She Tempts the Duke (21 page)

Chapter 22

I
t seemed appropriate that it should be raining when they arrived at Pembrook, Mary thought. Gray skies unleashed a cold drizzle that threatened to turn the late afternoon into night. Mud worked up by the hooves and wheels slapped against the coach in an erratic rhythm, as it traveled along the drive toward the looming castle.

The wedding ceremony had provided a moment of unrealistic happiness and expectation. But as soon as the wedding breakfast had ended and they climbed into the coach, all pretense that theirs was to be a happily ever after vanished. Sitting across from her, Sebastian had become moody and sullen. They barely spoke. When they stopped at an inn for the night, they slept in separate rooms. Three inns, three nights of not knowing her husband’s touch.

Where was the fire he’d unleashed in the garden? Where was the tenderness he’d bestowed upon her in his bed when he was recovering from his wound? Had it all been pretense? Had he lost interest in the hunt?

“How do you know your uncle is not here now?” she asked.

“We have someone watching him in London, so we know where he is.”

“But what if he slips away?”

“I know a few soldiers who didn’t remain in the army. I hired them to keep watch, to ensure Uncle didn’t strive to take up residence while I was in London. I should have hired more servants to set matters to rights. I fear there is a great deal of work to be done.”

Two coaches carrying servants followed. Many were from the London residence. Some had been newly hired. Her father had given permission for Colleen to come with Mary. She was grateful to have a familiar servant within the ranks.

“It will give me something with which to occupy my time,” she said.

“I don’t wish it changed overmuch.”

A reminder that it was his, not hers. She was an intruder.

“I don’t wish to feel as though I’m a guest,” she told him.

“I would prefer that you discuss with me any plans you might have before implementing them.”

“Of course, Your Grace. We can discuss them now if it pleases you. I thought to have the floors scrubbed, the draperies taken outside, the dust beaten from them, the windows washed, the furniture polished—”

“You’re angry,” he interrupted.

“No.” Hurt, more like, but she was not going to be a whiny wife and admit such a thing. “I want it to be
our
home. I don’t want to feel at Pembrook the way you felt in London—as though you didn’t quite belong.”

“You belong here, Mary. You’re my wife.”

She released a small laugh. “Am I, Sebastian? It’s funny, but when we exchanged vows, I thought I would feel like a wife afterward, but I feel no different. Our relationship feels no different. Nothing has changed.”

“Something has. We’re no longer in London.”

She forced a smile. He seemed to have missed the entire point of what she was saying. “No, we’re not.”

They were silent for several moments before he said, “I don’t want you to feel like a guest here, Mary, but until you know what is of importance, don’t do anything drastic.”

“What of your uncle’s things? He’s bound to have left some behind.”

“I intend to burn them.”

The harshness in his voice unsettled her. It was ever-present when he spoke of his uncle, and it bothered her to know he still had so much hatred simmering inside him. While a part of her understood—he’d suffered immensely because of his uncle’s machinations—another part of her worried that the bitterness would steal from their lives whatever happiness they might have been able to find.

“Perhaps coming here is not the best thing,” she said softly, cautiously.

He tore his gaze from the window and she felt it land on her with a weightiness that demanded an answer even though he asked no question.

“So many bad memories are associated with Pembrook. You have other estates. Perhaps it would be better if we moved to one of those.”

“Pembrook is the ducal estate. It has always been so. I am the duke.”

“I’m not questioning your title, rather what will haunt us here.”

“We will face it. Together.”

She wondered how that would even be possible when they sat on opposite sides of the carriage, had during the entire journey. They were husband and wife now. They could sit beside each other. Yet they didn’t. Even when she fell asleep it was the plush interior that provided a pillow for her head rather than her husband’s shoulder. She’d not expected him to be so distant, so uncaring.

He didn’t reach across to hold her hand or to even squeeze it in reassurance. For all the comfort he provided, she could be arriving here alone. It was too soon to have regrets, to consider that she’d made a huge error in judgment.

He’d told her that Pembrook was all that mattered. Yet somehow she had imagined that she did as well—if only a bit. Why else would he have been concerned about her reputation? Because he was a gentleman, because he took responsibility for his actions. His action, however, had only been to kiss her. She was the one who had prattled on about it.

He turned to look out the window, facing Pembrook as he seldom faced her—fully. She was not going to be jealous of stone and mortar. The moat had long since been filled in with dirt. The outer walls had been torn down. The looming castle keep with its turrets stood magnificently against the darkening skies. A flash of lightning silhouetted the tower that rose up behind it, made it seem more ominous, a building where murders were commonplace.

The ugly past, so much sorrow dwelled here. How could she possibly make it a joyous home? How could they find happiness when the memories of betrayal would always batter them?

Yet as she watched her husband, she saw peace settle into his features. Pride. Ownership. Satisfaction. He had usurped his uncle, reclaimed what was his, what had been in his family for generations.

He whispered, “Pembrook.”

And she refused to acknowledge how dearly she wanted him to whisper her name.

The coach rattled to a jarring halt.

“It is all that has ever mattered,” he said with conviction. “Welcome home, Duchess.”

M
ary watched as two men rushed out from the shadows, and her first terrifying thought was that Lord David had sent them to kill her husband. Then she remembered he’d mentioned hiring a couple of men to watch over things.

A footman opened the coach door, and Sebastian stepped out into the rain. She could hear it beating on his hat and greatcoat, but he ignored it. More important things were on his mind.

“Saunders,” he greeted the first man to reach him. “How goes it here?”

“Everything is as quiet as men before battle.”

“Good. See my duchess to the residence.” He turned to her, where she hovered in the vehicle. Leaning in, he pressed something into her gloved hand. A key she realized. “I’ll join you there in a moment.”

Then he was gone, but she could hear him barking out orders. Someone produced an umbrella. The man he’d called Saunders handed her down and held the umbrella over her head as they made a mad dash through the rain to the portico. Her hem was soaked and the air chilled her by the time she arrived, but she turned and watched all the activity in the drive. A dozen servants brought from London scurried about. Most of the trunks were hers. They contained a trousseau that she had lovingly put together expecting a trip to Italy. She’d kept a couple of her favorite ball gowns—surely they would entertain here—and given the rest to Alicia.

The darkening skies had very nearly turned the late afternoon into night.

“Shall I unlock the door?” Saunders asked.

She shook her head. “I’ll wait for my husband.”

Neither as tall as nor as broad of shoulder as Sebastian, Saunders still had a soldier’s bearing. She heard herself asking, “Did you serve with my husband in the Crimea?”

“Yes, ma’am. Didn’t know he was a duke, though, until he sought me out and hired me to watch over things here. He just seemed regular. Never let on he was a lord.”

She watched as Sebastian ordered servants about. How could anyone look at his commanding presence and not realize he was of the nobility? It was carved into every inch of him, in the way he presented himself, the way he addressed those around him. She pressed her lips together but in the end, she couldn’t hold back what she wanted to say. She peered up at the man standing guard over her. “In London rumors surfaced that he was a coward in battle.”

Saunders appeared horrified. “Never. Not even with three bullets in him. It was the cannon fire that brought him down. He’d have kept fighting otherwise.”

“I never believed the rumors,” she assured him. “The battle was an awful thing.”

“We knew right quick that someone had mucked it up, but we followed our orders. Cowards we were not, but fools we might have been.” He gave a brisk nod. “I should see what else I’m needed for.”

“Saunders, I’m glad you’re here to watch over him and the estate.”

“Wouldn’t be here to do either if not for him.” Not waiting for her to respond, he trotted down the steps. She suspected their conversation had made him uncomfortable, but it had given her a bit of insight into her husband. She’d never thought for one moment that he was a coward, but neither had she considered that men were alive because of his actions. She’d never given much consideration to the specifics of war, only the general horror of it. Was it any wonder that Sebastian found parlor games to be silly nonsense?

He darted up the stairs. “I gave you the key so you wouldn’t have to stand out here in the chill.”

“I wanted us to go in together—husband and wife.”

He seemed surprised, as though it hadn’t truly dawned on him that they were married. She certainly didn’t feel married. They could be merely friends considering all the passion that had passed between them since they exchanged vows. She wondered if he might at least kiss her before they went inside but he simply took the key from her, unlocked the door, and shoved it open.

He looked at her with impatience. “Go on.”

“I believe a husband is supposed to carry his bride across the threshold.”

“Why? You’re perfectly capable of walking.”

“Tradition. It’s good luck. Oh, never mind. I know it’s sill—”

She released a tiny screech as he swept her into his arms. Water dripped from his hat onto her. She studied the seriousness in his face, and wished she could believe that he’d married her because he wanted to, not because he felt an obligation.

“I suppose we can use all the luck we can get,” he said.

She heard clapping, glanced over her shoulder, and saw the servants standing around giving applause. “I hadn’t considered we had an audience.”

“One that should be working.”

“You’re a romantic.”

He shook his head. “No, but for you, I wish I was.”

Tears burned her eyes, but she pushed them back as he stepped over the threshold. She was hit by the stale muskiness of someplace hardly ever used. Heavy shadows hovered. Sebastian set her feet on the stone floor and she felt colder than she had outside. He moved to a table and lit the candles in a candelabra. He held it aloft and the flickering flames chased back the darkness.

As she followed him into a front parlor, she heard the servants coming inside. Some no doubt would be carting in their trunks while others would see to unpacking them. But their duties did not interest her now. Rather it was her husband who occupied her attention as he strode through the room, dragging away the white cloths that covered the furniture, stirring up clouds of dust.

She sneezed. He glanced back at her. She smiled. “Apologies.”

“No, I am to blame. I should have sent the servants ahead of time to see to matters, but I hadn’t considered I’d arrive with a wife.”

“But this way, it’s rather like exploring, isn’t it? We’ll discover everything together.”

“Such an optimist you are.”

“I find no joy in being a pessimist.” Walking through the room, she began tugging off her gloves. “At least he covered the furniture before he left. There seem to be bare spots on the wall.” Rectangles of wallpaper that had yet to fade where something had protected them from the sun.

“As in London he removed all portraits of my father, myself, and my brothers. Oddly any portraits of my mother alone remained.”

Turning, she studied him as he continued to yank off cloths with one hand, holding the candelabra high, uncovering treasures: sofas, plush chairs, small tables. “Why would he keep those on display but eliminate the others?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand how his mind works. Not certain I want to.”

“It is curious, though,” she mused, glancing around, before sneezing again.

“Damnation.”

“What?” She spun around. White sheets were still draped over half the furnishings in the room, but he was no longer tending to them. “Did you find something?”

“Yes, I discovered you have an inconsiderate lout for a husband. I was so anxious to reintroduce you to Pembrook that I didn’t consider that you’re no doubt damp and chilled from standing in the rain. Come, I sent the servants around to start fires. Your room should be warm by now. Cook is preparing dinner. It will be light fare, limited to what we brought from London, until she can get to the market.”

He extended his arm, and she crossed over to him. “I’m not really that hungry anyway.”

He led her into the massive foyer where stairs on either side curved around to the landing on the next floor. As they ascended the steps, the light illuminated their path and the many portraits of all the dukes who had come before. But even here, some portraits were obviously missing.

At the top of the stairs, he guided her toward the left, past a closed door—

“My bedchamber,” he said quietly as though she’d asked.

—and to a room beside it. He opened the door and she skirted around him. He must have sent several of the servants here first because nothing remained covered. A pleasant sitting area was arranged in front of the fireplace where a fire burned lazily. Lamps flickered on two tables. The drawn-back draperies revealed that night had fallen. The windows were ajar only enough to allow in the rain-scented air.