Chapter Eleven
Banshire House
St. James Square
Mayfair, London
Four days had passed since Michael had introduced his wife to the pleasures that could be found while using restraints and a blindfold.
Hell, he rather thought he was still riding that high, for something had been exchanged between them that night, and it was more than physical release.
It mattered not, for during those days, he’d managed to fall into a comfortable pattern.
Well, as much as a man like him could.
For three of those days, he’d taken meetings with various men vital to the running of his estates.
Her brother had come to call, and from he’d understood, that reunion hadn’t gone as well as the man had hoped.
In fact, she’d flat out told him that not even a farthing from the Darkemore coffers would land in his keeping.
Michael had listened to the exchange from the confines of the parlor, but he’d been proud of her for standing up for herself and for them.
Yesterday had been Sunday, so he’d spent the day with Evvie.
Each time he thought he might like to tell her about his past, the courage had left him, and he’d remained silent.
Ordinarily, he would have taken her to bed, communed with her without words during those stretch of days, but she’d apparently been suffering menses.
There was no other option except to talk with her, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that.
They’d taken tea together in the drawing room, each retreating behind various books or newspapers, and though the hours were full of companionable silence, he could almost hear her thinking… or stewing.
Did she already regret marrying him? Would his reticence in sharing prove the downfall of his union?
There were no answers, but part of him was reluctant to let her close.
Whenever that had happened in the past, danger usually won the day.
Also, it was a way of protecting himself, for he suspected his marriage wouldn’t hold together after all the truths came out.
He didn’t wish her to mourn for him; thus, remaining at arm’s length.
He wasn’t fucking good at talking or showing emotions. She’d come to realize that more sooner than later, and when she did, she would leave.
And he had to protect them both.
By the time today had dawned, he was randy as hell, but worried also, for his solicitor had come to call with the marriage contracts and other documents that needed his signature and attention since he’d wed.
“Everything seems to be in order. Nicely done, Mr. Darrington.” Michael leaned back in his chair.
He, the solicitor, and Evvie had gathered in his study, for he’d made good on his promise to let her see the documents, so she would know he was in earnest about the things he’d promised before wedding her.
“I don’t personally see anything that I wish to change.
” Then he passed the sheaf of papers to Evangeline. “What of you, Duchess?”
She had taken one of the leather chairs that faced his desk while Mr. Darrington had the other one. Slowly, she rifled through the papers, tapped a fingertip over the monetary part of her settlement. “This is far too much. Surely, it’s a mistake.”
The solicitor rose to his feet. He peered over her shoulder to check the part she’d called into question.
When his head went entirely too close to hers, Michael narrowed his eyes.
“No, that is what His Grace asked me to put into the contract. You will receive a sum of five hundred pounds at the first of each month, set aside in an account at the Bank of England for your exclusive use. His Grace doesn’t wish to know what you’ll use the funding for. ”
“Darkemore, this is far too generous.” Evangeline met his gaze from across the desk. “What am I going to do with that much funding?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you would like. Start a charity. Join a cause. Redecorate the townhouse. Or keep it in the bank to compound interest to build a nest egg.”
Mr. Darrington cleared his throat to recall her attention. He pointed to another sum further down the page. “His Grace has set aside five thousand pounds in a separate account that you’ll have access to on your first anniversary.”
A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Why?”
“As a present for surviving me for a year.” Though his grin was tight, he offered it, nonetheless. “You may do whatever you want with that coin as well. There is no need to discuss it with me.”
For once he concluded his mission, he would have no purpose for existing any longer.
When Mr. Darrington leaned over her shoulder once more to call her attention to another of the papers, Michael uttered a low-grade growl. There was no need for the other man to be so close to her. And did he just brush her nape with his fingers? The audacity!
“His Grace has also set aside some of the estate jewelry for you.”
She nodded, and her gaze went fleetingly to the emerald on the fourth fingers of her left hand. Clearly, she wasn’t impressed with the settlement. “I appreciate that, but it’s not necessary.” Again, she peered at him. “What of the cottage in Kent?”
“It is mentioned in there,” he said with the wave of his good hand. Was that all she cared about, then? What of him?
“Let me show you, Your Grace,” Mr. Darrington said as he moved to her side.
He took the papers from her then flipped through the pages until he found the one he sought.
“Right here.” He tapped a finger to the paper.
“Gooseberry Cottage near Cranleigh in Surrey belongs exclusively to you for the remainder of your life. You may do with it what you will, but His Grace does ask that you don’t sell off the sheep what like to graze on the hills. ”
“How lovely that there are sheep.” When she smiled, Michael shifted, for her happiness went straight to his stones. “I am more interested in the history of the cottage, though.”
“Oh, I can tell you that.” Of course, Mr. Darrington was far too eager in that regard, and that didn’t sit well with Michael. “I’ve heard the stories numerous times from my father, who was His Grace’s father’s solicitor.”
“Ah, then your family has always been close with Darkemore’s?”
“Yes.” The other man nodded. “His Grace and I attended university together but weren’t quite contemporaries.”
A muscle ticced in Michael’s cheek. Was the radiant smile she showed for his solicitor, or was she simply delighted by the history? “Yes, young Darrington had a habit of letting bigger boys bedevil and bully him. I was obliged to rescue him a time or two.”
“You did that?” One of her blonde eyebrows lifted in surprise.
Heat rushed up the back of his neck. “I wasn’t always an ogre.”
“You are now,” she said softly as she pinned him with her gaze.
“I’m certain you’ll change your mind once you come to know me.”
Mr. Darrington softly cleared his throat. “In any event, I was always jealous of His Grace’s parents. They were what I’d hoped to aspire to if I ever married.”
“Have you?” Mild interest wove through her voice as she glanced at the solicitor.
“I haven’t found the woman for me.” Then he shrugged.
“However, His Grace’s parents were lovely and polite to me, no doubt due to my father’s position.
A few times a year, they would remove to the cottage to celebrate their marriage and recommit to each other.
I never forgot that. It was quite endearing to see, especially when many couples within the beau monde act as if they can’t stand each other. ”
“What a romantic story!”
Damn him for ever mentioning that cottage early in their relationship, but it was lovely, in a way, that the property would be looked after and used.
She would no doubt feel comfortable there…
and he wouldn’t be there to see it. “Indeed. My parents were that. I think I disappointed them when I chose the military over marriage.”
“Don’t be so modest, Your Grace.” Mr. Darrington beamed at her. “He went on to gain several medals and accolades during his commission. Every once in a while, the tales of his daring on the battlefields are bandied about drawing rooms.”
Shock went through her expression as she glanced at him. “I didn’t know you were a war hero.”
Again, he waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter now. Once I displeased the Regent, he revoked those things, took away every rank and honor I’d gained while in the service.” That had cut him to the quick more than displeasing the spoiled, corpulent king-to-be.
Evangeline nodded. She looked at Mr. Darrington. “Thank you for telling me and explaining to me about the settlement.”
“My pleasure, Your Grace.” The damned younger man grinned at her. It wouldn’t take much before he was besotted.
Annoyed, Michael shoved to his feet. “That will be all, Mr. Darrington. File the contracts as well as the altered will. When I have need of you again, I shall send a summons.” He bounced his gaze between them.
Would the damned solicitor pounce once he had removed himself from this mortal coil?
“If you will excuse me? It is time for my medication.” His muscles ached far more than usual these days.
After that frosty and abrupt dismissal in her husband’s study, Evangeline gave him the grace of an hour before she tracked him to his suite.
What she wasn’t prepared for was the duke lounging in a porcelain bathtub in his bedchamber. “Oh, I, uh…” She shook her head but couldn’t quite avert her eyes from the sight of his naked chest with its heavy mat of light brown hair. “I didn’t know you were engaged…”
“You could have knocked, Duchess. This is my private space.” When he looked at his valet, he dismissed the man with a slight lifting of his chin.
Once the door to the adjoining dressing room snicked closed, he landed his brown gaze on her.
“What do you want?” His good hand rested over the edge of the tub, hovering above a low, round table were a sea sponge, a bar of soap, and a brown bottle that was no doubt laudanum waited.