Page 35 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)

CHAPTER 35

“ M ore coffee, Your Grace?” The footman’s voice startled Alice out of her contemplation of Dorian’s distracted profile.

“No, thank you.”

She set aside her barely touched cup, watching as her husband stared unseeing at his morning correspondence. The morning light streaming through the breakfast room windows highlighted the shadows under his eyes—evidence of another night spent alone in his chambers. In the week since the wedding, they had not spent a night together.

“The Carmichaels have invited us to dinner next week,” she ventured, trying to draw his attention. “Lady Carmichael mentioned that their new chef was trained in Paris.”

“Hmm?” Dorian glanced up briefly. “Oh. Send our regrets. I’ll likely be occupied with estate matters.”

“Estate matters seem to occupy you rather frequently these days.” She kept her tone light, though her heart felt anything but. “One might think you were avoiding Society. Or perhaps just avoiding me?”

That got his attention, though his expression remained carefully neutral. “Don’t be absurd. I simply have responsibilities that require my attention.”

“Of course.” Alice reached for a piece of toast, more for something to do with her hands than from any appetite. “Though you seemed to manage those responsibilities well enough before Thomas’s wedding.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Things change.”

“So I’ve noticed.” She dropped all pretense, meeting his eyes directly. “You’ve hardly spoken ten words to me in days, Dorian. If I’ve done something that offended?—”

“Not everything revolves around you, my dear.” His voice was so cold that her stomach lurched. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my accountant awaits.”

He stood up, and for a moment Alice thought he would leave without their usual morning farewell. But he bent to brush his lips across her cheek—a gesture so perfunctory that it might have been offered to an elderly aunt.

“Don’t wait dinner for me,” he added, already turning away. “I’ll be late.”

Alice watched him go, her breakfast turning to ash in her mouth. Where was the man who had teased her over coffee just last week? Who had kissed her with such passion in his study that they’d nearly scandalized the housemaids?

This stranger who wore her husband’s face was worse than the rake she’d first encountered at Madame Rosa’s. At least then, his barbs had held heat. This cool indifference felt like ice in her veins.

Something had changed at Thomas’s wedding .

She watched through the window as Dorian’s carriage pulled away. The way he’d withdrawn after the breakfast, the way his eyes had shuttered when Lady Westhaven mentioned children…

But try as she might, Alice couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment her husband had started building walls between them. She only knew that with each passing day, those walls grew higher, and she was running out of ways to scale them.

The dining room’s oppressive silence was broken only by the soft clink of silver against china and the footmen’s carefully measured steps. Alice watched Dorian push his food around his plate, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“Cook outdid herself with the duck,” she said, more to break the silence than from any real enthusiasm. “Though perhaps you’d prefer something else?”

“It’s fine.” He didn’t look up.

“Phillips mentioned that you spent the afternoon at White’s.”

“Did he?”

The monosyllabic responses grated on her already frayed nerves. “Yes, right after your meeting with the accountant. Which is strange, since Mr. Patterson mentioned that you’d canceled your appointment when he came here.”

That got his attention.

His head snapped up, his blue eyes finally meeting hers. “You’re having me followed now?”

“I shouldn’t have to.” The words got out before she could stop them. “My husband used to at least make the effort to lie convincingly.”

“Alice—”

“No.” She set down her fork with deliberate care. “I’ve watched you withdraw for days, making excuses and avoiding my touch. I’ve endured your cold courtesy and diplomatic answers. I think I deserve to know why.”

“There’s nothing to know.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’ve simply been preoccupied.”

“With what? Estate matters?” Her laugh was devoid of humor. “Or perhaps you’ve grown tired of maintaining the facade of a happy marriage?”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” The word tasted bitter on her tongue. “Is it dramatic to wonder why my husband suddenly can’t bear to look at me? Why he spends his nights anywhere but our bed?”

“I told you when we married that this was a marriage of convenience.” His voice turned to ice. “I’m sorry if you developed… expectations.”

“Expectations?” Alice stood up, her chair scraping across the floor. “Like expecting my husband to treat me with basic courtesy? Or perhaps expecting the man who kissed me senseless in his study last week to at least explain why he now acts as though I’m a stranger?”

“Alice—”

“No, please, continue.” She could hear the hysteria in her voice, but she couldn’t stop. “Tell me more about our convenient arrangement. About how you never meant for things to become complicated. How you were just doing your duty when you married me.”

He stood up as well, his face like thunder. “You’re being irrational.”

“Am I? Then explain it to me, Dorian. Explain why you’ve built these walls between us. What changed at Thomas’s wedding? What made you start treating me like a duty to be endured rather than a wife to be cherished?”

“I never thought our time together would be permanent.” The words fell between them like stones.

Alice felt the blood drain from her face. “What?”

“This marriage was necessary to save your reputation.” His voice was perfectly controlled, perfectly cruel. “I’m sorry if you interpreted it as something more.”

“Interpreted?” She stepped back as though he’d struck her. “Was I interpreting things when you made love to me in this dining room? When you held me at night and whispered sweet words in my ear? When you looked at me as though I were precious?”

“Alice—”

“No.” She held up a hand, surprised to find it steady when her whole world was crumbling around her. “Don’t. Don’t try to soften the blow with pretty words. You’ve made your position quite clear.”

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her at the door. “Where are you going?”

“Does it matter?” She didn’t turn around, couldn’t bear to see the indifference in his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll find some estate matter to occupy yourself with until I return.”

“You’re being childish.”

That made her turn back, fury replacing the hurt. “And you’re being a coward. Something has frightened you—frightened you so badly that you’re pushing me away. And instead of trusting me enough to tell me what it is, you’re hiding behind this facade of ducal indifference.”

“Not everything is about you.”

But something flickered in his eyes—pain or fear or both.

“No,” she said quietly. “But this is about us. And until you’re ready to tell me what’s really going on, I think it’s best if I stay with Joanna.”

“You can’t just leave.”

“Watch me.” She lifted her chin. “You wanted distance, Dorian? Consider this my contribution to our convenient arrangement.”

She swept out of the room before he could respond, barely keeping her composure until she reached her chambers. Only then did she allow the tears to fall, hot and bitter against her cheeks.

“Charity,” she called, proud of how steady her voice sounded. “Please pack a small valise. I’ll be staying with Lady Joanna for a few days.”

As her maid hurried to comply, Alice caught her reflection in the mirror. The woman who stared back at her looked pale but determined, every inch a duchess despite her broken heart.

Let him have his distance . Let him hide behind his walls and his duty. I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.

But even as she prepared to leave, some part of her hoped— waited —that he would come after her, that he would explain what demon drove him to push her away.

He didn’t come.

“Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashthorne,” Longworth announced solemnly, though Alice caught the flicker of concern in the elderly butler’s eyes at her unexpected arrival.

“Alice!” Joanna rose from where she’d been playing cards with her parents in the family drawing room. “What a lovely surpr—” She broke off, clearly seeing something on Alice’s face that alarmed her.

“Your Grace.” The Marquess of Sutcliffe set his cards aside and rose to bow. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

“My lord, my lady.” Alice managed to bob a proper curtsy, though her composure felt paper-thin. “I apologize for calling at such an hour, but I wondered if I might impose upon your hospitality for a few days?”

Lady Sutcliffe—Margaret to her intimates—exchanged a quick glance with her husband. “Of course, my dear. You know you’re always welcome here.” Her kind eyes took in Alice’s pale face and traveling cloak. “Richard, perhaps you might ring for tea?”

“An excellent idea.” The Marquess turned to the butler. “Longworth, please have Lady Joanna’s old nursery prepared for Her Grace so she and Joanna can be next to each other.”

“Already being seen to, my lord,” the butler replied with the prescience of long service.

“Alice.” Joanna looped her arm through Alice’s, her usual playful manner tempered by concern. “Come sit by the fire. You’re trembling.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Alice said automatically, though her voice wavered. “I simply needed…”

“A refuge?” Lady Sutcliffe’s soft voice nearly undid her. “Sometimes we all do, my dear.”

“Especially from husbands,” Joanna added, earning a sharp look from her mother. “What? I assume His Grace is being particularly ducal and impossible.”

A laugh that almost sounded like a sob escaped Alice’s lips. “Something like that.”

“Well then.” Joanna sat Alice on the sofa before wrapping her in a soft shawl. “You shall stay here, and we’ll plan suitable revenge. Perhaps we could invite Lord Drakeley to dinner—that always puts me in a better mood.”

“Joanna!” Lady Sutcliffe scolded, though her lips twitched. “Do try to remember that you’re speaking about a duke.”

“A duke who has clearly upset my dearest friend.” Joanna sniffed. “Title or no title, that makes him fair game.”

“Perhaps,” Lord Sutcliffe suggested diplomatically, “we might let Her Grace catch her breath before planning any campaigns of revenge?”

Alice felt something in her chest loosen at their easy acceptance, their willingness to shelter her without demanding explanations. The Sutcliffes had been her second family since she and Joanna were little girls, sharing secrets and dreams in this very room.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I won’t stay long, I promise.”

“Nonsense.” Lady Sutcliffe poured tea with maternal efficiency. “Stay as long as you need. Sometimes distance provides the perspective we need.”

“And sometimes,” Joanna added with characteristic frankness, “it reminds stubborn men of what they stand to lose.”

As the evening settled into comfortable conversation around her, Alice felt her rigid control begin to crack. These people had known her since her childhood and had watched her weather her family’s struggles with quiet dignity. Here, she didn’t have to be the perfect Duchess. Here, she could simply be Alice, nursing a broken heart among those who loved her.

Later, as Joanna helped her prepare for bed in the familiar nursery, she asked no questions. She simply hugged her tightly and whispered, “He’ll come to his senses. And if he doesn’t, we’ll make him regret it.”

For the first time that day, Alice managed to crack a genuine smile.