Page 38 of The Wicked Duke's Convenient Bride
And yet he thought that he might like to stand and go to Tabitha’s side and bury his head in the crook of her neck, inhaling all those sweet floral scents that women liked to use. How strange this all was. She would not understand, not really. But how could anyone? Still, he felt a surge of fondness for this young woman, who so willingly accepted that he was hurt and was willing to give him time to heal. She was good, too good for him, too.
“Thank you,” he murmured, but those words seemed entirely too feeble to express the force of his gratitude, which swept over him in a sudden wave of feeling. “That is very kind of you.”
“It is only the decent thing to do,” Tabitha said. “I will excuse myself now if you have no objections. Bridgette sent me a parcel earlier today, and I have yet to open it. I should do so soon so I may send her an expression of my gratitude in the morning.”
“Of course.”
As she left, she offered him a small curtsey. It was a sweet and delicate gesture, unlike the last mocking one he had received. His breath caught in his throat. Somehow, this sweet and kind Tabitha was more difficult to remain ambivalent about than the harsh one. Her acceptance made him feel vulnerable and unsettled, but strangely, neither sensation seemed particularly bad. Simply different.
He finished his meal in silence, still turning the problem of Tabitha over in his mind. Matthew found her solution very gracious, but it still did not seem entirely fair to him. He must do something more than simply thank her.
Perhaps there was something else he could do, some grandiose gesture or gift that she might appreciate, which would express that—while he still loved Rosemary—he was grateful for her easy understanding.
“Your Grace,” his butler entered, letter in hand. “I apologize for the interruption, but I know you like receiving letters from Mr Howell at once.”
“Indeed,” Matthew said, his eyes gazing hungrily at the letter.
This one had come very soon after the previous one—too soon for Jonathan to have received Matthew’s reply yet—which meant that the man must have followed his lead and found something promising.
Matthew’s hand shook as he took the letter. It was almost fitting that this would arrive moments after he reconciled with Tabitha. He opened the letter, taken aback by how short it was.
The information must be important if Jonathan had found it only worth a paragraph rather than spending half a page detailing his exact methods of enquiry. Matthew read the first words, and his face fell. This was not good.
He read further, and the nearer he came to the letter’s end, the more he felt his heart sink. Nothing seemed real anymore. He read the letter repeatedly, certain that he must have misread or misunderstood something, but no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that the words said something else—anything else—their meaning remained unchanged.
Chapter 17
The door to Matthew’s bedchamber opened. Tabitha, who had gone into the room to retrieve a few of her belongings, started at his sudden appearance. “Matthew?” she asked.
He stood in the doorway with an expression that was difficult to read. There was heat in his gaze, but she did not understand why it was there.
“I want you to remain in my bed tonight,” he said, his voice sounding strained. “I do not want you to spend the night in your own chamber apart from me.”
Tabitha pressed her lips together, uncertain of what had brought on this sudden change in mood. She had meant what she had said about there being no need to consummate the marriage, and because Matthew did not protest overly, she had assumed that he found the arrangement preferable. Now, she was unsure but did not ask why he wanted to be with her that night. She sensed there was something strange about him. There was a thick feeling in the air, a sort of tension which had not been present during their dinner.
She sat on the bed and looked at him with wide eyes. He strode closer and leaned over her. Matthew dipped his head and placed a slow, lingering kiss on her neck. Tabitha’s breath hitched. “Are—are you sure—we—”
He pressed his weight against her, and Tabitha fell back against the bed. Matthew climbed atop her, looming over her with that same strange, heated look. Perhaps, in telling him that he did not need to fulfill his marital duties, she had persuaded him to do so. That was what she—
She had wanted the marriage to be consummated and had agonized over that ever since the wedding night, which ended with her pleasure and nothing further, but she knew his heart belonged to Her Grace.
Matthew would regret it later if he did this, even out of honour. Even if Tabitha wanted this, she must be selfless. She must prevent him from making a terrible mistake. When he leaned down to kiss her, she placed a finger against his lips. “Wait,” she said.
He tilted his head back. “I thought you wanted this.”
“I do,” she said gently, “so very much, but I understand why you cannot. I meant what I told you, every word, and I do not want you to feel as though you are being forced to do anything with me.”
“You are not forcing me.”
He pressed his lips hard against hers, and Tabitha groaned into his mouth. His body, heavy and strong, pressed against hers, and she arched her back. Tabitha pressed her hips against him, her body moving more from instinct than any real awareness of what she was doing.
Her lips ached, and her chest ached for want of air. But the sensations coursing through her were so hot and fast that she nearly forgot herself. When he pulled away, she gasped for air. “Wait,” she rasped. “What about Her Grace?”
“She is gone.”
“Gone?”
He nodded. “My daughter, too.”
