Page 4 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Four

“T his is the library, Your Grace,” said the housekeeper, Mrs. Bell, walking briskly into an extraordinarily large room lined with tall bookshelves. The woman turned to Christine with a fixed smile upon her face. “And that concludes the tour of the house. Do you have any questions?”

Christine gaped at the small, round woman, who bustled with energy, and clearly knew her job like the back of her own hand.

The tour through the house had proceeded like a whirlwind. Mrs. Bell had talked nonstop as they toured the downstairs rooms, the servants’ quarters, and upstairs, taking in the great hall, chapel and ballroom. The housekeeper had walked so quickly she had barely been able to keep up with her.

Ironstone Castle was enormous. And daunting. Christine had thought she was going to be the mistress of a small manor house…and now, this sprawling, intimidating house was her new home.

How would she be able to handle it?

The housekeeper was gazing at her expectantly. Christine cleared her throat.

“No, I do not have any questions,” she replied, appalled to hear the tremor in her voice. “Or rather, I will ask questions as they arise.” She flagged, suddenly feeling very tired. It had been a long, trying day. “If you could show me to my own chambers so I might refresh myself…?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” said the woman, her eyes hardening. “If you will follow me, I shall see you settled at once.”

Christine followed her down the long hallway, biting her lip. She knew Mrs. Bell was disappointed with her—she wasn’t behaving in a poised manner, as befitting the new Duchess of Ironstone. And all she could think was how differently Violet would have handled this situation. Her sister would have taken control and handled everything with her usual calm, self-assured confidence.

Violet was born to become a duchess. But now, I am forced to fill her shoes. And I am not up to the task. Not at all.

Her feet slowed as they passed a room, which was clearly the nursery. She heard childish, high-pitched giggles emanating from within.

Her heart clenched with distress. She had disappointed the duke’s daughters, along with everyone else. They had been expecting the beautiful, brilliant Violet to be their new mother, after all.

She hesitated at the open nursery door, peering inside. One of the girls was playing with a porcelain doll and tea set, putting a small teacup to the doll’s mouth, and scolding the doll soundly for refusing to drink from it. The other girl was sitting on a rug on the floor poring over a large book.

Christine frowned. It was hard to tell the duke’s daughters apart, but she was almost certain that the girl with the doll was Isabella, and the one looking at the book Beatrice.

They both had long brown hair, curled into ringlets, and big blue eyes, that they had clearly inherited from their late mother, not the duke. But otherwise, they had his coloring and were very like him. Pretty, and clearly confident, given the way they had addressed her earlier.

Yes, Isabella is the one with the doll—I recognize the small mole on her neck. And Beatrice’s nose is more snubbed than her sister’s. But otherwise, they are almost identical.

Suddenly, both girls looked up, staring at her in the doorway.

Christine started, smiling hesitantly, her heart pounding hard. They did not return the smile.

“Your Grace?” It was Mrs. Bell, her tone slightly impatient. “We are almost at your chambers.”

“Oh!” Christine backed out of the doorway. “Of course.”

They proceeded on their journey down the hallway without speaking again. Christine felt tears pricking behind her eyes.

The duke’s daughters didn’t like her. This housekeeper didn’t like her. And the duke most decidedly didn’t like her, either. He had rudely walked off to his chambers without even accompanying her on the tour of the house, to settle her in. He had abandoned her to the housekeeper entirely.

“Here we are.” Mrs. Bell stopped at a door, rounding on her. “These are your chambers, Your Grace.” Her eyes slid to the door next to it. “And those are the chambers of His Grace.” She paused. “There is a connecting door between the chambers, naturally.”

“Of course,” mumbled Christine, her face burning brightly.

She couldn’t look at the housekeeper. She knew what that connecting door meant. It was for when the duke decided to visit her for his conjugal rights.

Violet had calmly told her what to expect from marriage, when she and her sister had found out they were to be married on the same day.

“Your husband will expect to ravish your body,” Violet had said, unable to suppress a shudder. “It is just the way of it, Christine. It is how a baby is made, but besides that, gentlemen like it. In fact, I have been told it is all they can think about.” She shuddered again. “Apparently, they do not care if you like it.”

A pang of fear entered Christine’s heart.

Would the duke be opening that connecting door tonight, expecting his conjugal rights, whatever they were?

Judging by Violet’s shudders, it was sure to be an unpleasant experience. She just wished she knew what it was, and what to do.

He is a brute. It is sure to be unpleasant. But I suppose it is my duty, along with everything else, now. I must accept my fate.

* * *

That night, Edwin was seated in his favorite seat in his chambers, sipping a brandy and reading a book beneath candlelight, when he heard a small knock on the connecting door between his chambers and the duchess’ chambers.

He frowned, placing the brandy down, his eyes swiveling to the clock on the mantelpiece.

It was ten o’clock at night. What on earth did his new wife want at this hour?

He got up, opening the door, before reeling back, just a little.

The duchess was standing there wearing nothing but her long white nightgown.

A nightgown that had fallen open slightly at the bodice, exposing a tantalizing sliver of her creamy, full breasts. Her dark golden hair was loose, streaming down her back, in undulating, silky waves.

She fixed those bright blueish-green eyes upon him. His mouth went dry.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” she said quickly. “I was just wondering why you did not dine with me or your daughters this evening.”

He was so taken aback by her directness, and the sight of her in that nightgown, that he couldn’t speak for a moment. Desperately, he tried to collect his wits.

“It was a long day and a long journey,” he replied eventually, his voice clipped. “I have been away from home for days. I had work to catch up on. That is all.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening. Then she frowned. “You truly could not take an hour out of your schedule to dine with your family?”

A wave of intense irritation swept over him, warring with the sudden pang of his arousal at the sight of her. A whiff of her lavender perfume enveloped him.

Against his will, he took a step closer, breathing it in.

It is only because it has been so long. Nothing else. And it must be controlled. Keep your distance.

The dark cloud within him clawed again, calling him a traitor. No, he wasn’t a traitor; he’d married for his daughters. They needed a duchess around, a lady to look up to.

“Do not challenge me in such a way,” he said, in a low, furious whisper. “I keep to my own schedule and have always done so. You have no right to question my movements, madam.”

She winced, as if he had struck her across the face. “I was under the impression that we are married now,” she said, her bottom lip sticking out, in a maddeningly distracting way. “You truly want to avoid spending any time getting to know me at all? You mean for us to be strangers forever?”

“Exactly so,” he growled, forcing himself to take a step back from her. “It is the way of many high marriages. This is a marriage of convenience. Nothing more and nothing less.”

A small vein started throbbing in her right temple. He suppressed the urge to reach out and touch it with difficulty.

“But what about your children?” she said, in a low, affronted voice. “It is not right not to dine with them, if you do not have another engagement.”

“You have only just arrived at Ironstone,” he growled. “You have no right to lecture me about how and when I spend time with my own children!”

There was a tense silence. They stared at each other, the air thickening imperceptibly around them.

“I am sorry,” she said abruptly, her eyes swimming with tears. “I have overstepped.”

“Indeed,” he said, in a cold voice. “Is that all? May I return to my brandy in peace now?”

“But…” She stared at him. “It is our wedding night…”

“What of it?” He knew his voice was callous. “As I told you in the carriage here, and have just repeated again, this is a marriage of convenience. Nothing else.”

She reared back, stung.

Another wave of desire swept over him. He balled his hands into fists at his side, trying to fight it.

Nothing good could come of him giving into it. She was his wife in name only and she had to remain so. He had married her to procure a mother for his unruly daughters. Sleeping with her would only muddy the waters, which he had to keep pristine.

He couldn’t risk another failed marriage.

She squared her shoulders. “I was only trying to do my wifely duty. I will leave you. Good night.”

She turned around, walking into her own chambers, shutting the door firmly in his face.

Edwin stared at the door, suppressing the urge to push it open again.

The thought of her in that nightgown, with her hair streaming down her back, was going to haunt him tonight. He just knew it. Another wave of irritation swept over him.

Why did she do it? Why did she enter my chambers in that nightgown? To tempt me?

Abruptly he turned, marching stiffly back to his chair and sitting down. He was so aroused it was painful. He shifted in his seat, trying to ignore it.

Desperately, he picked up his brandy, taking a long gulp.

Suddenly, an unexpected pang of guilt for talking to her in such a callous way rose inside him. She didn’t deserve that. She was his wife now, after all. And he supposed she was only trying to be the best wife she could, according to the romantic notions of a well-bred innocent young lady.

He gritted his teeth, putting down the brandy, staring into the flickering flames of the fire.

He could try to meet her halfway and dine with them at night. It would help her settle and get to know the girls. But that was where he drew the line.

Now and forever.