Page 37 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
“Last night,” she said slowly, deliberately, “was about securing our marriage beyond any dispute. Nothing more.”
Max studied her, his blue gaze impossible to read. “If you say so.”
Violet’s stomach clenched.
He was not arguing. He was not agreeing. He was simply letting her lie to herself. And that was infinitely worse.
Before she could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the door, followed by the butler’s stiff, precise voice. “Your Grace? The morning meal has been prepared.”
Max leaned back, stretching as if he had not a care in the world. “Shall we?”
Violet hated him. She truly, deeply hated him. And yet?—
When he climbed from the bed and held his hand out to her, she took it. But he didn’t merely aid her in standing. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, her chemise-clad body pressed fully against his very, very nude one.
“Violet—”
“What?”
“Last night, I told you that my feelings for you had changed when I was still married to Katherine… and that I had developed an attraction for you. But it’s much more than that. I’ve had feelings for you of one sort or other, Violet, for as long as I can recall. Initially, you were far too young. You were not even out yet. I was twenty to your sixteen. You hadn’t been courted by anyone, you hadn’t even attended your first ball or danced your first waltz. And you were James’ sister. And then when those things were no longer barriers, you never gave any indication that you would be receptive to altering our relationship.”
Violet’s heart was in her throat. It had been one thing to share such things in the dark of night, half hidden in the dim candlelight. But to be so open and so vulnerable in the bright light of a clear morning, was utterly terrifying. Still, he’d taken that step. He’d given her the power to hurt him if she chose. And for the first time in a very long time, that was the last thing she wished to do. “I worshipped you as a girl,” she began. “Then, as a very young woman—too young, I know—those feelings altered. It was no longer just hero worship but attraction. I dreamed of being your wife. I dreamed that one day you would look at me and see… more. But then you married Katherine. And those hopes were dashed. So I put on masks of either indifference or outright hostility to salvage my pride and not allow you to see how much it had broken my heart to have those girlish dreams dashed.”
Stricken, Max simply stared at her. “I didn’t know.”
“I wasn’t ready,” she said. “I was sixteen then… young, foolish, impetuous, and still very much a spoiled child. You were too honorable a man to take advantage of me at such a tender age. But you were going away to war…. Even though it broke my heart, and even though I thought she was entirely wrong foryou, I understood why you married Katherine when you did. You needed a wife and an heir.”
“And ultimately I had neither,” he said. But it wasn’t some terrible grief, more of a resigned sadness. “Though she died attempting to give birth to the babe that would have been my heir, it was not my child. I had not gone to her bed in more than a year because she reviled me so… Everything about me displeased her because I was not the man she wanted. She had wanted Eddington all along, but he’d been married to his second wife then, before that poor woman suffered a horrible fate.”
Violet shuddered in distaste. “How anyone could prefer him… I cannot fathom it. Any more than I can fathom that he’s had three wives and all of them have died under terribly mysterious circumstances. Even then there were whispers about him, speculation that perhaps he’d had a hand in their deaths.”
Max nodded. “There was something self-destructive in her, something that caused her to be drawn to those who would treat her poorly, use and abuse her. At the end, our marriage was so bitter we hardly spoke to one another.”
“I didn’t know,” she said. “You must have been so miserably unhappy, but you gave no indication of it.”
“How could I? She was my wife. I made my vows in good faith… one of those was to protect her. So I kept my own counsel on the matter. And Katherine was long practiced at both pretense and secrets.”
“So are we,” she said. “We’ve been lying to one another, to ourselves, to anyone who bore witness to our sniping and verbal sparring.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he considered it. “Indeed, we have. But we need not… Not now nor ever again. I have no wish to go backward, Violet. Only forward with you… Assuming that is what you want?”
“What I want?” She asked incredulously.
A sigh escaped him, “While the idea of never touching you again, never knowing your passion and fire again, terrifies me, the idea that you might share that with me and then grow to resent me, to loathe my presence or my touch as Katherine once did… that would be a fate worse than death and hellfire.”
“I think you have no worries on that score. Resentment only builds when one stays silent in the face of offense… We both know I will not. We will still argue. We will still clash and I’m sure at times we will still indulge in that verbal sparring. It’s part of who we are. It simply isn’t the whole of us, neither individually nor together. I’m very happy to go forward with you, your grace. Very happy indeed.”
Chapter Twenty
The bells of St. Dunstan’s Church rang out over the quiet village, their clear, solemn tones marking the beginning of the Sunday service. The sky was a brilliant blue, the morning air crisp with the lingering chill of autumn, and the village bustled with the usual throng of parishioners making their way toward the church doors. Limited as country society was, the church was the center of it all.
And entering the churchyard where everyone was gathered prior to the service—the newly wedded Duke and Duchess of Alstead had all eyes upon them. While Max and Violet, by mutual agreement, had chosen to attend, it had not been their decision to be tardy. Not by design, they had arrived fashionably late. Their journey from the manor had been slowed by every farmer, merchant, and washerwoman who wished to congratulate them on their marriage.
“Well, well, well! I thought I’d not live to see the day His Grace would remarry. And not to some London miss this time, but one of our very own,” called out Old Mr. Dobbins, the village cobbler, his beady eyes twinkling beneath the brim of his battered hat. “And a right fine match it is, too!”
Violet, who had long ago perfected the art of polite smiling, nodded graciously. “Thank you, Mr. Dobbins. I do hope my husband proves a worthy investment.”
Max, standing beside her, leaned down slightly and murmured against her ear, “I should think the more pressing concern is whether my investment proves a wise one.”
