Page 60 of A Duke Makes a Deal
“About your behavior.”
“Mybehavior?” He sounded outraged. “You’re the one walking around without shoes. Devil take it, will you come inside?”
“You have no right to speak to me that way,” she said hotly, not moving. “I am not a child for you to scold.”
“No right?” he repeated, his countenance hostile. “I have every right as your husband to take your wellbeing intoconsideration. When you showed up with no shoes during a bloody storm—with my sister, I might add—my right is to inform you that such disregard for your health is not acceptable. It’s hardly becoming of a duchess.”
Now that, Clara would not allow. If Silas thought to cow her with nasty words, she would show him just how un-duchess-like she could be. She squared her shoulders. Taking a step forward, she lifted her finger and poked him directly in the chest.
“Do you mean to shame me? For something as silly as footwear?”
His large hand closed around her finger and tugged her closer, setting her off balance.
“I was merely pointing out what’s expected of you,” he said, unfazed.
“So, my lack of shoes undermines my position?” she asked.
“No, your lack of propriety does.”
“You said I would be free to be me if I married you. Are you rescinding that promise?”
“If you plan on walking all over England barefoot, I might,” he said loudly as his hand moved up to her wrist. He yanked her as he turned, trying to pull her inside, but she wrenched her arm away. He paused, appearing both puzzled and furious. “Come indoors at once.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You’re going to catch your death out here.”
Clara wasn’t sure what she was doing or what she wanted from him, but she knew she couldn’t let this stand. She couldn’t deal with him behaving like a caring husband every night but then shifting into a scold as soon as the sun rose. She needed to know that he respected her outside of the bedroom—that he believed that she was a suitable duchess. And she needed to be absolutely certain that he was not comparing her to his former duchess.
It was a bothersome feeling, one that had grown over the past few weeks. Her curiosity about Cynthia had only grown more and more since her arrival to Greystone. She had wanted nothing more than to forget her, but every turn, every glance from the servants or her in-laws, made her question everything about herself and whether she measured up. She had never been so uncertain of herself and though she had tried very hard to behave like the perfect duchess, she felt the pressure of it buckling on her shoulders. She wanted a little reprieve from it, and the rain had seemingly unlocked the part of herself that was willing to rebel.
She stared at Silas, his eyes dark with anger. The rain had wet his hair and was running down his face, turning his white shirt translucent. If only she could make him forget too…
Clara slowly lifted her fingers to beneath her chin and tugged at the satin ribbon of her bonnet. Pulling it away, she felt instant cooling relief as the raindrops fell onto her hair and face. She took a step away from him and dropped the bonnet on the ground as she turned, heading towards the maze.
“What are you doing?” Silas called out, but she didn’t answer.
She wasn’t sure what she was doing. When she reached the entrance of the maze, she unlatched her cloak and let it fall to the ground as well. Giving him a final look, she paused before disappearing behind the yew.
Since coming to Greystone, Clara had walked the maze every day and had studied it from the window of their bedchamber. She had found it easy to reach the center now, she still hadn’t found a way to the wisteria pergola at the back. Convinced that there had to be a secret door somewhere that she hadn’t found, she let her hand trail along the hedge as she went deeper into the maze.
She hesitated before taking the first turn, wondering if Silas would follow her, but after several moments, he didn’t appearand Clara felt a little hope go out of her. Perhaps they didn’t suit as well as she thought. If a barefoot duchess was really too much for Silas to handle, she supposed she could give in and wear her slippers, but Clara so desperately wanted Silas to relax, like he did at night in their bedroom. She wanted him to smile—which was something he rarely did, even at night.
There was something guarded about Silas that she had recognized since the beginning of their acquaintance. But while most everyone in England believed the rumors about him being a cold and cruel man, Clara saw something else. She recognized the way that his anxiety forced him to keep people at a distance. Even with his sister and mother he kept his guard up, and while Clara had perhaps the best chance to get close, he made sure never to speak to her too openly about anything.
Clara let the frustration of her relationship wash away as the rain intensified. She wanted to forget everything about Silas’s past and her feelings of insufficiency. The harder the rain fell, the more her feelings bubbled up within her. She walked faster, wishing she was in some open field rather than a suffocating maze. Turn after turn she felt as if she were falling deeper and deeper into a tangled web of emotion that relented only slightly when she reached the fountain in the middle.
Breathing heavily, she felt panicked when she saw movement to her left. Stumbling backwards, she was shocked to see Silas standing there, completely soaked. A part of her felt guilty that he was drenched in rainwater, but the rest of her felt so relieved that he waswillingto get drenched in rainwater…for her.
“Care to explain what you’re doing? Running through this maze in the pouring rain?” he asked, his tone loud and biting.
What could she say? That she wanted him to open up to her? That she needed to understand the evident pain he carried within him? That she wanted to help?
Good lord, it all sounded too dramatic to put into words. And yet, she needed to tell him everything or she would explode.
“I don’t think I’m a very good duchess,” she said, embarrassed that her voice cracked at her confession. The rain sounded loudly in her ears, forcing her to raise her voice in order to be heard. He stared at her as she spoke. “Or at least, I have the impression that you don’t think I’m a very good duchess.”
“When have I said that?”
