“Very well. I shall bid you good day, then.”
“You – you’re leaving?”
“I have other things to do,” he said brusquely.
“What sort of things?” she called after him when he started to walk away.
He stopped short, a cutting retort souring the tip of his tongue, but when he looked back at Caroline the only sound to come from his lips was a startled hiss of air.
Bloody hell. Had he really thought her a plain wallflower? Standing beneath the red and orange leaves of the oak with her hair unbound and her skin kissed by sunlight she looked like a woodland fairy princess. One plucked straight from the pages of a Shakespearean play.
There was an etherealness to her beauty that he’d never noticed before. An understated elegance that glowed from within her. She was a quiet sunset after a long summer’s day. She was the soothing moment of calm after a hard storm. She was fresh snowfall on an open field. And in that moment he wanted her so badly that he ached.
“Your Grace?” she said uncertainly, making Eric realize that he’d been staring at her with his jaw agape like some sort of love struck fool.
“What?” he snapped, hands diving into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. “What the bloody hell do you want now?”
Caroline started to say something. Stopped. Frowned. “Nothing.” She spoke so quietly that Eric thought he’d misheard her until she added, “I want absolutely nothing from you.”
And for the very first time since they’d met, she walked away from him.
Chapter Five
The man is an absolute beast, Caroline thought as she stalked across the lawn, blinking furiously against the tears that stung the corners of her eyes. And it’s no wonder he asked me to marry him. Why, I bet no one else was brainless enough to have him!
Marrying a duke was every debutante’s dream come true. But not when the duke in question was an arrogant cad who cared more about his horses than his own wife! Maybe he should have left her to be trampled. At least then she would not have to deal with his general insufferableness.
Dashing her handkerchief against her cheeks where a few tears had managed to escape, she stopped short and forced herself to draw a deep breath. No matter what her husband said – or did – she refused to become the sort of wife who burst into tears at every little provocation. Contrary to what Eric, she was not prone to dramatic airs.
If she was going to find some semblance of happiness in her new life then she needed to start by working on her own backbone. Maybe then her husband’s insults, instead of stinging like nettles, would merely slide right off her back like water from a duck.
What had he called her in the church? A field mouse, she recalled with a frown. Well, perhaps it was time she stopped being a mouse and started being a cat.
She was given a chance to test her claws the next evening when she stumbled across Eric reading in the library. Her first instinct was to mumble an apology and duck right back out again, but instead she forced herself to square her shoulders and select a thin volume of poetry from one of the shelves.
“What are you reading?” she asked as she sat down next to him in an oversized leather chair that dwarfed her small frame. It was so large that her feet did not even touch the bearskin rug laid out in front of the fireplace and after several moments of trying to make herself comfortable she finally gave up and tucked one slender leg underneath her hip. It certainly was not the most ladylike of positions, but it wasn’t as if her husband was looking at her, so what did it matter?
“A book,” he grunted without so much as a glance in her direction. Firelight bathed one side of his face in a warm orange glow, illuminating the rigid line of his jaw and the firm set of his mouth. His brows were drawn together as he read, his gaze intent on the page before him. He might as well have been wearing a sign round his neck that said ‘Do Not Speak to Me’. Unfortunately for him – and for her – that was precisely what she intended on doing.
You’re a cat, she reminded herself. Not a mouse that is going to run scurrying under the nearest sofa at the first sign of trouble.
Setting aside the volume of poems she had been pretending to read, she took a deep, bracing breath. And then, before her newfound courage had time to desert her, she blurted the one question that had been plaguing her since they’d exchanged their vows in the church.
“Why did you marry me?”
“What do you mean?” he asked without bothering to look up.
Caroline blinked. “I – I thought I was rather clear.”
For a moment the only sound was the merry crackling of the fire, and then came Eric’s heavy sigh. “Do you really wish to discuss this right now?” he said, dragging his gaze away from his book with obvious reluctance. “Or can it wait until morning?”
She gripped the armrests so tightly that her nails made small crescent indentations in the buttery soft leather. “I – I suppose it could wait, but I would rather discuss it–”
“Very well.” He snapped the book closed with so much force that she jumped. “I married you because I needed a wife. There. Does that answer your question?”
She blinked again. “Well…no. No, I am afraid that doesn’t answer it at all. Why – why did you pick me in particular? There were a hundred, mayhap even a thousand other women who were more eligible to be a duchess.”
“A thousand may be overstating things a bit. Did you see the latest crop of debutantes?” Eric shuddered. “The one poor girl’s face was so long she would have fit right in with my horses.”
She frowned. “That’s a very cruel thing to say.”
“It’s not cruel, it’s the truth,” he corrected. “And the truth is rarely kind.”
“Be that as it may, I believe you understand what I am trying to say. We were strangers when you proposed.”
“I don’t know if I would have called us strangers,” he said, rubbing a hand across his jaw where a day’s worth of stubble had grown.
“We had only danced once. You called me Catherine when you asked me to be your wife.” The embarrassing memory still caused her cheeks to flush. “I believe that is the very definition of strangers.”
“I did not call you Catherine.” His brow furrowed. “Did I?”
“You did,” she confirmed. “You got down on one knee and took my hand and said, ‘Dear Catherine, will you do me the honor of being my wife’?”
“Hmm.” One shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. “I suppose I did, then. And what did you say?”
Caroline stared at him in disbelief. “I said yes, of course! Why else would I be here?”
“Ah,” he said, the faint tracing of a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “But why did you say yes? You yourself just admitted we were strangers. I didn’t even know your name. Why would you ever accept such a proposal?”
Why indeed?
“Because – because I felt obligated, I suppose. One does not say no to a duke.”
“No, one does not,” he agreed. “And there you have it. The reason why I married you.”
“I…I am afraid I do not understand.”
“To be quite blunt, I need an heir. You see, my brother is the rather unscrupulous sort. Were he to inherit the ducal title I fear he would squander the estates and drain the coffers in a fortnight. Quicker if he could manage it. But in order to produce an heir, I need–”
“A wife,” Caroline whispered.
“Precisely,” he said with a nod, looking pleased that she’d finally caught on.
“But that…that still does not answer my original question. Was there something you saw in me?” she asked hopefully. “Something that drew you to me?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Well, I do like blondes.”
“Blondes,” she echoed hollowly.
“Indeed. Although I’ve nothing against brunettes. Or redheads, come to think of it. My first mistress was a redhead. Lovely woman.” His eyes narrowed. “And she never asked questions. Of course, I did not marry
you just because of your hair color.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. You see I rather hoped, with time, that we might come to care for–”
“I needed a young, obedient, malleable lady from good breeding stock. You fit the bill quite nicely on all accounts.”
Malleable?
Is that how he saw her? Something to be twisted and kneaded and formed into whatever shape he wished? Caroline felt the color drain from her cheeks as she untucked her leg from beneath her hip and stood up. Her foot tingled from being bent at an unnatural angle for so long but she ignored the uncomfortable sensation, too incensed by her husband’s words to even notice the pain.
“That – that is a horrible reason to marry someone!” she sputtered.
“Really?” Eric drawled, a hint of amusement glinting in his cool blue gaze. “Pray tell, what do you think is a good reason for marriage?”
“Friendship. Affection. Understanding.” She was tempted to say love, but her newfound courage only extended so far.
“Interesting,” he said softly. “Should I tell you why I think people marry?”
“Actually, I really do not–”
“Convenience. Nothing more and nothing less than the convenience of being with someone who can give you what you want. I want an heir. You want wealth and social standing. No need to make it more complicated than it has to be.” He stood up. “This conversation has lost its appeal. I bid you goodnight.” Something flickered in his gaze as he glanced down at her. Something that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingle. Something almost…possessive. A trick of the light, she told herself. Eric wasn’t possessive of her. Truth be told he didn’t even seem to like her all that much.
She waited until he’d left to sink back down into the leather chair and draw both knees to her chin. It was clear now that she had made a horrible mistake by marrying the duke. She should have refused his suit when he first approached her, but she had been so dazzled at the prospect of being courted by one of the most powerful men in all of England that she had never considered what the repercussions might be.
I should have known it was too good to be true, she thought bitterly as she gazed into the smoldering fire. He hadn’t chosen to court her because he fancied her or found her witty or charming. He’d courted her because he thought she was weak and easily controlled. And she was. As much as it pained her to admit it, she was weak and malleable and obedient. She always had been.
But that did not mean she always had to be.
“I’ll show him,” she told the empty room. “Just wait and see.”
Chapter Six
While Caroline’s intentions were good, she had failed to consider how uncooperative her husband was. For the next seven days, whether by incident or design, he avoided her at all costs. When she walked into the library he walked out. When she went outside he slipped back in. When she was upstairs he was down. Before long they were no more than two ships passing in the middle of the night, which was why she was so surprised when he appeared in the solarium one morning while she was eating breakfast.
Comprised almost entirely of windows, the solarium offered a beautiful view of the stables and surrounding pastures. It was the closest she had dared get to the horses since she’d almost been trampled to death, and she loved watching them frolic and play while she had her breakfast.
“Your Grace,” she exclaimed, setting her cup of coffee down with a clatter when the duke’s broad shouldered frame filled the doorway. He was dressed for the outdoors in a navy blue waistcoat, gray breeches, riding boots, and gloves. “I – I was not expecting you.”
“That much is obvious,” he said, the corners of his mouth tightening with ill-disguised annoyance when his gaze swept from her blonde hair, pulled lightly back from her temples and secured with two jeweled pins, down to her walking dress. For a moment those cold blue eyes lingered on the swell of her breasts before they jerked back up to her face and his frown deepened into a scowl. “You’re not even ready.”
“Ready for what?” she asked cautiously.
“Our ride.”
Caroline blinked. “I was not aware we had one scheduled.”
“If you do not want to go–”
“I do.” She sprang to her feet, nearly upending her coffee in her haste to push back her chair.
After nearly two weeks spent confined to the grounds, a ride through the countryside sounded positively heavenly. It would also give her the opportunity she’d been waiting for to show her husband just how unobedient she could be. Maybe then he would look at her with longing instead of loathing…and their marriage of convenience would turn into something so much more. “I’ll just need to change into my riding habit.”
Eric inclined his head. “I will be in the foyer.”
With Anne’s assistance it only took a few minutes for Caroline to don her riding habit. Comprised of a fitted jacket with long sleeves that tapered at the wrists and a bustled skirt, the burgundy habit was expertly tailored to her slender frame. She finished the outfit with a ruffled cravat and a black velvet hat that sat low on her brow. Turning a quick circle in front of the dressing mirror to ensure nothing was amiss, she smiled nervously at Anne.
“How do I look?”
“Splendid,” said the maid, clapping her hands together. “Absolutely splendid. The duke’s not going to be able to take his eyes off of you.”
Caroline liked the idea of Eric being unable to look away from her. Not that it was likely to happen. If he found her desirable even the tiniest bit, he’d yet to show it.
After their conversation in the library where he’d revealed the only thing he wanted from her was an heir, she’d laid awake at night staring out the window, her muscles tight with anticipation as she awaited the sound of a soft knock upon her door. When it never came – not that night, nor the next four – she began falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, too weary to wait up for a husband who apparently had no interest in making love to his wife.
The irony was that she actually wanted to kiss the duke. Even though he’d been nothing but rude to her, at one and twenty it was high time she kissed someone. And Eric did seem like the obvious choice, given they were married.
“You’d best hurry,” Anne said with a pointed glance at the door. “His Grace doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Thanking the maid for her help, Caroline picked up the heavy hem of her skirt and hurried downstairs. She found Eric precisely where he had said he would be: standing in the middle of the foyer, hands clasped behind his back, a look of marked impatience upon his countenance.
“Finally,” he snapped when he saw her. “I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour.”
“It has been ten minutes,” Caroline snapped right back without thinking. Her eyes widened. “Er…that is to say…it has been ten minutes, Your Grace.”
His eyes narrowed. “You look different. Have you cut your hair?”
“My hair?” Unconsciously her hand drifted to the nape of her neck where Anne had fashioned a twisted bun. “No.”
“Have you lost weight?”
Her hand fell down to her waist. “I do not believe so.”
“Well something about you is different.”
At a loss, Caroline was helpless to do anything but shrug. “I don’t know what it could be. I haven’t changed anything.”
“Perhaps it’s your dress.” His gaze flitted down the length of her body before returning abruptly to her face. “It’s too tight.”
“Too tight?”
“Yes. Much too tight. How are you going to ride?”
Experimenting, she lifted her arms and twisted side to side. “It doesn’t feel too constrictive. I think it is merely the style of the habit.”
He crossed his arms and scowled at her. “Well I don’t like it.”
“I shall make sure to pass your critique on to the dressmaker.”
“Are you mocking me?” he demanded.
“Of course not,
” she said solemnly even as she crossed two fingers together behind her back. “Would you like me to put on something else?”
He continued to look at her suspiciously, as if he knew she was having a bit of fun at his expense but he could not determine how. For her part Caroline kept a straight face even though she felt very much like smiling. She had no idea what had come over her, but for once she did not feel anxious or tongue-tied or any of the other countless nervous conditions that always seemed to afflict her whenever she was in the company of her husband.
“No,” he said at last. “We haven’t the time.”
A footman opened the door and they walked out to a grassy circle in the middle of the stone drive where two horses were already tacked and waiting.
“This is Buttercup.” Eric gestured to a palomino mare with a sweet, docile expression. “She’s a bit slow, but she’s steady. You shouldn’t have any problems with her.”
Caroline thought it was a bit presumptions of him to assume what kind of rider she was before he’d ever seen her on a horse, but she merely smiled and took the reins from the groom. “We’re going to be great friends, aren’t we?” she told Buttercup before stepping up on the mounting block and swinging herself gracefully into the saddle.
Like all saddles constructed for women, it had a fixed head and a leaping head, the latter of which enabled her to ride with both legs on the same side of the horse. The seat itself was flat and offered less stability than a man’s saddle which was slightly curved at the cantle, but then Caroline had learned long ago that things were often more difficult for the fairer sex.
They just did not complain.
“Where are we going?” she asked brightly once her husband had climbed atop his mount – a tall, gangly looking bay colt with a sliver of white running down the middle of his face – and gathered the reins.
“Follow behind me,” Eric said curtly. “And do try to keep pace.”
A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection Page 4