Page 12 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
“ G ood God, Valemont, you look like hell.”
Ewan glanced up from his untouched brandy to find Ralph sliding into the seat across from him at the dimly lit inn. The Boar’s Head was hardly the sort of establishment a duke typically frequented, but it was discreet, and discretion was precisely what Ewan required tonight.
“Charming as always, Tenwick.” Ewan gestured to the serving girl. “Another brandy for my friend.”
“I’m serious.” Ralph settled back in his chair, his keen eyes studying Ewan’s face. “You’ve been married all of ten days, and you look positively haggard. Should I be concerned about the state of your health? Or perhaps your sanity?”
“Neither. I merely required a change of scenery.”
“Ah.” His friend’s lips twitched. “And how precisely does one require a change of scenery from one’s new bride? Unless, of course, she’s particularly… demanding.”
Ewan shot him a warning look. “Careful.”
“Forgive me.” Ralph raised his hands in mock surrender. “I never thought you’d become protective of your duchess. Tell me, how is married life treating you?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” Ralph laughed. “Good Lord, man, you’ve been wed less than a fortnight. How complicated can it possibly be?”
Ewan took a long sip of his brandy, considering his words carefully.
How could he explain that his wife affected him in ways that terrified him?
That every moment in her presence was a battle between desire and self-preservation?
That he’d fled to London like a coward because he could no longer trust himself around her?
“She’s not what I expected,” he said finally.
“Better or worse?”
“Both.”
Ralph studied him for a long moment. “You know, I’ve never seen you quite so… unsettled. It’s rather fascinating.”
“I’m not unsettled.”
“Of course not.” Ralph’s tone was thoroughly unconvinced. “You merely abandoned your new bride to drink alone in a tavern. Perfectly normal behavior for a newly married duke.”
Before Ewan could respond, the Marquess’ expression shifted to one of poorly concealed amusement. “Speaking of family matters, I trust you’ve heard about your dear nephew’s recent high jinks?”
Ewan’s jaw tightened. “What has he done now?”
“Oh, where do I begin?” Ralph leaned forward, clearly relishing the opportunity to recount Percy’s latest escapades. “Well, there was the incident at Lady Rothwell’s soiree last week. Your nephew, in his infinite wisdom, decided to entertain the ladies with a magic trick.”
“A magic trick?”
“Indeed. He somehow procured a rabbit—God knows where—and attempted to make it disappear from a hat. Unfortunately, the poor creature had other ideas. It relieved itself all over Miss Cavendish’s new silk gown.”
Ewan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Christ.”
“Oh, but there’s more.” Ralph was clearly enjoying himself now. “The very next day, he appeared at White’s with a fencing sword, challenging young Lord Dowding to a fencing duel over some perceived slight. Naturally, he lost spectacularly and spent the remainder of the evening sulking in a corner.”
“Please tell me that is all.”
“I’m afraid not.” Ralph’s grin widened. “The pièce de résistance was the Weatherby ball. Percy arrived wearing a theatrical mask and proceeded to perform what I can only assume was a soliloquy from Hamlet. All the roles, mind you. He played Hamlet, Ophelia, and the ghost of Hamlet’s father.
The poor boy was practically foaming at the mouth by the end. ”
Ewan stared at his friend in horror. “How bad was it?”
“Well, Lady Vexley fainted.” That much was enough of a testimonial, he supposed.
“Bloody hell.” Ewan ran a hand through his hair. “I was gone for two weeks. Two weeks, Ralph.”
“I know.” The Marquess’ expression softened slightly. “Perhaps it’s time you considered keeping a closer eye on the boy. He means well, but without proper guidance …”
“He’ll destroy what little reputation the duchy has left,” Ewan finished grimly.
“He won’t destroy anything,” The Marquess said firmly. “He’s young and foolish, nothing more. But he does need someone to rein him in.”
Ewan nodded, already dreading the conversation he’d need to have with Percy upon his return. “I suppose I should be grateful he hasn’t managed to get himself killed.”
“The night is young,” Ralph said cheerfully, earning himself another glare.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of two women at their table. The first, a striking brunette with painted lips and knowing eyes, smiled boldly at Ewan. Her companion, a petite blonde with an actress’s practiced grace, focused her attention on Ralph.
“Your Grace,” the brunette purred, her voice carrying the slight accent of the theatre district. “How delightful to see you again.”
Ewan recognized her immediately: Vivienne Moreau, a French actress who had warmed his bed on several occasions the previous winter. Her companion was newer to him, though her bold gaze and confident posture marked her as a dancer from one of the more notorious establishments.
“Miss Moreau.” Ewan inclined his head politely. “I trust you’re well?”
“Very well, thank you.” She moved closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of the table. “Though I confess, I’ve missed your… company.”
Ralph cleared his throat. “Ladies, perhaps you’d care to join us for a drink?”
“How generous,” the blonde said, sliding into the seat beside the Marquess with practiced ease. “I’m Celeste. And you are?”
“The Marquess of Tenwick, at your service.”
Vivienne remained standing, her attention fixed on Ewan. “I have a room upstairs,” she said quietly, her meaning unmistakable. “If you’d care to… renew our acquaintance.”
For a moment, Ewan considered it. It would be so easy to lose himself in familiar pleasures.
Vivienne was uncomplicated, available, and skilled in the arts of physical pleasure.
She would ask nothing of him beyond the night, demand no emotional intimacy, threaten no part of his carefully guarded heart.
But even as he opened his mouth to accept her invitation, Samantha’s face flashed in his mind.
Those startling blue eyes, the way they’d darkened with desire during their dinner conversation.
The soft catch in her breath when he had touched her hand.
The proud tilt of her chin when she had challenged him.
“I’m afraid I must decline,” he said abruptly, rising from his chair. “I need to return home.”
Vivienne’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Home? But it’s barely past midnight.”
“Nevertheless.” He tossed coins onto the table, more than enough to cover their drinks. “Enjoy your evening.”
His friend looked up from where he was already engaged in animated conversation with Celeste, a knowing smile playing at his lips. “Of course, Your Grace. Give my regards to your duchess.”
Ewan shot him a warning look, but the Marquess merely grinned wider.
As Ewan moved toward the door, he heard Vivienne’s voice behind him: “Well, if His Grace must abandon us, perhaps you’d enjoy the company of two lovely ladies, Lord Tenwick?”
“Oh, who am I to turn that offer down?” He laughed, the sound rich with debauchery. “Let us enjoy the night together, my pretty birds!”
Ralph’s delighted laughter followed Ewan out into the night, along with the sound of agreement from both women. Under other circumstances, Ewan might have been amused by his friend’s good fortune.
Tonight, however, he could think of nothing but the journey home and the woman who awaited him there.
The house was dark when Ewan returned to Valemont Hall, save for a single light flickering in one of the parlors. He made his way through the silent corridors, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors.
As he passed the partially open door, he caught sight of a familiar figure curled in one of the armchairs, a book in her hands and the firelight dancing across her auburn hair.
“What are you reading?”
His wife of twelve days jumped, the book nearly sliding from her grasp. Her wide blue eyes met his across the room, and he saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to compose herself.
“I… Your Grace. Forgive me, I didn’t hear you come in.” She clutched the book tighter, as though it might shield her from his presence.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He stepped into the room, noting how she tensed at his approach. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s nothing of consequence.” She rose from the chair, smoothing her dressing gown with nervous hands. “I should retire. It’s quite late.”
She moved toward the door, but he stepped sideways, blocking her path. Not close enough to trap her, but enough to make his intentions clear.
She obviously did not like that, what with the way she bristled. “My Lord, please. Let me pass.”
“Why are you so intent on avoiding me, Samantha?”
“I am not avoiding you, Your Grace.” The denial came too quickly, too defensively.
“Oh, come now, my dear,” He took a step closer, gratified when her breathing quickened. “Then why do you flee every room I enter? Why do you time your meals to avoid dining with me? Why do you inspect corners like a military scout before venturing anywhere in your own home?”
Color flooded her cheeks. “I do no such thing.”
“Don’t you?” He moved closer still, near enough to catch the faint scent of lavender in her hair. “You can’t even look at me without blushing. Your pulse is racing right now, isn’t it?”
“That’s… that’s not …” She lifted her chin defiantly. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know more than you think.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I know you’ve been thinking about me, wondering about me. Just as I’ve been thinking about you.”
To maddening distraction , in fact.
“You flatter yourself.” But her voice lacked conviction to make it hurt.
“Hm.” He reached out, his fingers barely grazing her wrist. “Then why haven’t you forgotten about me? Why does that dance we shared six years ago still matter to you?”
She went very still. “What?”