The Duke’s Improper Bride

by Paula, Rebecca

  He loved her. He loved her without reason. It barely made sense considering she had stormed into his life much like the fickle Scottish weather. Just as relentless as it was beautiful.

  But did she love him?

  And would she still, once she discovered the whole truth?

  Chapter 9

  Nora hated London. If she was being honest, she was beginning to detest her husband too. He was a double-edge knife—sweet and seductive, and then he continued to drag her out of the house for social events.

  She hated being a duchess.

  But she loved Isaac. That was the damned truth of it.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t considered what it meant to be a duchess when he proposed. Though, it wasn’t a very traditional proposal. Nora had fallen for him fast and hard. And she had been feeling as if she were still falling with no end in sight.

  Tonight, the ground was quickly approaching. She was sure of it.

  The maid had left only moments ago, but Nora couldn’t pull herself away from staring at herself in the mirror, at the crimson flush that made its way up her neck and dotted her cheeks. Her mother would have been proud to see the jewels woven in her hair and hanging around her neck. She would have fawned over the new green silk gown from Paris.

  Nora finally had everything her mother wished for her as a young girl, but as Nora smiled at her reflection, it faltered. Because not everything was perfect.

  Her stutter had grown worse in the past weeks, even around Isaac.

  And as he insisted on showing her London and taking her about town, she longed for her morning hikes in the mountains. She wished to be as far away from people as possible, if only to keep away from the likely whispered gossip of others. Worse, she was furious with herself for being so unhappy with her new title, and not so much—if she were being honest—with her husband.

  “Darling?” Isaac knocked on the door. “The carriage is outside.” He popped his head into her room, then did the thing she had come to hate the most—he smiled at her. He smiled at her as if she belonged in this palace of his, as if she belonged in his bed at night, and, well, any time of the day. He smiled and her world stopped.

  And she hated him for it.

  “I’m not feeling well. I think I might stay home.”

  He sauntered in, softly closing the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”

  She waved her hand at him, clawing at her mind for some excuse. Any would do. “A headache.”

  He came to a stop behind her. “What if the maid fixed your hair? Maybe the pins are too tight.”

  Nora shook her head, looking away from his gaze in the mirror. Guilt churned in her stomach. How could he be proud of her as his wife when she couldn’t even stand the idea of attending a ball? How was she to continue when he made her so happy, but his obligations made her so miserable?

  “I need to lie down.”

  Isaac massaged her neck with his hands and her eyes shuddered. Her body traitorously melted under his touch. He bent down and kissed the curve between her neck and shoulder, slowly moving his mouth upward in a steady march of drugging kisses.

  “We only need to stay for a short while,” Isaac whispered into her ear.

  Her eyes popped open, meeting his answering gaze in the mirror.

  “You’re attempting to avoid tonight like you have every other event for the past three weeks. It’s not as if I’m pushing you out onto a gangplank. I’m asking if you’ll be my duchess, my wife. I’m asking if I can attend a ball with you and enjoy our evening. Together.”

  Nora pushed back from the vanity, her chair knocking against him as she stood. Her dress, though beautiful, was much too heavy and the corseting too tight. And she believed she might toss her accounts on the floor at any moment.

  Nora spun away, bracing her hand on her stomach. “I don’t feel well,” she repeated.

  “I will be there beside you. I will be with you all evening.”

  Even if that were true, she’d be nothing but an embarrassment to him. Doubt nagged at her, jerking at the corner of her mind, taunting her to retreat. He’d come to realize it soon enough—marrying her was mistake.

  Her chest tightened and her mouth soured. She did suddenly feel quite awful. Or maybe it was just because the room had grown especially warm. And it had begun to spin ever so slightly.

  “This isn’t Scotland,” she snapped. Nora reached around and tried to undo the clasp on her necklace. It was some heavy emerald piece—a family heirloom of Isaac’s. In that moment, it might as well have been a shackle, dragging her deeper in despair.

  Isaac’s eyes narrowed and his lips pinched. Perhaps she was provoking him. Perhaps that’s exactly what they needed—a lover’s quarrel. Either way, she wouldn’t be attending the ball that evening.

  “It’s not Scotland. I had no plans to remain there. I never meant to find myself there in the first place.”

  His words hit her, washing over her, and she suddenly she was drowning. Scotland had been where they had found each other. It was never perfect, but Nora held their time together there in a special corner of her heart. And with Isaac dismissing it so easily, it was as if he were dismissing her.

  “I don’t know what you want from me, Nora. I’m trying.”

  “As am I.” She flung her hands up into the air before settling down on the edge of the mattress. She wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. How could one be freezing and roasting at the same time? “I am trying, but it’s not good enough. And you deserve more.”

  He came to stand in front of her, sinking down to his knees. Isaac grabbed her hand, which she gave him only half willingly. “You deserve to be there by my side. You deserve to be in London and take up space in London and my life. You should be demanding it.”

  “It’s too much. I’d prefer to leave. Surely you have a country house. I’m b-better suited for country houses.”

  “You’re afraid.” He stood, the disgust ringing in his voice. “I hear what you’re saying but your words mean nothing to me when they’re driven by fear.”

  She hopped up from the bed. “I’m afraid?” She marched over to the row of paintings lined up against the wall—paintings that belonged in galleries and deserved attention, not squirreled away like dark, dirty secrets. “You haven’t touched your paint while in London.”

  “I don’t paint while I’m in town.”

  “Convenient.” She folded her arms.

  “Dukes don’t paint, and if they do, they certainly don’t become artists.”

  “But they do hide away and recover from terrible injuries and excel at finding those who are lost. Those they want to find, that is?”

  Isaac opened his mouth, then promptly shut it. He marched to the door before leveling a glare at Nora over his shoulder. “I keep my promises.”

  “What were you doing in Scotland, Isaac?”

  His body stiffened.

  “I’ve been called many names in my life, and while I don’t care to discuss if you believe any at this moment, I’d like to believe you realize I’m not stupid. Why do you hide who you are?”

  He turned quickly. “I was recovering.”

  “From a brawl with a patron?” Nora knew she was baiting him, realized it was ugly and wrong, and yet she wanted the truth. “Perhaps an a-a-attack in Hyde Park during a picnic with your—”

  The words were there, stuck in her throat, suffocating her as she struggled to spit out the rest.

  Isaac raised his eyebrow, all anticipation.

  “—fr-fri-friends,” she finally spit out.

  “Goddamn it, Nora.” Isaac yanked at his white bow tie, loosening it. “I’m an agent for the crown. I had a mission go badly, and I was sent to Scotland to recover.”

  Instead of shock, Nora was consumed by emptiness in that moment. She tensed before she spoke, carefully controlling her tone.

  “Am I to believe,” she started, ticking her fingers, “that you are a duke who s-secretly works for the crown who convalesces in the
Scottish countryside who, all the while, forgets to mention that he’s a duke to the woman he claims to l-love?”

  Isaac scratched his chin, studying her. “I never lied about loving you. Ever.”

  Her palms were sweaty. She balled them tight. What a fool had she been.

  “What else have you lied to me about?”

  “I was going to tell you.” He shook his head. “There hasn’t been the right moment.”

  Isaac turned for the door, only pausing as Nora spoke.

  “I want an annulment.”

  * * *

  His hand froze on the doorknob just about the same time as his heart was ripped from his chest. “What?” he asked, still facing the door. Suddenly, he was a coward, no better than the little boy who hid after news of his father’s death.

  Nora didn’t answer. Instead, her feet shuffled across the carpet, then Isaac heard the sound of her stomach emptying into the porcelain bowl on her washstand.

  “Nora?”

  “Not now, Isaac. Please. Leave.”

  Her soft whimper cut the tension in the room. He couldn’t stand her crying, especially not on his account. He loved her. She had to know that.

  “You’re unwell. Let me ring for the maid.” He reached out as if to take her in his arms, but she shook her head, instead bracing her arms on the washstand.

  “This has been a m-mistake. You and I—” Nora inhaled a big, shaky breath. “What we found in Scotland was beautiful. But I can’t be your duchess.”

  A shiver ran down his spine. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I can’t be who you want me to be. I’m not the woman you need.”

  He threw his arms into the air. “You’re exactly the woman I need, Nora. I married you. I need you to love me. Maybe not today, but sometime. The rest is pointless without that. If you don’t wish to go tonight, we won’t. You’re ill—”

  “Everything happened t-too soon.”

  “Why does love need to follow a timeline? We found each other, can’t that be enough? Even for now?”

  “You’re infuriating.”

  “I don’t know how else I can convince you that I love you, that I need and want you. I didn’t marry anyone else but you, and for good reason.”

  “You’re forgetting the biggest reason why you should have left me back in Scotland.”

  He tossed his arms into the air. “Because you’re tongue-tied? Because those around you claimed you’re simple and dim, and that you should be kept away from society?”

  Nora sputtered, not saying anything.

  “They were wrong. Every damn one of them, sweet. But until you can accept that you are worthy of being in this world, I can’t make you believe it.”

  “That’s exactly what you’re attempting to do.” Nora held her chin high, even as tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “This wasn’t a mistake.” He pointed his finger at her then dropped it, striding toward the door to leave. There was no air left in this damn room. “It’s not, and I refuse to talk about this further. Stay home this evening if you wish. Hide if that’s what will bring you comfort. But you’re mistaken if you believe I’ll remain by your side to pity you. You’re not a woman to be pitied, Nora. And London would have loved you for it.”

  He slammed the door behind him, leaving Nora alone.

  Chapter 10

  The air stank of vomit, her hands shook, and her chest was too tight to breathe. Nora bent forward, bracing her hands on the mattress; her head dipped as she struggled for air.

  Marrying Isaac so soon might have been a mistake, but it would never compare to watching him walk away.

  Worse still, when he was right.

  She was afraid.

  Afraid of what they could have to gain or lose. Afraid of finding her place in London or failing. And now terrified that she didn’t know the secrets possessed by the man she had married.

  And yet Nora stood, gathered a few things, then marched toward her husband’s office.

  She might have been afraid of the life she could share with him, but she wasn’t afraid of the task before her. She had made a promise, and she would see justice for Daniel. She would see to his safety, even if it meant risking her own.

  Nora was through waiting on others.

  She shuffled through the papers on Isaac’s desk, unsure of what she’d find, or if she would find anything at all. It might be easy to dismiss her husband, but if Nora were to trust her gut, she knew he had begun his search for Daniel.

  And she was right.

  Beneath a stack of papers about Elmside Castle was a folded letter in another man’s handwriting containing two addresses and Daniel’s initials. One address was in Scotland, the other in Ireland.

  She grabbed the paper and returned to her room. Once undressed, she dismissed the maid and quickly packed a few items, thankful her old walking dress from Scotland was still tucked away in the back of her closet. She dressed, grasped the small valise and ducked out the doorway of her bedroom.

  Isaac had promised she could decorate it as she wished and make it a haven for herself. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that it was already perfect—dripping in blue silk and appointed with a gorgeous canopy bed fit for a queen. Then there was the sapphire settee perched just below the large bay window overlooking out into the back garden, now in full bloom.

  What a gorgeous bedroom in a gorgeous house. In a city that thrummed with life—the good and bad.

  Nora tugged at her dress’s collar as she raced down the front stairs, her eyes trained on the floor.

  She turned, pausing in the doorway to look back upon the life she could have had with Isaac. If he loved her, why hadn’t he told her the truth? Better yet, why had he been so quick to shape her into who she wasn’t?

  Nora could never be a duchess. She could never host dinner parties and head charities and attend grand balls. She could never be the wife Isaac truly needed.

  But oh, how she wished she could be.

  “I love you,” she whispered into the empty house.

  The words fell into the air around her, wasted. But they were still true.

  * * *

  It had been nearly a week. Isaac thought the worst of it had been when Nora asked for an annulment.

  It wasn’t.

  It was when he returned home early the next morning. A little too drunk after spending time at his club, he discovered his wife had left during the night.

  Isaac had sat on the edge of her bed for some time. He could still smell the heather that wrapped around her on the sheets. He had grown used to waking up to her in the morning, to kissing her before he fell asleep every night.

  Now she was gone.

  Almost as quickly as she had swept into his life—the windblown woman with the scarlet ribbons, in the middle of the highlands looking perfectly in place—sure of who she was.

  “The last time I came upon you here, lying just as you are now, I was soaked to the bone and a parrot nearly flew into my head.”

  Isaac inwardly groaned.

  He returned to Burton Hall only yesterday, unsure of where else to go. London no longer felt like home with Nora gone. Let the gossip spread. He didn’t care a lick. But he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from Clara either.

  “I said I would feed the children to the tiger,” he told her. Isaac’s head ached, his body feeling as if it had been thrown off that cliff in Corsica all over again. He opened his eyes but remained still on the sofa. “And you arrived soaked from the rain, after walking from the train station with that ridiculous trunk of yours, telling this wild lot that you were here to fill the governess post.”

  Clara chuckled, pushing off from the doorway to enter. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And the gardens were full of brambles, the house was falling in upon itself, and Bly was hellbent on saving us all.”

  “What’s wrong now?” she asked soberly.

  Isaac clutched his tumbler of whiskey tighter, sighing, upset the former sofa had been replaced.
Nothing in this house was broken anymore, not with Clara and Bly together.

  It might be romantic if it wasn’t such a fitting reminder that he had failed his wife.

  “I’ve went and done it this time, darling. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to fix it.”

  Clara raised an eyebrow and sat on the sofa’s arm. “It can’t be all bad. I’ve found nothing is over when you believe it to be.”

  “Well, for one,” Isaac said, propping himself up on an elbow, “Bly is the world’s worst cad for leaving you as he did. And two, I have a wife who refuses to be my duchess.”

  “So I’ve heard. I wanted to extend my congratulations personally.”

  “On not being as much of a cad as Bly?”

  “Oh no, if you have a wife who doesn’t wish to be so, I’m most certain you have been a cad. All men are at one point or another.”

  It didn’t escape Isaac that Clara neither defended or attacked Bly for his actions. Love perhaps had a waly of softening past mistakes with a better perspective.

  “Always so insightful.”

  Clara sobered. “You’re moping, Isaac.”

  “I’m drunk.”

  She flicked her wrist as if to dismiss him and strolled to the large windows overlooking the gardens now full of life. Minnie, Grace, and Rhys twirled and danced on the lawn with the nurse. That’s what Clara had done. She had breathed life into Burton Hall with a grace that was as unyielding as it was fiercely beautiful. It had to be, to stack up against Bly’s natural talent for ripping things apart. But she had helped him mend his heart as well. She was an angel married to the devil himself.

  “Minnie is so happy that you could visit.”

  Isaac didn’t say anything, though to be honest, he was happy to see the child too. She was his favorite -— quick-witted and fiercely loving. Strength ran in the Ravensdales’ blood and Isaac was embarrassed to admit that a nine-year-old girl might have more fortitude in her pinky finger than he possessed in his whole body.