“What?” Adelaide and Emily cried in unison.
“That odious toad,” Emily continued. “How dare he have the audacity to think he can question the Duchess of Selridge. You did tell him, didn’t you, Marcus?”
“Of course, I did,” Marcus replied coolly. “I assured him none of my wife’s friends would do anything so foolish as to steal dogs or harm his lackwit son. I would never subject my wife to something as insulting as an inquiry into the character of her friends.”
“Especially not when you can do it yourself,” Adelaide muttered under her breath.
“What did you say, dear?”
“Nothing, Emily.” She smiled. “Nothing at all.” She took another bite.
“Perhaps you might write to Crosby and ask if he knows of anyone coming to Yorkshire for some fun. You do have to answer his letter, after all.”
“Yes. I do.” Would this dinner never end? Surely it was time for the next course. Perhaps it wouldn’t taste so strange. If it was something Marcus particularly liked he would stop his inquisition and forget the matter entirely. Yes, and perhaps the sun would rise in the west tomorrow morning.
Emily raised her glass and a footman moved to refill it. Marcus continued to stare at Adelaide. His mouth was curved in a polite smile. It did not reach his eyes. Those long fingers caressed the stem of his wineglass aimlessly. Or perhaps not so aimlessly. Her husband seldom did things for no reason. They had not been married long, but she knew that much about him.
What she did not know was exactly what Marcus thought Dylan had done and what he intended to do about it. For some reason, she felt there was more to this than the theft of a few dogs. Wishful thinking on her part.
“Addy, dear, are you sure there is nothing wrong?” That insincere superior grin of his annoyed her no end. She almost wanted to confess everything just to wipe that grin off his face. Almost.
“Why do you keep asking me? You have all but accused a very dear friend of mine of being a thief, but I assure you I am perfectly fine.” She was so proud of the duchess-like tone she employed. Even her mother-in-law noticed it. She smiled and nodded her approval.
“Addy, I can assure you I do not think either of us has friends who would steal,” he said in that frosty ducal tone she hated. “Dogs, that is. I simply asked if you were upset because you have eaten an entire plate of eel casserole.”
Adelaide looked down at the meager remnants on her plate. She suddenly felt quite queasy. Marcus looked at her and raised his eyebrow. “Fosters?” she said even as she glared at her husband.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Serve the next course please.”
After a much more pleasant evening in the cozy front parlor Marcus and Adelaide bid the dowager duchess a good night and ascended the stairs to their suite. He was a bit quiet as he opened her bedroom door and then proceeded next door to his own. Adelaide did not realize how odd it was until Bess had helped her change into another of her decadent nightrails, brushed out her hair and wished her a good night with a wink and a smile.
Marcus did not have a valet. Although she realized he was perfectly capable of dressing and undressing himself, she knew he would have to have one once they returned south to Winfield Park. A duke without a valet simply was not done. Perhaps she would ask Jeffries if he knew someone. It seemed the sort of thing a wife might suggest.
As nervous as she was about Marcus’s suspicions in regard to Dylan, she could not bring herself to avoid her handsome husband. They had shared a bed every night at the hunting box. She loved waking up next to him in the morning, even if Bess did smirk at them when she brought in their morning chocolate. Adelaide’s parents had always shared a bedroom. She wished to do the same.
She crept to the door which separated their rooms and pressed her ear to it. The only sound she heard was the click of Romulus and Remus’s nails on the wooden floor of Marcus’s dressing room. The doorknob turned easily enough and she greeted the dogs quietly before she walked through to his door. She found it slightly ajar. The dogs pushed it open and pranced in to circle him before they settled on the thick rug before the hearth.
Marcus stood staring into the fire, a half-full brandy balloon in his hand. He had stripped out of his jacket and waistcoat. His cravat was tossed onto a chair on top of them. She was content just to look at him for a moment. The firelight and candlelight highlighted the planes and angles of the unscarred side of his face. He was, once more, the young major she had fallen in love with only a year ago.
She knew now her love had been only a step above calf-love. She had fallen in love with his pretty face and the magnetic energy a soldier who had faced death exuded. Now she knew the real man, or at least was beginning to do so. Despite the bitter disappointment she’d faced when they’d first arrived in Yorkshire, when he’d been so obvious in his resentment of her presence in particular; she had the feeling the man she was getting to know was far more than a pretty face and a uniform. In spite of his changeable moods and withdrawal at even the mention of anything more than affection, she loved the real Marcus as much as her fantasy. In fact, she loved him more.
“I want you to end this friendship with Crosby, Adelaide. Immediately.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Marcus turned to watch as shock; hurt and then anger traversed his wife’s face. He’d expected the anger and possibly the shock. It was the hurt which surprised him. Then again, he’d made her come in search of him and had stated his cold demand in a deliberate attempt to catch her off her guard. His questions and insinuations at dinner did not work. So now, because of a stupid damned letter, (He was heartily sick of letters of any kind at this point.) he’d ambushed his wife very much as his father had pounced on him or Julius when he suspected them of some wrongdoing. Addy was young, but he had begun to discover she was not a child.
“Excuse me?” The words were bitten off so sharply he heard the click of her even white teeth. Her face turned a barely perceptible shade of rose. Those luminous brown eyes snapped. He would not be surprised to see fire shoot from their gold flecks. When she crossed her arms beneath it, her glorious bosom nearly broke him. He made himself turn and step toward the tufted leather bench at the foot of his massive tester bed.
“You must end your friendship with Dylan Crosby, Addy. You are the Duchess of Selridge now. Your friendship with a man like him is unacceptable to me.” He settled himself onto the bench with a casual ease he did not feel.
“A man like him?” Addy moved to stand so close to Marcus the hem of her sheer lace nightrail brushed the tips of his Hessians. He tried to keep his eyes on the delicate pink toes which peeped at him from under her hem. The strident tone of her voice as she continued drew his gaze upward. His mouth went dry at the sight of her delectable body outlined by the fire’s light behind her. “What exactly does that mean? Dylan has been a friend of my entire family since my brothers and I were in nappies. He is a gentleman and heir to the Earl of Wessex. What is it you find objectionable about him?”
Marcus looked up into her face. She was so defiant, with her lips in a tight line and her little chin jutted out. He wanted to kiss her, but resisted the urge to do so. He’d not spent tonight’s dinner trying to discover her feelings for Crosby and the rest of the evening brooding over the contents of the man’s letter to alter his decision because of his wife’s nubile body and kissable lips.
“His reputation is not one I want associated with my wife.” Marcus tried to keep both his tone and expression neutral. It was, however, the last thing he felt. This was what he’d worried about when he realized he would actually marry Addy. After only a week she was already wreaking havoc with his carefully ordered life and his detached approach to emotional upheaval. “You are a married woman now. This childish attachment has no place in your life any longer.”
“Childish attachment? Of all the—” Her eyes narrowed. “Does this have anything to do with Sir Delbert’s accusations? Do you honestly believe Dylan would steal that horrible m
an’s poor dogs?” Her distress was obvious, although he thought her sudden pallor and the strange look in her eyes a bit odd.
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Crosby is a rake and a seducer, but he has no reason to steal Sir Delbert Finch’s hounds. This has nothing to do with the magistrate’s idiotic accusations.” She seemed to relax a bit. Perhaps she would be reasonable after all.
“I am pleased to hear it,” she said. She crossed to the hearth and sat in the worn leather chair situated before it. With her legs drawn up and tucked beneath her she looked like a little girl. “Although I do wonder why you were so insistent on discussing his idiotic accusations at dinner.” He wondered if she did that deliberately—adopted the posture of a little girl only to remind him she was actually a very perceptive woman.
“Merely making conversation.” He gave a wave of his hand in the hope she would believe him. It had not been a terribly bright idea and only served to further his suspicions about her relationship with the notorious scoundrel. She’d defended Crosby at every turn. Had he not read that letter and seen her face as she read it, he would have believed she had simply spoken in defense of her friend. Now he did not know what to think.
“I see.” Something in her steady gaze made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This was intolerable. She suspected him of something when she was the one who had burned the letter and then lied about its contents.
“So, we are agreed then.” He strode to the highboy and began to unbutton his shirt cuffs.
“Agreed, Marcus? About what?”
“You will end your friendship with Crosby. You will have far too many duties as my duchess to spend time with him anyway. I am sure he will understand. After all—”
Her peel of laughter startled him. “Really, Marcus. Please tell me you are not serious.”
He felt as if he’d been dunked in an ice-cold stream. By God, he was serious and he fully intended she understand it immediately. “I have never been more serious in my life, Adelaide. You are my wife and I will not have you continue this friendship. It is as simple as that. Now, shall we go to bed?”
“What?” He was certain they probably heard her in the stables. She shot out of the chair and glared at him incredulously. “No, it is not simple. Who do you think you are, to order me to toss aside a friendship of long standing on some silly male whim of yours?” Her face had gone from rosy to quite red. “We will not be going to bed or anywhere else until we have settled this.”
“It is settled, madam.” Now he sounded like his father, which was fine if it worked.
“It is not settled.” She stalked over to him and put her finger in his chest. “I have no intention of taking orders from you, Selridge, so get that idea out of your stubborn, handsome head this instant.”
“I am your husband and you will do exactly as I say. I will not have the entire ton speculating about your relationship with a known rake.” Anger, the anger he’d struggled the last six months to conquer, bubbled in his chest. Where did it come from and why did it pick now to rear its ugly head?
Addy lightly touched her cool hand to his crossed forearms. She smiled sweetly and rubbed a tiny circle on his heated flesh. “Don’t be like this, Marcus. You really must stop this foolishness before you make me cross.”
“I am not one of the servants, madam, to be ordered about with a smile and a sweet tone.” An icy calm had settled over him. He’d not felt it in so long, he failed to recognize it for what it was.
Addy laughed softly. “I think I might prefer the servants to you at the moment, sir. At least the servants like me.”
“Of course, they like you, Adelaide. They are paid to like you. They can hardly do otherwise, now can they?” He would not have thought it possible had he not seen it. She flinched, but only in her eyes. The soft intake of her breath, the sudden glisten in the doe-soft windows to her soul told him the damage he had done.
“Of course.” A flutter touched her voice. “How silly of me to think anyone could care for me without payment.” She took a step back and then another. “Tell me, Marcus. Do you like me?”
“That is a ridiculous question.” What on earth was he saying and why was he saying it? This was not how he’d intended the conversation to go at all. “Of course, I like you, Addy.”
Her dainty feet trod to the dressing room door in silence. With her hand on the doorknob, she looked at him, her expression devoid of any feeling at all. “Well, I think I can guess what form my payment for your regard takes.”
“Adelaide, dammit, you’re taking this all wrong.” He started toward her.
“Actually, Your Grace, I’m not taking it at all. And since I find your regard less than satisfactory, I won’t be paying for it anymore either.” She pointed her nose in the air, stepped through the door and slammed it in his face. The distinct click of a key followed.
“Adelaide, come back here.” He tried the knob only to find it was indeed locked. “Unlock this door at once.” A glance down revealed a large swath of her nightrail and wrapper caught between the two rooms. The snick of the lock brought a smile to his face. The door cracked just enough for her to retrieve her clothing and then slammed shut again.
Marcus listened at the door for a moment. A series of thumps and noises ensued in the dressing room. “Adelaide, what are you doing? Open this door. Let’s talk about this.”
“Why is it you only call me Adelaide when you are angry with me?” Was that the sound of drawers being opened? What was she doing in there?
“I am not angry with you, Addy.”
“Well I am angry with you, Your Grace. And as you so succinctly put it, it is settled. Further talk is not required. Owwww! Blast it all.”
“What was that? Addy, are you hurt?” He flattened his hand on the wood in an attempt to touch her.
“I slammed my trunk lid on my hand. I am married to a complete ass. Of course, I am hurt. Leave me alone, Marcus.”
As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. Wait a minute. Did she say trunk? “What are you doing with a trunk? Addy, open the door. Please.” Marcus tried for a cajoling tone with just a bit of humility. No need to give her complete control. He might never get it back.
“What does one usually do with a trunk? Please God, if I have a child from this misbegotten marriage let it inherit my wits.” A few slams of what might be wardrobe doors and several more thumps came through the door. “Where did Bess put my old dresses?”
He let the wits remark pass. It was too early to know if she was carrying his child. Wasn’t it? An unfamiliar mashed up emotion swept over him, a mix of confusion, joy and absolute terror. The idea of Addy having his child broke him out in a cold sweat. It was followed quickly by a flash of heat. She was packing a trunk.
“Adelaide, open this door. You aren’t going anywhere. Do you hear me?” He pounded on the door with renewed vigor. “Adelaide.”
“Stop that.” She moved to the door. Her voice, even through three-hundred-year-old wood, would have done any mother proud. “You may pay the servants to like me, but I won’t have them subjected to their master pounding on a door and shouting like a lunatic in the middle of the night.”
“Addy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Open the door please. You’re not leaving me. We both know that. Where would you go?” The part of his brain in charge of covering his mouth before he said something stupid was in serious need of repair. He did not need to see her to know the fury that statement evoked in his little wife.
The door flew open. “I am going somewhere I don’t have to pay people to like me.”
“Addy, I truly am sorry.” The fire in her eyes warned him not to reach for her.
“And furthermore, what you have been paying me to like you, as lovely as it was, is not nearly enough, you… you… beast.” The breeze from the closing door blew back his hair. The door jamb shook and he was certain it must have been heard by every servant from attic to cellar.
He pressed his ear to the carved wood. Some of th
e most colorful language he’d ever heard came from behind it, accompanied by the noises of what sounded like a ransacking hoard. Who knew one little woman could make so much fuss. Romulus and Remus left their place by the fire to come and stand beside him. Remus pressed his nose to the crack of the door and whined. Marcus knew just how he felt.
“Addy, open this door. Adelaide!”
Adelaide surveyed the shambles she had made of her side of the dressing room. With a heavy sigh, she stepped over the shoes and dresses scattered over the floor and went back into her bedroom. She pushed the adjoining door closed and locked it to no avail. Marcus’s angry pleas still reached her. He would wear himself out if he kept it up. Good.
Because frankly she was a bit worn out herself. Of course, she had no intention of leaving him. His words had hurt. In the first few minutes after he’d spoken them she’d wanted to burst into tears, run out of his room, and not stop until she reached her home in Sussex. Very few women would find fault with her for it. It was a thoughtless, spiteful thing to say. Two things kept her here to fight another day.
First, she knew it was completely untrue. Servants always liked her, for the most part because she liked and appreciated them. It had always been important to her to treat those who made her life more comfortable with the utmost respect and even affection. Marcus might not believe it, but she was clever enough to know when people genuinely liked her and when they were merely doing their duty.
The second reason her fit of packing was a ruse? After the initial jolt of pain and sorrow subsided, she realized what had provoked his unkind words and boorish behavior. Marcus was jealous. She had seen through all of his cold demeanor and icy bluster to the root of his anger. For some reason, he felt Dylan was a threat. She knew it was ridiculous, but it also gave her hope. Marcus wanted her, not just her body, but her. Why else would he demand she stay away from Dylan Crosby?
Lost In Love (Road To Forever Series #1) Page 26