Page 61 of The Wicked Duke's Convenient Bride
Cassius’s eyes darted over the other women in the room, and there was not a friendly face to be found. Even the modiste, who did not know all that had transpired between Cassius, Tabitha, and Matthew, gazed at him with trepidation.
“You will regret this day,” Cassius said.
“No,” Matthew replied. “You will, and if you ever come near my wife again, you will not survive the encounter. I will not just beat you; I will kill you. I will demand satisfaction, we will duel, and I will win. And if you refuse my challenge or try to flee to the Continent, I will find you.”
Cassius’s face paled, his pallor grotesque against the bruises of his face. “You would not,” he said without conviction.
“I can assure you that I would,” Matthew replied. “I have heard it said that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but I can assure you that my fury would be far greater than anything you have ever imagined, Lord Fatherton. Leave before I make you.”
Cassius audibly gulped and unevenly, gracelessly limped to the door. Only then did Tabitha allow herself to really breathe.
“What just happened?” the modiste asked.
“I think,” Bridgette said, “that His and Her Grace will need some time to themselves. Perhaps we ought to afford them some privacy. I do recall seeing a lovely bolt of silk that warranted a closer look.”
“I have also been contemplating a new gown,” Lady Miriam said. “I need something that draws the eye.”
Bridgette gave Tabitha a knowing look, which she was not entirely sure how to interpret. As the three women wandered further into the shop, Matthew at last turned to look at Tabitha. “I did not want his attention,” Tabitha said.
Matthew cast her an odd smile. “Quite frankly, it would not matter if you did. You are my wife, Tabby Cat, and I do not feel inclined to share you with anyone.”
Tabitha swallowed hard. Her heart thundered against her ribs, and she scarcely dared to believe what he was saying. Matthew had called her his wife. Even after Her Grace had returned, Matthew had called her his wife. What had happened to the Duchess of Hillsburgh, though? Tabitha was terrified to ask, but she knew that she surely must. She twisted her hands in the skirts of her gown, and Matthew’s eyes flickered down. He seemed to have noticed her fidgeting.
“Are you anxious?” he asked gently. “You do not need to be. If anyone ought to be anxious, surely, it is I. When Rosemary arrived, you asked if I wanted you to leave. No, you assumed I wanted you to leave, and I did not ask you to stay. I should have, Tabby Cat. I should never have let you leave that townhouse, feeling as though I might choose another woman.”
“But you had every reason to,” Tabitha said. “You spent twelve years searching for her, longing for Her Grace’s presence.”
“’You are Her Grace,” he said.
“You know who I mean,” Tabitha argued. “The Duchess.”
“Again, that is you.” He took a step towards her, standing nearly as close as Cassius had, but Tabitha felt no urge to recoil from his presence. Instead, a delightful tremor of energy surged through her. He had come to the modiste for her. She stared into his green eyes, the colour of life itself, and her fingers ached to touch his dark hair. Tabitha wanted him to wrap his strong arms around her and assure her that he loved her and that they would be together forever, but she was terrified to ask the one question that might drive a knife between them. What about Rosemary?
“I am here now,” Matthew said, “and I want you. I love you. I wanted to be with you always and see who we can be without Rosemary lingering like a ghost between us.”
“But Rosemary,” Tabitha said. “What about her? What happened to her? I know that you love her so much, and if you are happy with Rosemary, I could never ask you to remain married to me.”
Matthew did not answer, at least not with words. He leaned forward and kissed Tabitha fully on the mouth. She started at the unexpected contact, but slowly, she relaxed. She twined her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his. Tabitha drank him in, the sight and scent of him. He had pulled Cassius away from her and thrown him across the floor. He wanted her. Tabitha felt as if she were floating in the air, as if nothing could ever ruin the splendid moment where she and Matthew were reunited and kissing and together–
Nothing except Rosemary. Tabitha remembered how Matthew had appeared when he saw Rosemary in the dining hall, and she remembered how he had embraced and kissed her. She pulled back and pressed her hands against Matthew’s chest, even as her heart ached to push him away.
“Matthew, wait.”
Chapter 28
Matthew, wait.
He did. Matthew barely dared to breathe as Tabitha pushed him away. She shook her head, seemingly in distress. “Rosemary,” Tabitha insisted. “You cannot be wed to both of us, and I know you love her dearly. I cannot take her away from you, Matthew. Even if I want you for myself, I must think of her feelings and yours.”
“And mine,” Matthew said. “What I want is you, Tabitha. I regret not realizing it sooner, but I want you very much. I love you.”
“But how can you?” Tabitha asked. “You were so relieved that she had returned to you!”
Matthew smiled wryly. “I am unsure if the best place to have this conversation is at the modiste. Would you find returning home to be amenable? Or perhaps we might promenade?”
Tabitha’s brow furrowed in obvious confusion, and Matthew only smiled. “It is a long story,” he said, “some of which I have only just pieced together. You may be at ease, though, knowing you are my beloved and only wife.”
Tabitha was difficult to read at that moment. He did not quite know what to make of how she stared at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. He offered his arm, and she accepted it, looking uncharacteristically shy.
