moniker, he’d won over students and servants alike with his unabashed wit and unpretentious nobility. It wasn’t just his title that she could take pride in, but the man, as well.

Alexandra woke every morning less and less astonished to find that she felt enthusiastic, impatient even, to dress and hurry downstairs. Not only to begin her work at the catacombs, but to find her husband awaiting her at the bottom of the stairs, offering his elbow to escort her to the site.

She went to bed every night alone with nothing but a kiss on her knuckles as a token of his esteem.

It kept her up at night, the why of it.

She’d asked him about it the night before last. Invited him into her bedroom.

His hand had tightened on hers, but his mouth was no less gentle as he pressed it to her knuckles.

Blue flames had threatened to singe her as he’d replied. “Five days.”

This morning, after awakening no less than a hundred times in the night plagued by a restless and terrible feeling, Alexandra capitulated to the idea that she’d get no more sleep and had dressed uncharacteristically early.

Three days now,she’d realized as she all but skipped down the stairs awash with a new, optimistic fervor and a smile in her heart. Three days and the state of her empty womb would be confirmed.

Three days and he’d be one step closer to trusting her. In this respect, at least.

She’d reached the lobby before her husband did, and was called over by the desk clerk.

“A note for you, Your Grace.” He extended a small ivory envelope with a solicitous smile.

An envelope identical to the one she’d dreaded nearly every month for the last decade.

It might have been another lovely day, Alexandra mourned as a flush of hot panic ignited little pinprick fires over her skin.

If she’d never killed a man.

She knew the author of the letter before her unsteady fingers grappled it open.

Her sin had followed her to Normandy.

It followed her everywhere, didn’t it? Wherever she’d escaped to on the globe, her blackmailer had known. Had found her. And a letter had arrived like a clockwork nightmare.