Page 32 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars
Maybe things would get better, after all.
Aaron hadn’t slept much last night, thinking about all the ways he could still mess up his tenuous relationship with his new wife. He wanted her in ways he had never wanted any other woman.
He felt alive, and not in a good way.
He constantly reminded himself of what happened when he was with a woman, even though he had the sense that Theresa was quite different from the ladies of theton. Not only did her beautiful looks set her apart, but so did her sweet spirit. Her innocence.
These constant thoughts were a reminder that he would never be the man he had once been, the man that a woman like Theresa may have deserved once upon a time.
For now, he contented himself with knowing that his wife would have everything she deserved. She never deserved what her parents had done to her, leaving her in a convent to be raised by strangers. Where she had been deprived of life’s little luxuries.
If nobody else was going to give her a better life, he could at least do that for her within his strict self-imposed rules.
He stood in front of the canvas, where he had been for hours now. Long ago, he had abandoned paintbrushes and now painted with his hands. The feel of the thick oil paints on his fingers made him feel alive and gave him more control over the outcome.
The blacks and reds swirled together on the canvas, the perfect reflection of his thoughts and feelings toward the woman he married. The blackness of his soul, withered as it was after so many years of reclusion. The red of his intense attraction, the way she made him feel alive.
What would he paint in the days to come as he got to know her better?
Wouldhe get to know her better, or would he lock himself in his tower, away from the waiting world as he always had?
He wanted to be different, for her. He wanted to be the man his grandmama was convinced was somewhere deep inside of him. Theresa had awoken something in him the day she had seen him in the river.
Maybe he would try to depart from his tower without the need for his grandmama to intervene. To stop the drinking in the broad daylight of the afternoon. To at least get to know his new wife before he made a rash decision.
He reached for the old towel he used whenever he painted and wiped the paint from his hands. He left the canvas on the easel and sat back in his hard wooden chair to survey his work.
He poured himself a celebratory drink for creating another masterpiece. This had been his way of coping with all the emotions swirling inside of him. It was private; he never showed anyone his paintings, except for his grandmama and Juliette.
This was a private revelation. He uncovered emotion, translated it on canvas with each stroke of his hands. It was what he had been doing the evening his new wife had spotted him in the river, where he was washing the paint from his hands.
Theresa should never have been near that river. It was well outside the land owned by the convent, situated just on the outskirts of London. It was a decent ride from Blackwell Manor, one of the many reasons Aaron loved it there. Nobody would stumble upon him when he wanted to be alone.
No one, that is, except for the little nun.
She had so innocently told him to tend to his wounds. What would she say if she saw him now, with red paint up to his elbows? What would she say if she knew that this was how he tended to his wounds?
The only way to truly find out what she would think would be to tell her and share this part of his world with her. But he couldn’t risk it, not for someone he barely knew.
Wife or not, she was a stranger, and she needed to remain that way.
For her own safety.
CHAPTER 11
Theresa relished the idea of an entire day to herself. Juliette and the Dowager Duchess had other duties to tend to and could not babysit her for the day, as much as she would have enjoyed their company.
One day, she too would have responsibilities in this new life of hers. For now, she contented herself with exploring the manor and the grounds.
After breakfast, Juliette walked her to the back door that led to the gardens, promising her that she would enjoy a walk among the flowers.
“You can follow the path around the garden, through the hedges. When you reach the stables, you’ll be at the edge of the estate,” Juliette told her, pointing to the stone path that wound through the garden.
The path was lined with brightly colored flowers in various stages of bloom. The air smelled sweet out here, nothing like the stench of the city, where horse-drawn carriages often dropped manure, and sewage drained into the streets. The garden was a tranquil respite from the hustle and bustle.
The stables…
What she wouldn’t give to be with her beloved Pippen now. For once, she had no constraints on her time. She could ride from sunup to sundown, but they would have to ride through the city streets. There were not many forests to get lost in for a day or two.
