Page 7 of Promised to the Worst Duke in England (Disreputable Dukes of Club Damnation #2)

June 26, 1815

Averly Hall

Kent, England

It had been two days since Imogen had last seen the duke, and quite frankly, she didn’t care if he’d thrown himself into one of the ponds on the property.

Her beast of a husband apparently spent yesterday three sheets to the wind according to gossip brought to her from Agnes, but at least he didn’t bother her. After the way he’d humiliated her in the dining room two days ago, she couldn’t think upon him with anything other than fury. He’d run roughshod over her protests, had ignored her pleas in order to force himself on her, yet part of her acknowledged that he had a certain skill in carnal relations.

And he’d withdrawn instead of spilling his seed inside her body. Why? Wasn’t he the one going on and on about wanting an heir? About such being her duty?

Damn him for being mysterious and interesting.

None of that mattered now. She’d had nearly two full days to think about their last meeting, and though random tingles played her spine when she remembered that coupling or his hands and mouth on her breasts, that didn’t give him leave to claim her on the dining room table where any of the servants could have seen and watched.

How could she show her father about the manor after that? It was one of the reasons she’d kept to her rooms the past two days.

When a knock sounded on the corridor door of her dressing/sitting room, she sighed. If it was the duke, he should prepare to have her vent her spleen. But upon opening the door, she frowned to see the butler standing there.

“Ah, Landers. What can I do for you?” She’d barely learned the names of most of the staff at the manor, but she should do better, and she certainly couldn’t hide forever. There were duties she needed to perform… ones that didn’t include the duke.

“I am sorry to disturb, Your Grace.” The older man gave her a half bow, and when he straightened, he stared at her over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. “A Lady Miriam has called. She wishes to speak with the duke.”

She frowned. “I’m afraid I have no idea where his sorry arse is.” It wasn’t a secret that she wasn’t enamored of her husband at the moment.

“I realize that, Your Grace.” The butler nodded. “Lady Miriam said in the event the duke was unavailable, she would speak with you. In fact, she said she would prefer that.”

What the devil did that mean? Imogen’s frown deepened. “I’m afraid I don’t know who Lady Miriam is, though.”

“Ah.” Landers bestowed a look of pity on her. “She is you husband’s mistress.”

“What?” Panic collided with curiosity within her chest. “Why is she here at all?”

“I couldn’t say, Your Grace.” One of the butler’s graying eyebrows went up. “What should I tell her?”

“And you don’t know where Averly is?”

“I do not.” The butler shrugged. “The last time I saw him was at breakfast.”

Her eyebrows soared. “He actually ate?”

“Somewhat, but mostly he wanted brandy.”

“Did you give it to him?” Someone had to take the temptation from him.

“No. I told him that we were temporarily out but expecting a delivery tomorrow.” When he shrugged, a sheepish expression flitted over his face. “You are not the only one concerned he might drink himself into oblivion, Your Grace. We’ve been watching over him for years, but you might just be the catalyst he needs to change his ways.”

Was that one secret to understanding why the duke was the way he was? Did she even want to pull at that thread? With no answers, she nodded in response to what Landers had told her. “What if I don’t wish to speak with the woman, since she’s Averly’s mistress? And how bold of the woman to come here to call on the duke! That got her dander up like nothing else.

“I couldn’t say, Your Grace, but it might give you power where before you had none.”

“That’s a wise way of looking at the problem. Thank you.”

The butler nodded. “Lady Miriam is in the gold parlor. I shall tell her you’ll be down directly.”

For long moments, Imogen took deep breaths to calm her racing heartbeat. She peered into her cheval glass to check her appearance. The dress of a robin egg’s blue cotton and silk blend suited her figure, and the trimming of white satin ribbon made her feel young again. It was perfect for summer, but she feared it wasn’t nearly as fine a garment for a duchess. There was a fast need for a modiste, especially with the looming midsummer ball.

I shall worry about that later.

A quarter of an hour later, she went downstairs to the ground floor where the gold parlor was located. It took some doing, for she still hadn’t traversed the whole of the manor house, but soon enough she would conquer it. As soon as she entered the room that featured gold velvet drapes at the windows, gold brocade upholstery, and gold threads in the Aubusson rug of rose, a woman seated on one of the low sofas rose slowly to her feet.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

The title coming from someone who wasn’t a servant rankled in Imogen’s ears. “Lady Miriam.” Clearly, the woman was a daughter of an earl or higher, but she refused to ask. Instead, she took in the paragon before her, the woman her husband wanted and desired more than his own wife.

A couple of inches taller than her, Lady Miriam possessed black hair that wasn’t as lustrous as Imogen had imagined. Pale skin set off her large doe eyes spectacularly, but the faint purple smudges beneath them spoke to exhaustion, while her frame seemed more painfully thin than was surely healthy.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” the other woman continued in a breathless, wispy sort of voice that men no doubt lost their minds over.

And it stuck in Imogen’s craw. “I can’t say the same regarding you. Why the devil is my husband’s mistress calling on his current wife a mere few days after the nuptial ceremony?” She couldn’t help the annoyance. He might be a wreck, but he was hers, and she would defend that.

For the moment.

“Put away your claws, Lady Averly.” The other woman snickered as if the whole exchange was the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “You and I need to speak about the duke.”

“My husband ,” she couldn’t help but point out as she waved the other woman back onto the sofa she’d previously vacated while she sank into a matching chair nearby.

“Yes, but you should know, I have been with him for nearly four years.”

Imogen narrowed her eyes. Her Irish temper bubbled hot within her chest. “Good for you, but he is mine now.”

Lady Miriam refused to be cowed, which forced Imogen to respect her. “While that is true, you don’t love him.”

“That matters not. We are legally wed, and I will ask that you leave him alone.” One of her eyebrows rose in challenge. “You must sever your relationship with him. He can no longer be your protector.”

For a few seconds, silence reigned in the room. Then, Lady Miriam laughed, though it was a bit breathless. “I am not here to steal him away from you.” Slowly, she shook her head. “In fact, I am here to give you some insight regarding Alan so that your union will go more smoothly.”

“What?” That took the proverbial wind from Imogen’s sails. “Why do you care? We are rivals, are we not?” He’d chosen Lady Miriam where he hadn’t chosen her.

“Perhaps, but Averly and I are more friends than we are lovers.” The other woman lowered her gaze to her hands clasped in her lap. “Over the years, he’s wanted someone to talk with more than someone to tupp. Even then, he has certain… needs that might be seen as questionable or depraved. Sometimes I simply don’t have enough strength to indulge him.”

“Oh?” How interesting. “Such as?”

“I’m sure you’ll discover that soon enough, and I don’t want to run you off with stories.”

The mystery surrounding the duke deepened. “Then what do you want? I’m not giving him up.” Because she could be quite stubborn when needed. “If he thinks to ruin my life with this marriage, I’ll do the same to him.”

Again, Lady Miriam chuckled, which turned into a bit of a cough. “I like that you are made of stern stuff; he needs a woman who will stand up to him and help deflate his ego at times.”

“Well, that I can believe. He is quite arrogant.”

“For a reason. Trust me on that.” Lady Miriam sighed. She raised her gaze to Imogen’s. “Don’t let his arrogance run rampant. Remind him of his own humanity when you can. Tell him that he is worthy of good things, as well, for he doesn’t believe that.” A frown tugged her lips downward. “There are also times when Averly is entirely too moody and maudlin. That comes when he’s been drinking heavily. Ignore him during those times. Rarely does that go into anger.”

“Ha. He doesn’t need added fuel for his temper.” Then it was her turn to frown. “But wouldn’t those times be perfect to try and talk with him, find out why he goes into such fits?” Of course, she hadn’t done that the other night when she heard him destroying the dining room when she’d run from him.

What drove him to act like that? For that matter, why was he hurting so much?

“Sadly, he is impossible once he’s a slave to alcohol.”

“Fair enough.” Imogen nodded as her mind whirled from the information. “Why are you telling me all this?” Everyone had a hidden agenda, didn’t they?

Lady Miriam sighed. “Alan is a friend, and a dear one, but I have come today because I love him.”

“Ah.” She couldn’t help but bristle. “That is folly on your part, I think, for he is mine.” Though she cared nothing for him, she was now legally bound to him, and she refused to have his fidelity divided.

“I know, and I am glad for that. He’s delayed taking you to wife for too long. Should have done it years ago, and yes, we have discussed it at length.” The other woman shrugged, but it only made her seem frailer than she really was. “I am also here to admit that I’m dying.”

Shock slammed into Imogen’s chest. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s true.” She nodded. “Of consumption or rather tuberculosis. My physician said I’ll soon have severe symptoms which will sap my strength and leave me bedridden.” Tears welled in her soft brown eyes. “I don’t want Averly to see me like that; I want him to remember me as a vibrant, attractive woman.”

Merciful heavens.

“I see.” Despite the subject matter, she was humbled by the confidence. Tears stung her own eyes. “ That is why you wanted the duke married. Because you can’t look after him any longer.”

“Yes, in part.” Lady Miriam nodded. “However, I also think he deserves love, longs for it, even, but he thinks he’s not worthy, that he will eventually disappoint everyone in his life.”

Imogen frowned. “Yet you never told him how you feel.”

“What is the purpose?” The other woman wiped a tear from her cheek. “I am merely a mistress, not a wife, and I’m dying. I don’t want him to grieve yet again.”

“Again? I don’t understand. Do you mean his father?”

“No. That is something he will need to tell you.” Lady Miriam coughed into a handkerchief which came away with a trace of blood. “Averly is many things, most of which are unsavory, but he is also a good man beneath all of that. He merely needs someone to help him see that for himself.”

Imogen snorted. “You didn’t manage it. What makes you think I will?”

“Because he has no choice.” The other woman sighed. “You are his wife. I never had security. Our relationship was always temporary or conditional.” For a few moments, she remained silent, as if debating with herself to continue or not. “Averly came and saw me on your wedding day. He was quite upset.”

“So he told me. He inferred that he preferred your company to mine.” Imogen blew out a breath of frustration. “Did he wish to break ties with you?”

“No, he wanted comfort. Beneath his worst habits, Averly is quite vulnerable and lonely.”

None of that made Imogen feel better about the situation. “Did you and he…?”

“We did not.” A faint blush stained the other woman’s pale cheeks. “In fact, we haven’t had a physical relationship for months due to this illness. I simply don’t have the stamina or strength to indulge him any longer.”

“Oh.” Surprise smacked into her, but she still didn’t understand. If she and Averly didn’t enjoy a physical relationship, what was the point of them being together? “Why, exactly, are you here, Lady Miriam?”

“Simply this. I’m asking that you not hate him out of hand based on his reputation, which he has carefully cultivated for years as a way to hide, I think.” She coughed again. “Instead, please consider understanding him and perhaps if fate is kind, love him.”

“What?” Perhaps she’d misheard.

The other woman nodded. “I mean what I said. Please love him. Fall in love with him if you’re able. I’ll wager he’s never had much of that in his life.” Her expression turned sad. “No doubt he has already taken from you what you didn’t wish to give, and while that is some of the sort of man he is, it’s not all. Averly doesn’t know how to properly express himself, which is why he needs a strong woman by his side.”

“Ha! And you think that’s me?”

“You married him. I did not.” Lady Miriam shrugged. Her body shook when she coughed. “Bear all of this in mind, Lady Averly. Give him latitude. And if you still can’t stomach him after a month, or if he is fighting you with every step, then do what you will, but promise me you will give your union a chance.” Pleading filled her dark eyes. “I have a feeling you need each other.”

“That is a large ask, but I will keep your words in mind.” And it was the wish of a dying woman, so it should at least be considered. “Did you tell Averly the same thing about me?”

“I did.” She nodded. “The day of your wedding.” A cough interrupted her words. “But I haven’t yet told him that I’m dying. In that, I am a coward.”

Her heart unexpectedly went out to the other woman. “Would you like me to do it for you?”

For one second, Lady Miriam’s eyes lit. “Please?”

Imogen nodded, and she felt oddly lighter. “I will.” The whole conversation was quite maudlin, and she needed a distraction. “Stay for tea?”

“I cannot. There is much to take care of, and I have limited time to do it before my strength fails.” Slowly, the lady rose to her feet. “Thank you for seeing me, though. Now that I’ve met you, I’m comforted, for you will prove a good match for Averly even if you don’t believe it now.”

Rising as well, Imogen quickly rushed to fill the silence. “Shall I write to you and keep you informed?” It was the least she could do, as a kindness for a dying woman who truly cared for her husband.

“I would enjoy that. Thank you.”

Not particularly in the mood to take tea alone, once she’d seen Lady Miriam off in her coach bound for London, Imogen went off in search of her absent husband.

Did she consider him in a new light now that his mistress had come to call? Perhaps, but she wouldn’t go along with him on the path to destruction. If she didn’t have the luxury to get through the horrors from her past, he didn’t either. They would both need to stare at them headlong and fight through the pain.

Perhaps she did need him as well. Yet coming to terms with her marriage, with him, would take more convincing on his part and more trust on hers.

Finally, she found the duke in the portrait gallery, which ran the length of the longest corridor, or rather the straight portion of the letter “L” shape of the manor house.

“Have you been here for a while? No one knew where you were.”

He shrugged. “Here and elsewhere. There are many times when I wish to be alone.”

“I understand, and quite frankly, I have had enough of being alone for two lifetimes.” Her life after being banished to Marchfield Hall had been riddled with loneliness, fear, and second guessing. Never remorse, though, for she wasn’t at all sorry for the life she took, and now that he could never bother any woman again with unwanted advances, she felt that she’d done England a great service.

“Do you speak from experience?” The duke didn’t turn to face her. Instead, he continued to stare out of the floor to ceiling picture windows with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Yes, and no, I don’t wish to talk about it.”

A grunt was his only response.

For the first time, Imogen didn’t have enough courage to give him the dressing down he so richly deserved. Not after what Lady Miriam told her. She swept her gaze over his person, noting that he’d dressed in the latest stare of fashion, chose a jacket of green superfine that brought out the matching hue in his hazel eyes, held himself with military precision but she rather doubted that he’d ever fought for England.

Not a duke’s only son.

“How many times in a week do you come here?”

“As many as I need.”

“Fair enough.”

Despite the doubts she still harbored toward him, the anger, Imogen took a few steps closer to his position. A comfortable winged back chair in green brocade rested at either side of the windows; the upholstery matched the drapes. Oil paintings lined the walls, hung in thick frames with gilt painting, depicting views around what she assumed were the various properties in the duchy as well as portraits of Tattingers that had gone before.

“I come from a long line of men who valued coin, property, and standing over family or even personal connection therein.”

“Sadly, I have some understanding of that myself.” As openings went, it was small, but she would take it, because she was curious, and damn his eyes, she wanted to know if he could help bear some of the weight she carried.

“I figured you might.” He nodded. “I, uh, suffered a harsh childhood. My father would often beat me and my sister when the pressures of life pressed in on him. Those included gambling, whoring, and whatever else he could find that would distract him from his life.”

Another wave of surprise slammed into her. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“I do… Er, rather, I did,” he admitted in a barely audible whisper. “My mother was closer to her, but she, uh… took her own life after certain… events unfolded.” His shrug only moved one shoulder, and even then, not much. Clearly, she meant everything to him.

“Would you like to talk about her?”

“No.” The word was propelled from what sounded like a tight throat. “I haven’t talked about her for years, don’t think I can.”

Imogen nodded. She took a few more steps toward him, close enough that she could look down upon the rear lawn of the estate. In the very far distance, a large body of water glistened in the sunlight that kept peeking behind the clouds. “Is that the sea?”

“Yes. We went there often when we were younger. Often, I couldn’t wait to come back to Kent and visit the seashore.”

“I have never once seen the sea in person.” She laid a palm on the window glass. “Not even to Brighton. Like you, I was the forgotten one, only in my case, my parents adored my brother and found me lacking, shameful, naught but an embarrassment.” It was odd, this finding something in common with her husband who was still much a stranger.

“It’s a terrible burden at times, especially when you are the one who survived.” When he temporarily glanced at her, she met his gaze, stunned at the wealth of emotions in his eyes, the strongest of which was sadness. “Once my father died six years ago, my mother wasted no time in prodding me to be a better duke than my father. Despite all that he was, she loved him, but she wanted more from me. I couldn’t give it, for I struggled with my own demons.” He blew out a breath, glanced at a long, narrow table beneath one of the portraits where a cut crystal glass of brandy rested.

But he didn’t reach for it.

“Eventually, once she came out of mourning, Mother refused to watch me destroy myself, refused to mourn for yet another family member if I was so bent on destruction, so she moved to Rome. She has said that she won’t come home until I sort my life, as if I’m not worthy enough for her to stay on and help me through my own grief.”

That was quite a large insight into this man’s past. “I’m sorry that your family has let you down. When that happens, it feels much like a betrayal.” At least it did for her.

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me why your sister took her own life?” If she could keep him talking, perhaps she could come to the crux of why he was constantly running, hiding, wanting to make himself into the worst version of himself… to be certain he was unlovable.

“Not today.” Finally, he turned to face her. “I don’t wish to dwell on the cesspool that is my life.” Before she could respond, he quickly tugged her into his arms and immediately claimed her lips.

That was a shock, for besides the time in the traveling coach, he’d never made the overture. Though she didn’t enjoy the brandy on his breath, his kiss was divine, and he certainly knew what he was doing, and he was quite handsome when he was flirting with vulnerability. With a sigh, Imogen rested her palms on his chest, lifted onto her toes, and then did her best to kiss him back. Yes, she was still furious after what he’d done to her in the dining room the other night, but perhaps they could come to an understanding or at the very least, he might offer up an apology.

As with every dealing she’d had with him, he was far too intense and compelling. He slipped a hand to her arse, squeezed a cheek, then pressed her against the hard wall of his body, so close there was no ignoring how aroused he’d become during their conversation and kiss.

And damn him for reigniting desire in her that had been building since the traveling coach incident.

After his kisses became deep and drugging, even demanding that she give him what he wanted, the duke moved her backward over the floor then pushed her onto one of the winged back chairs. “I want you,” he said as he shoved up her skirting to put her legs on display.

As much as his kisses made her forget her own name, she shook her head. “This is not the time nor the place. We need to talk.”

“I don’t care, and I am done talking just now.” He kneeled before her with a wicked glint in his eyes. “You are my wife, and I want you.” As he spoke, he yanked her legs apart. “I know I’ll disappoint you, have probably already done so, but at least I’ll get my rocks off on a regular basis.” Then he pulled her to the edge of the chair with his hands on her thighs, spreading her open for his perusal. “So damned beautiful,” he murmured seconds before he put his mouth on her, teased her from fore to aft with his tongue.

A gasp from the unexpected pleasure of it escaped Imogen as she clutched the armrests of the chair. “Oh, God.”

“Not quite, but perhaps a duke is close enough,” he murmured against her sensitive flesh, and the trembles he left behind only enhanced her sudden need.

As he held her thighs wide, he made short work of devouring her as if she were a feast at a banquet. His lips and tongue were seemingly everywhere; soon enough he’d teased the button at her center out of hiding. The man sucked on it, tortured it within an inch of its life while Imogen writhed in the chair, held captive by circling pressure and pleasure that sought to swallow her whole. The inventive friction he provided from the different rhythms from his tongue were impossible for her to ignore, and all too soon, she was sent over the edge into a soft release.

“Ah!” Gentle convulsions fluttered through her core as she dug her fingernails into the armrests. “I wasn’t ready. It came on too fast.”

“That is due to skill, duchess.” As he straightened, he offered a grin.

After what Lady Miriam had revealed about him, Imogen understood him a bit better, and what was more, if she removed pity from the equation, she was left with empathy and understanding. It was a start, but would he give her the same?

Damn his eyes. She bounced to her feet, and since he was so near, she took him by the shoulders and kissed him. Perhaps he would find that more comforting than words. When she tasted her own arousal on his lips, she found it oddly… attractive. “Are you quite finished, Averly?” When she attempted to tug his shirttails from the waist of his breeches, he batted her hands away and shuttled her toward the windows.

“Hardly.” With a growl, Alan shoved her up against the glass, which was cool against her back, and all the while, he kissed her, took possession of her mouth, telling her in no uncertain terms that she belonged to him.

When he took her wrists in his hands, held them to the glass above her head, the new position added a wicked edge to the embrace she rather enjoyed. At her quick inhalation of breath, he grinned and then transferred his hold to one hand, pinning her there, and he was surprisingly strong. “Oh!” As she halfheartedly tried to free herself, she also acknowledged the sharp desire that lanced through her lower belly from being partially restrained. “This is… different.”

A spark ignited in the backs of his hazel eyes. He claimed her mouth again, and this time lightly bit her bottom lip as he wrenched away. “One of these days I’ll tie you to my bed and then fuck you into oblivion, but right now I want things raw, messy, and immediate.”

Another wave of surprise went through her. “I thought we were done when you’d sent me flying?”

“One thing about me, duchess, is that I am never done and rarely satisfied.” As he spoke, he wrenched open his frontfalls. When his engorged length tumbled out, he kept her wrists pinned to the glass above her head. “You are in the vortex with me now, and there is no escape. At least there hasn’t been for me.”

“I never said I wanted to run.” But that didn’t mean she trusted him.

There was no time to think, regardless, for the second he released her wrists, he took one of her legs and hiked it to his hip. Once he delved through layers of skirting, he then rubbed the wide head of his member along her folds. Moments later, as she held onto his shoulders, he flexed his hips and with a powerful thrust, he impaled her, claimed her body right there where God and everyone within the manor could see.

Their moans blended together. Her husband might be many things, but he knew how to play a woman’s body to advantage. While he plowed into her with hard, frantic strokes that went impossibly deep, Imogen’s eyes fluttered closed. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, the fabric covering them while her body was rocked with so many sensations she couldn’t keep track of them. At this rate, she ran the risk of becoming all too addicted to him before anything meaningful could grow between them.

If that would even be possible.

He pinched her hip, and the brief pain ripped through the pleasant cloud so that she opened her eyes to meet his dark gaze. “Scream, duchess. I want to hear how I’m driving you into insanity.”

“Why?” Shivers racked her body as he moved, but when he put his free hand between their heaving bodies to bedevil her swollen button, her control fractured. It was the beginning of the end.

“Because I’m a bastard with a too large ego.”

So Lady Miriam had said. Then the coupling, the friction, the duke himself was too much, too big, too demanding, and she was quickly overwhelmed. Once more, she went over the edge, lost to the moment, and despising herself for enjoying how he instinctively knew what she enjoyed. And to humor him with no idea why, she let loose a keening cry and would worry about the embarrassment later.

With a half-muffled shout for his own release, Alan once more withdrew from her passage. Seconds later, he spilled his seed on the window beside her. As his length pulsed, it spattered until he was spent. Heat went into her cheeks, both from anger that he found fault with her to not share that with her and for the fact that some poor servant would need to clean his mess.

As the strength leeched from her limbs, Imogen could do nothing else except collapse into the chair she’d recently vacated. “If we are to continue with this marriage toward a common goal for any length of time, I must demand that you cease drinking to excess.” Though she wanted nothing more than to bask in post-coital bliss, they needed to talk. “It does more harm than good, and keeps you in shifting moods. I lived like that with my father, and I detest never knowing which man I’m presented with.”

“Why?” The duke stuffed himself back into his breeches and did up the buttons.

She shrugged. “If you want me in any capacity, Alan, you’ll do this.” She stood, though her legs shook. “I won’t change my mind.”

For long moments, he remained silent as he studied her, but the emotions in his eyes were shadowed. Finally, he nodded. A hint of a plea briefly lined his face. “I will make a concerted effort.”

It was that brief moment of humanity that tugged at her chest. “Good. I look forward to navigating our union with clear heads.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” He offered a tight grin. “Something must change.”

It was more than she’d had this morning. “And Averly?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you insist on withdrawing when you find release?”

A ruddy flush rushed up his neck above his collar. “I don’t know if I want children, and I haven’t a clue if you do either. Until we talk on that subject, this is the safest option.”

He was giving her a choice. It was unexpectedly sweet and out of character for him, but it helped to lower her own ire. “That is a condition of the marriage contracts.”

“That doesn’t mean we both want offspring or to bring them into this mess.”

That slight consideration tugged a smile from her. “Thank you. I appreciate that. For the moment, I’m afraid I can’t answer the question, and I certainly don’t want my father to have that additional payment.”

An unexpected laugh escaped him, and when he grinned, it took years off his countenance. “Neither do I.”

She nodded. “We will discuss it at another time.” Feeling much at sixes and sevens, Imogen left him for her suite; he was quite intense and she needed time away from him to discern how she was to survive the next month let alone years with this man who held so many secrets without sharing most.