Page 13 of The Duchess and the Beast

“Oh?”

“It is old,” he stated simply, his voice a deep growl that was throaty and hoarse. “And I don’t entertain often. Or at all...” A chuckle followed, one that rumbled like thunder over a rocky ocean. “All that is to say, temper your expectations.”

“I am sure it is lovely. And in the countryside too,” she persisted. “I would wager the views are breathtaking.”

“It is surrounded by forest,” he said plainly. “There are no views.”

“Oh...” Virtue blinked, a flicker of disappointment shadowing her features momentarily.

“But the forest is picturesque during spring and summer,” he hurried, recognizing for the first time how cold and dismissive he was being, seeming to want to try harder. A small victory. “I am sure you will love it.”

“That’s nice,” she smiled, feeling a sudden desire to reach out and rest a hand on his. She didn’t, but only because she felt it might not be received. Like trying to pet a rabid hound found in the wild, there was no telling how he might react. “Perhaps you can show me sometime?”

“Show you?” His brow furrowed slightly, puzzled.

“The forest,” she tittered.

“There is nothing in there to see,” he grumbled. She leaned back, but again, he hurried to explain. “But yes, I am sure we shall take many strolls. The lands are as much yours now as they are mine, and I want you to know that.”

“I do,” she assured him. “And thank you.”

Silence enveloped the carriage once more, but this time, he did not retreat to the safety of the window. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on her, those eyes of his scanning her form as if he were truly seeing her for the first time—as a woman, as hiswife. Though her attire was modest, Virtue felt his eyes linger on her bosom, a hint of unspoken desire lurking behind the mask…

She shifted uncomfortably, for now was the first time that Virtue was forced to consider the other side of this marriage, that which would be expected of her once they arrived at her new home. A silly thing to admit but not once this week did she think of their wedding night, and the many nights that might follow. Suddenly, the Duke seemed much bigger than he had, a veritable giant compared to her petite frame. As his eyes lingered on her, she couldn’t help but picture him on top of her, that burly frame, that monstrous body...

Her cheeks began to flush and she hurried to break the quietness with the first topic she could grasp. “Your friend,” she blurted. “He accompanied you all the way from Greystone?”

The Duke’s head tilted slightly, and his intense gaze finally shifted away from her body. “Lord Wellington, yes. But he will ride back in the other carriage with your lady’s maid, I presume.”

“Lucy,” Virtue added with a smile.

“What was that?”

“Lucy. That’s her name.”

“You call her by her first name?”

“I do,” she giggled lightly. “I have known her my entire life. She is more sister than servant, truth be told. Thank you, also. For allowing her to accompany me.”

“Think nothing of it,” he dismissed with a wave. “Your father suggested it, and I saw no reason to object.”

“Oh...”

“But I am glad you will have someone,” he then hurried. “Castle Greystone does tend to feel isolated, so having a friend around will certainly ease the loneliness.” He attempted a smile, but it came off as awkward, almost forced. As if he scarcely did so naturally.

“And this Lord Wellington?” she followed up, not wanting to let the silence fall again. “He is a good friend of yours?”

“He is.”

‘May I ask how you came to know him?”

A relatively simple question, she thought, but at its asking, the Duke’s body stiffened, and his demeanor darkened such that she felt herself shifting back slightly as if worried he might snap. “His brother. He and I were close frie—close,” he interrupted himself tersely.

“No longer?” she asked carefully.

Again, the Duke seemed taken aback by the question. His gaze turned to seek refuge in the landscape passing by the window. “No longer.”

It may have been wise to leave it there. Clearly, it was a topic that His Grace had no desire to speak of. But Virtue reasoned that this man was her husband, his secrets were now her own, and if they had any chance of becoming closer, he’d have to open up to her eventually. And besides, all this small talk... it was as awkward as it was trifling. If she could just get him to open up, which she sensed he wanted to, who knew where it might lead?