Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Daphne had just begun to calm down, her body still vibrating from the intimacy, when Adrian rose abruptly.
He did not look satisfied in the careless way of a man who had taken pleasure and left, nor did he look guilty. He simply straightened, his movements deliberate, composed, controlled.
“You should rest,” he said quietly, his voice low but steady. “And… thank you. For cleaning my wounds.”
Before she could reply, he stepped back, leaving just enough space between them to breathe, yet somehow still filling the room with his presence. He did not look away, but neither did he linger. Then, with effortless propriety, he moved toward the adjoining door.
The click of it closing behind him sounded impossibly final, though he had not rushed or slammed it. The sound echoed in the quiet room, leaving Daphne’s senses both empty and alert at once.
She lay on her bed, heart racing, body humming, and yet the pull of him lingered in every nerve. He had not taken anything from her that he shouldn’t have, and yet the intimacy they shared now felt potent, dangerous even.
He had not apologized. He had not explained. He had simply stepped away with perfect courtesy, leaving her to process the storm he had stirred within her, and the weight of the tension he had created without ever crossing a line.
Daphne closed her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing, on the quiet of the room, on the fact that she was alone.
Yet in the corners of her mind, she still felt him: the way he watched her, measured and possessive, with an intensity that left her both unsettled and strangely aware of the fluttering warmth in her chest.
Distance, she reminded herself.
She had to maintain it. What had just happened between them…it was a whirlwind. Something she could barely handle. Distance would help her see things clearly. Help her compose herself.
Her husband was a man who inspired both admiration and caution.
She could not allow herself to forget that no matter how dangerous—or enticing—he could be.
For the next week, Daphne noticed how Adrian kept his walls up as he hid behind cold formality. She watched how the bruises faded and the cut on his temple faded to a pale pink.
At this point, their conversations had deteriorated to nothing more than necessary, mostly on logistics when handling the household’s daily routines.
The adjoining room felt more like the gate to a fortified castle. It was like a silent war raged between them.
But there really should not be anything to be mad about, at least that was what Daphne told herself.
In fact, everything was supposed to feel normal a week later when they were invited to attend the Winter Ball. Their hosts were to be none other than Wilhelmina and Gerard. It would be Daphne and Adrian’s first test as a couple, a time when the ton would be scrutinizing their every move.
Pretense was important and, so far, they had mostly been avoiding each other.
Daphne had to remind herself that she and Adrian were supposed to be in love, so much so that they married in haste. She entered the ballroom in his arm, wearing a dark sapphire velvet dress. He had provided her with Wolfcrest heirloom jewelry, sapphires that matched her whole ensemble.
She was the obedient Brighton girl. So, she knew just how to smile even though her heart had become a clenched fist the past week. Even then, the smile threatened to falter as she saw how everyone was looking at them with undisguised curiosity and judgment.
Being that it was her sister’s ball, she guided her husband toward where her mother stood with her chin lifted haughtily. Daphne did not stop there, though, steering herself toward her siblings instead.
Daphne was glad to be quickly embraced by nieces and nephews.
“How are you, Aunt Daphne?” asked some of them, who were clamoring to not only see their aunt but also to take a peek at her husband.
Hector, Wilhelmina’s husband’s son with his first wife, lifted an eyebrow at the sight of Adrian. Daphne knew his inquisitive nature. The boy immediately launched at her.
“You’ve probably heard about a missing garden snake,” he began breathlessly.
“I believe that is something you can tell your aunt another day,” Wilhelmina gently reminded her stepson.
“Oh, I don’t mind it at all, Mina. Your son is absolutely a charmer, and I’ve missed him,” Daphne said, placing her hand on Hector’s cheek.
“I think my mother is right, aunt. My stories will certainly take more time.”
“More than the usual in these gatherings?” Daphne asked teasingly.
The boy merely nodded enthusiastically as she laughed. The tension that was building within her had somehow eased. With her nieces and nephews, she just might forget about all her societal responsibilities.
In the corner of her eye, she noticed how stiff her husband looked as he endured conversation with her brothers-in-law.
She could not blame him. Her family did not seem to have warmed up to him yet.
His polite detachment did not help either.
He did make small conversation as he was courteous before excusing himself.
He looked like he could not wait until he could run out of the ballroom and be somewhere else.
“I believe I see my friend, the Marquess of Amberwell, across the room,” Adrian murmured. “I must talk to him on a matter of business. Enjoy your time with your family, Duchess.”
The Duke squeezed her hand. On the outside, it looked like a husband comforting his wife. However, Daphne knew and felt it for what it was. It was a gesture that did not carry any warmth.
When he was out of earshot, Marianne, her eldest sister, pulled Daphne close to her.
“I must speak to you privately, sister,” she whispered. “Let us take a turn about the room. There are a few things I need to know, such as what happened to you when you were sequestered at Wolfcrest.”
“Sequestered?” Daphne echoed.
While she had been away for a month, she had never felt sequestered. Instead, she felt like she had always been part of Wolfcrest. It was how she dealt with her confusing feelings that was the problem.
“I don’t know, Daphne. You tell me. Others may think you are doing a wonderful job playing Duchess, but I see more in you. You look like a woman who has fallen in love but has been spurned. Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Daphne sighed. Why did Marianne have to be so intuitive?
“Nothing is wrong. The Duke is a good, decent man who has been taking care of me. Sometimes, he frightens me. After all, he seems to deserve some of the whispers about the things he does in the shadows. Other times, I am drawn toward him. It’s confusing.
He will talk to me with such intensity that he makes me believe that he cares at times.
Then, when we get too close, he will pull away.
As if he has never thought of even conversing with me.
At that point, he leaves me feeling… alone. ”
“Mm. I see,” Marianne murmured. “What about you, then? Have you developed feelings for your husband, Daphne?”
Daphne flushed. She was ready to deny it, but her body had a way of reacting to the question.
Feelings? It was not part of this, at all.
Once upon a time, she might have entertained the idea of falling in love and marrying the person she loved. Men like Briarwood had made it difficult for her to trust that it might happen to her.
She didn’t quite know what the answer was to the question, but a part of her wanted Marianne’s help to understand herself and her situation. Before she could answer, however, a familiar voice shattered her thoughts.
“There you are, Daphne.”
She’d managed to escape her mother earlier, but the Dowager Countess of Grisham seemed bent to gain her attention now. Her narrowed eyes scrutinized her openly.
“You are wearing brilliant sapphires. Excellent. I trust the Duke had secured you this set personally? I do not believe you have it in you to order it for yourself, although that would be a pleasant surprise. You must always show the ton that your Duke husband does not lack regard for you. People are still talking about how rushed your wedding was. Some may even be watching your waist for signs.”
“Good evening, Dowager,” Marianne interrupted with a firm voice, even as Daphne flushed at the insinuation from her own mother.
Her sister placed a protective hand on her arm, and continued to say, “Tonight is a celebration. It is not a time for critique, especially not on family.”
“Ah, curious you just said that,” the Dowager Countess said, her mood souring.
“The conversation I am having with my daughter is strictly between family, Your Grace. It is essential that my daughter understands her current role. She cannot just marry in haste and then return to society looking more like a fallen woman than a Duke’s wife. ”
“Marianne is more my family that you have ever been, Mother,” Daphne insisted, the red on her cheeks now from anger and not embarrassment. She sounded more decisive than she had ever been. “May you please excuse us?”
Daphne did not let her mother get another say. She took Marianne’s arm and steered her oldest sister away from where her mother stood.
She knew her mother was furious and also feeling helpless at not having to say anything.
The Dowager Countess might be her daughter’s primary critic, but she would not do that within earshot of the rich and titled.
Adrian knew that the ballroom affair was for mere show. However, there was that niggling part of him that wanted it to be real. He did not have the right, but he could not help the way his body positioned toward her location, the way his eyes would constantly scan for his face.
He reasoned that there was no need to stop these compulsions. His manner of conduct would be what he wanted the people to see, anyway. He wanted them to see that he adored his wife, even as people gossiped about the possible nefarious reason they married in the first place.
But with Caleb?
His friend, the Marquess of Amberwell, knew him too much. It would be harder to balance his act around him.
“You have not taken your eyes off your wife since you’ve arrived,” Caleb commented smugly. “I can no longer account for how often you left her home alone before you came here this evening. It simply does not make sense, my friend.”
“Tonight, I am merely trying to ensure she is enjoying herself and that nobody has been bothering her,” he replied, only telling the partial truth.
“Oh, indeed,” Caleb murmured mock-thoughtfully. “Am I supposed to assume that you wear your possessive scowl to ensure she is enjoying herself? Perhaps you are telling me the truth.”
“It is only proper to ensure one’s wife is well-attended,” Adrian explained, keeping his posture and expression straight.
“Ah. Of course,” Caleb agreed with a chuckle. “I am merely observing what you’ve relayed to me as a convenient arrangement. It is quite convenient, indeed, to have such a lovely wife. Easy on the eyes. Still, I am your willing and helpful servant. I shall attend to my duty.”
Adrian whirled to turn to his friend. It was then that he realized that his eyes were again drawn on Daphne for several moments. What Caleb said, however, warranted attention.
“What duty?”
“Oh, you know,” Caleb said, gesturing vaguely with his right hand as he winked. “I intend to ask the fair Duchess for a dance. Someone as exceptionally lovely as she needs proper attention. I must ensure that she is entertained while her husband attends to business.”
Adrian’s hand shot out, grasping Caleb’s shoulder from the back. He knew he was doing it too roughly, and on a friend no less, his fingers digging into the velvet. He did not care. He just knew that his friend’s jest had gone too far.
Caleb shrugged off his arm. This movement angered him even more. He was tempted to push his friend to the floor, but he pulled him roughly to face him, instead.
“Do not test me, Caleb,” he growled.
It had been a while when his voice had taken a low, demanding tone outside of the gambling hells.
His friend faced him, laughing at his reaction but holding his hands up in surrender. His eyes, though, were sharp. It was no longer a jest for him, either, but Adrian could not make himself think about whether the aggression was worth it. He just knew it was.
“Wasn’t it only a convenient arrangement? Tell me the truth now, friend. If it were, you would not mind if I danced with your beautiful bride.”
Adrian had to admit that the thought of even his friend Caleb, someone he trusted with his innermost secrets, dancing with Daphne and holding her waist drove him into pure, agonizing jealousy. He might still try to deny it, but his reactions were revealing what he felt.
No.
No.
Yes.
“I believe you have other concerns, Caleb,” Adrian said, the words holding a thinly veiled warning. “She is not available to dance with anyone else.”
He then turned on his heel abruptly and walked away from his friend. His eyes were on Daphne once more, and there was no hiding it.
Not anymore.