Page 18 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)

CHAPTER 18

“ Y our Grace! What an unexpected pleasure.” Thomas jumped up from behind his desk, nearly upending an inkwell. “I didn’t know you were back in London.”

“We only arrived yesterday.” Alice accepted her brother’s enthusiastic embrace, noting with approval how neat his study looked—a marked change from its usual chaos. “I hope I am not interrupting?”

“Not at all. Mr. Stedman and I were just reviewing some potential investments.” Thomas gestured toward the serious-looking gentleman who had risen at her entrance. “May I present Mr. James Stedman? Mr. Stedman, this is Alice, Duchess of Ashthorne, and my sister.”

The solicitor bowed precisely. “A pleasure, Your Grace.”

Three days in London and Alice still wasn’t used to her new title. Especially when Dorian had barely spoken ten words to her since that heated encounter in the dining room. But she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on her brother’s obvious excitement.

“You look well, Thomas.” She settled into the indicated chair.

“My betrothal agrees with me.” His grin was infectious. “Though I might say the same about you. Being a duchess suits you.”

“Does it?” She kept her tone light. “And how are you finding your new responsibilities?”

“Remarkably easy, thanks to your husband.” Thomas sifted through some papers. “The guidance of His Grace’s man of business has been invaluable, and Mr. Stedman here has identified several promising ventures.”

“Nothing too speculative, I trust?” Alice couldn’t quite keep the worry out of her voice.

“Sound investments only, Your Grace,” Mr. Stedman assured her. “Railway shares, primarily, with some carefully chosen property development. Your brother shows admirable restraint.”

Alice tried not to show her surprise. Restraint had never been a word associated with Thomas before.

Thomas shuffled the papers on his desk, revealing detailed ledgers and investment prospectuses.

“Look at this.” He handed her a carefully annotated document. “Evelyn suggested diversifying into canal shares as well as railways. She noticed that the northern manufacturing towns are expanding rapidly, and goods need to move efficiently.” His eyes lit up with genuine enthusiasm. “Did you know that Liverpool’s trade has doubled in just five years?”

Alice studied her brother with a mix of pride and something that felt uncomfortably like loss.

Gone was the rakish lord who would have used these papers to prop up an uneven card table. In his place sat a man who seemed to understand compound interest.

“We’ve also been inspecting the tenants’ farms,” Thomas continued. “Evelyn thinks—” He caught himself, before letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “Listen to me, going on about business matters. The old me would rather have died than discuss crop rotation over brandy.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. And here I thought your only interest in rotation involved which gaming hall to visit each night of the week.”

“Evelyn’s influence,” Thomas explained, correctly reading her expression. “She has a remarkable skill with numbers. Takes after her mother.”

“And you’re happy with these changes?”

“Surprisingly so.” His smile softened. “Though I miss having you here to keep me in line. I thought you were to travel to the country estate? Is everything…” He hesitated. “Is everything well?”

“Of course.” The lie came easily. “His Grace had business to attend to and Ashthorne is peaceful enough.”

“Peaceful.” Thomas’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Right.”

Alice turned to Mr. Stedman before her brother could press her further. “Perhaps you might show me these investment proposals? I have some experience in estate management.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The solicitor spread out several documents. “Though I understand that His Grace has matters well in hand now.”

“Yes.” Alice studied the papers without really seeing them. “So everyone keeps reminding me.”

She had wanted Thomas to become responsible, had prayed for him to take his duties seriously. So why did his competence leave her feeling so… unwanted?

“Alice?” Thomas’s voice was softer now. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

“Perfectly.” She stood up, smoothing her skirts. “I should let you return to your work. I merely wanted to ensure that you were settling in.”

“Give His Grace my regards,” Thomas called as she reached the door. “Though I suspect I’ll see him at White’s. He seems to spend a great deal of time there lately.”

Alice’s hand froze on the doorknob. “Does he?”

Her brother’s casual mention of White’s twisted something in her chest. Of course, Dorian frequented the gentlemen’s club—all men of his rank did. She forced her feet to move at a measured pace down the hallway, maintaining her newfound ducal dignity despite the urge to flee.

But she didn’t wait for an answer. She had her own appointment to keep—tea with Joanna, who would undoubtedly have questions about her marriage.

Questions that Alice wasn’t entirely sure she could answer.

Two young footmen bowed deeply as she passed, murmuring, “Your Grace,” with perfect deference.

Such respect for her position, yet she felt more powerless than ever.

A duchess in name and title, while her duke kept his secrets and his distance.

“There you are!” Joanna swept Alice into a fierce embrace the moment she entered the drawing room. “I have been dying to hear everything. How is married life? And more importantly, is your duke as devastating in private as he is in public?”

“Joanna!” Alice couldn’t help laughing as her friend pulled her to a settee. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Naturally. Now, tell me everything.” Joanna poured tea with her usual careless grace. “And do not spare any details. I’ve been trapped listening to Mama’s friends discuss their rheumatism for days.”

The weeks since her wedding had flown by in a blur of social calls and settling into her role as duchess. Yet as the Season progressed, Alice found herself increasingly alone in the massive townhouse while Dorian attended to his mysterious business affairs.

“There’s nothing particularly exciting to tell.” Alice accepted her cup. “His Grace is often occupied with business.”

“Already?” Joanna wrinkled her nose. “But you’ve barely been married a month.”

“Dukes have many responsibilities, I suppose.”

“They also have very pretty new wives they should be attending to.” Joanna studied her friend’s face. “Though I assure you, there’s been no hint of impropriety. Not that anyone would dare gossip about His Grace.”

“I am not worried about that.” Alice traced the rim of her teacup. “He’s just preoccupied. Distant. I feel there’s something troubling him, but…”

“But he won’t confide in you?” Joanna’s usual playfulness softened. “Men can be terribly stubborn about such things. Particularly men like the Duke.”

“What do you know about Lawrence Lake?” The question slipped out before Alice could stop it. “The late Earl of Treyfield?”

“Ah.” Joanna set down her cup. “I wondered if you’d heard about that. His Grace and the late Lord Treyfield were great friends—inseparable at Cambridge, according to my brother. His death was quite sudden, barely four months ago. There was some talk…”

“What kind of talk?”

“Well, he was young, vigorous. Not the sort to waste away from illness. And His Grace took it particularly hard, they say. Started spending more time in certain parts of London, though no one quite knows why.”

“Certain parts?”

“Less fashionable areas.” Joanna lowered her voice. “Though knowing your duke’s character, I am sure it’s nothing untoward. He’s many things, but dishonorable isn’t one of them.”

“No,” Alice agreed softly. “He takes his responsibilities very seriously.”

“Too seriously, perhaps.” Joanna studied her friend with shrewd eyes. “Dearest, are you truly happy?”

“I…” Alice hesitated. “I hardly know how I feel. Everything happened so quickly.”

“That’s what happens when devastatingly handsome dukes kiss you on terraces.” Joanna squeezed her hand. “Give him time. Men like His Grace do not let people in easily. But he looks at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t quite solve but one he’s desperate to figure out.” Joanna’s smile turned wicked. “Among other things.”

“Joanna!”

“There’s my proper Alice. I was beginning to worry that marriage had made you too duchessy .” She reached for a pastry. “Now, tell me truly—is that connecting door between your chambers as interesting as the gossips say?”

Alice felt her cheeks flame. “You are impossible.”

“So you keep saying.” Joanna’s laugh was pure mischief. “But you’re not denying it.”

For a moment, Alice was tempted to confess everything—the heated kisses, the careful distance, the growing frustration. But some things were better kept private.

Even from one’s dearest friend.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the townhouse as Alice returned. Her steps echoed in the vast entrance hall, making her miss the warmth of Joanna’s drawing room.

“Welcome home, Your Grace.” Wilson, their butler in London, bowed deeply. “His Grace asked me to inform you that he has been called away on business. He sends his regrets that he won’t be joining you for dinner.”

“I see.” Alice kept her voice steady, though something in her chest tightened. “Did he say when he expects to return?”

“No, Your Grace.” Was there sympathy in the butler’s carefully neutral expression? “Shall I have dinner served in your sitting room?”

The thought of the massive dining room, with its endless empty chairs and echoing silence, made her shiver. “Yes, thank you, Wilson. And please inform Charity that I’ll dress for dinner in my chambers.”

But even her cozy sitting room felt empty and cold that evening. The fire crackled cheerfully, the food was excellent, and her lady’s maid had chosen her most becoming evening gown.

Yet, Alice found herself staring at her untouched plate, remembering the way Dorian had looked at her that night in the dining room, as though she was something precious and dangerous all at once.

Now, he could barely stand to be in the same house as her. The fire’s warmth couldn’t chase away the chill that had settled deep in her bones. Her untouched dinner mocked her—each perfectly prepared dish selected with a duchess’s tastes in mind.

Even her solitude was grander now, she thought bitterly. Rather than the cozy isolation of her old room at her family’s townhouse, she had an entire suite of elegant chambers where she felt alone.

“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” Charity asked as she helped Alice prepare for bed.

“No, thank you.” Alice caught her reflection in the mirror—a duchess in her silk robe, perfectly coiffed and utterly alone. “That will be all.”

Charity gathered up the discarded evening gown and carefully draped it over her arm, then she turned to leave.

“Actually, Charity…” Alice hesitated. “You’ve served at several great houses. Is it common for husbands and wives to be so distant?”

Charity paused halfway to the door and turned back. “Every household has its own ways, Your Grace. Though…” She bit her lip, clearly weighing her next words. “His Grace’s reserve isn’t surprising, given his upbringing.”

“Oh?” Alice tried to keep her tone casual.

“Mrs. Phillips—she’s been here since His Grace was a boy—sometimes speaks of those days.” Charity’s voice dropped. “The former Duke was… well, they say he was a cruel man. Very exacting in his standards.”

Alice turned away from the mirror. “In what way?”

“His Grace used to practice his bow for hours in front of the nursery mirror, terrified of disappointing his father at dinner.”

Charity smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the evening gown.

“There was one Christmas when His Grace was perhaps eight or nine. He’d worked for days on his Latin recitation. But when the moment came…” She shook her head. “The former Duke made him start over three times before declaring the whole thing a waste of effort. Sent the poor boy to bed without supper.”

“I see.” Alice’s throat felt tight.

“Mrs. Phillips said that His Grace had learned to keep everything locked away inside from a very young age. It was safer that way.” Charity paused and bit her lower lip as if she were contemplating something. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, Your Grace, some men push others away because they never learned how to let them in.”

The insight hit uncomfortably close to home.

Alice dismissed her maid with a quiet “Thank you,” her mind churning with this new information about her husband. The connecting door to his chambers had never looked more firmly closed.

She pressed her fingers against the smooth wood of her bed post, remembering the heat of his kiss, the way his hands had tangled in her hair, the promise in his touch. Yet, here she sat, a duchess in name only, while her husband spent his evenings only God knew where in London.

Sighing, she turned away from the door. The Season stretched endlessly before her—a parade of social obligations she would have to navigate alone while Dorian attended to his mysterious ‘business’.

At least she had Joanna. And Thomas seemed truly happy with Evelyn. Perhaps that would have to be enough.

But as she slipped between the cool sheets of her too-large bed, Alice couldn’t quite silence the part of her that wanted more.