Page 8 of The Duke’s Return (Dukes of the Compass Rose #2)

T he following morning, Julian shambled into the carriage with a groan before collapsing onto his bench.

He had not slept well. Buried elbow-deep in his numerous files, he’d lost count of the lords and politicians prodding at him for attention and defenses for his behavior.

Never before had anyone cared for his absence or his activities until now, requesting his compliance as though they could demand anything of a duke.

At least I don’t think they can. But it’s not a bet I should take judging on the potential risk.

Just as he ran a hand through his hair, having set his hat beside him, the carriage door opened again to grant access to his wife. He stared as Genevieve entered with careful movements that ended with her neatly fixing the wrinkles in her traveling gown.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she murmured without meeting his gaze. Then she reoriented a basket at her side to pull out a ball of yarn and two needles for knitting.

“Good morning,” he echoed.

His eyes trailed over his wife as the carriage started to move at last, on their way out of London and bound for the countryside.

It was a momentous move in many forms. This was the property for which they had married, after all, for which he had bound himself to another person when he had spent thirty years swearing he would never do.

It was the hair he remembered the most, raven-black and shiny.

She hadn’t curled it this morning. Instead, she had simply bound her hair back in a single plait that trailed down her waist. A little childish and yet it only refined her oval face and stormy gray eyes that were obviously determined not to pay him any mind.

She was taller than most women and while her body featured a womanly softness, he was all too aware now of her sharp edges.

Have they always been there? I don’t remember them from when we met.

The time passed by slowly as their carriage suffered through the morning chaos of London before they reached the edge of the city. With the curtains open, it was another easy distraction for Genevieve, and she took every advantage, looking everywhere except at him.

Blast it, why did I agree to staying in the carriage? I should have brought my horse along all the same. I don’t know if my old horse Knightly is still in condition for my morning rides.

As for Julian, his mood had yet to improve. It was irritating the way she wouldn’t so much as offer him a glance. A smile. There was nothing. Blaming it on his lack of sleep, he decided it was time they talked. Even if it was only for a minute.

“You’re wearing a bonnet inside the carriage,” he said, having deliberately ignored it for as long as he could. Perhaps he could learn why she would dare wear something so dreary. “Did you do something to your hair?”

“My hair is just fine, thank you,” she responded in a stiff tone. Without looking at him once. She hadn’t even missed a motion in her knitting. He couldn’t tell what it was, but her hands moved swiftly and neatly.

He tilted his head while settling his hands over his stomach. “It’s not exactly a complimentary sort of bonnet.”

Inside, Julian preened when Genevieve slowly lifted her head to stare at him. He hadn’t even had to try that hard. But he made certain to appear as comfortable as possible, absolutely unbothered and certainly not needy. If he was anything, he was lazy. Never lonely.

“I didn’t know you were the sort to care about a lady’s bonnet,” she said in a flat tone.

“Not in particular. But even away from home, I can stay atop the latest fashions,” he said and nodded toward his personal finery. It would be covered in dust, surely, by the time they reached his southern estate, but a gentleman always needed to look his best. “I dress as a duke should.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then you’re saying I don’t dress as a duchess should?”

“Well, you are my wife…”

“Hardly.” The tiniest most darling snort he’d ever heard escaped Genevieve, and it took all his strength not to smile at the sound. She sounded awfully put out. “It is only in name. You don’t know what I’ve worn for the past year; this is the third day in which we’ve had a chance to converse.”

I think ‘only in name’ still matters, especially when we have a certificate to prove it.

He tsk ed. “Perhaps I might have changed that if I’d known what sort of bonnets you typically wear.”

“It’s a reasonable and respectable bonnet, whereas your traveling garb is hardly reasonable. Especially when you slouch like that, which is hardly befitting a duke,” she added snidely.

“A duke can sit however he likes,” Julian said defensively, eagerly taking the bait. He felt the tension rise between them when the young woman glowered his way. “After all, you’re sitting like that?”

“Like what?” she demanded.

But he just returned her comment with a smirk.

That made Genevieve huff. “What a scoundrel you are, Your Grace. Hardly fit for company. Really, do you slouch most awfully. You’re going to tear a seam. And I won’t be the one to fix it,” she added with a stubborn tilt of her chin.

“No? I thought that’s what a wife does.”

“You wouldn’t know since you’ve been gone all this time,” she told him as though he needed a reminder.

“But I’m here now.”

“So?” She had glanced away for a second, down toward her knitting needles. Then she looked back up and met his gaze. There was ferocity in her eyes, a neatly lit fire set just for him. He had been stoking it all this time without real intention. Now, however, he saw it and he liked it.

Genevieve might have been a quiet, private duchess who never left a mark in the gossip rags––he looked whenever he could––but there was a fire within her.

Knowing this now, he couldn’t help but to let his lips curve slightly upward.

He knew. A flush crept up her lips as she stared at him.

Their eyes met and he could see the question in them, followed by concern and doubt.

There was that familiar suspicion. She held his gaze for some time, impressing Julian.

He had expected her to fold much sooner.

But for all their sharp retorts and bickering, their constant need to bite at one another, he supposed they would do just fine for strangers in this marriage.

“You are too much, Your Grace.”

He blinked. “Am I?”

“You’re staring,” she accused him. “I cannot concentrate on my shawl when you look at me thus. It’s hardly proper manners.”

A heavy feeling suddenly toppled against his chest and into his stomach, leaving him uncertain of what to say next. What to do. His amusement went out the window in realizing that he was just as affected by her as she was by him. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Carriage rides are more dangerous than I recall. This proximity is much too close for comfort after all. Never again. I’ll purchase a donkey before I’m forced to do this again. What am I doing beyond losing my mind?

He let out a grunt. It was all he could think to say. He was a husband, certainly, but one without any knowledge of how to be one or how to treat a wife.

It’s not as though my parents offered any reasonable example.

Seconds became minutes. The carriage tumbled along uphill and then down, curving around the path and leading them further south. Silence settled between them, admittedly somewhat uneasy, for a while.

But not forever, because Julian still had more to say.

He eventually found the words, matters that actually needed to be discussed instead of pointed fingers. Mulling over it for some time, he let Genevieve finish her shawl. He told himself it was merely out of courtesy instead of the intriguing need to watch her fingers flying alongside the needles.

“We need to speak.” His voice sounded too loud in the silence between them. He was certain it even echoed.

There were so many small ways to show an expression. His wife did them very well in the simple lift of her eyebrow. “We did. It didn’t go well.”

“It is important that we are seen in a companionable way,” Julian started only to realize that didn’t sound right. The alarm on her face told him so. Straightening up, he gave a quick shake of his head. “In public, we need to present a united front.”

Genevieve stiffened. “Is this part of some plan of yours? To what end?”

For this, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He didn’t like talking business. And he didn’t like talking about this with his wife. But it needed to be done, and much sooner than later.

“I told you there some rumors, did I not?”

That immediately had her hunching her shoulders in distaste. He braced himself for a lecture about the family name.

“Rumors hardly seem to justify the need to leave London in such haste,” she said, “but I suppose this is what most people do when their names are dragged through the mud, as you said. They flee the city.”

If only matters were so simple. But he decided to be relieved when the lecture didn’t come.

Julian rubbed his hands together before he went on to explain himself.

“They are rumors. Serious rumors, I’m afraid.

” He saw her straighten from the corner of his eye.

“Enough to hurt the family name, clearly, which is why I am here. With you.”

“What did you do?”

As if I could have done something wrong. Honestly.

He sucked in his lips before letting out a loud breath.

“The drawing rooms are talking about us. But so is half of London and soon the countryside will too, if they are not so distracted by which way the window blows. We must do everything in our power to curb these rumors at once. I cannot state that clearly enough. If not, our reputations could very well become unsalvageable; why, we could even lose…”

For some unfathomable reason, he couldn’t say it. The title. The money. Their honor. Everything.

Eyes widened as she began to realize how vital this matter was for them. “What happened?”