Chapter Twenty-Four
Dinner went well. Laura Brown, as she was now, openly adored Christiana, which made Hugh’s acceptance of her easier.
She was worldly in a way his wife wasn’t but hid both her reputation and worldliness from Amelia, who asked her plenty of questions about London.
To Hugh’s relief, she answered them all with good humor.
That good humor loosened him by degrees, and by the time they’d retired to the drawing room, he felt almost at ease in her presence.
Of course, it helped that she treated him as she might any new husband of her friend: with teasing deference. He wore his mask—for the first time in days, perhaps a week—and she didn’t stare at him or him or behave as though he were some kind of freak.
In the drawing room, she settled herself beside him, adjusting her skirts with the consummate grace of a lady accustomed to being a darling of the ton. He had met plenty during his time in London. When she glanced up at him, it was with dancing amusement.
“So you are the Beast of Somerset,” she mused, and he stiffened, his shoulders going tight.
“As you say,” he said.
“Oh, don’t retreat into that cold reserve. I know you don’t like the term, but that’s how I came to know you, and you are the gentleman who married my dearest friend. I confess both to curiosity and concern.”
“And are your fears allayed?”
“More than. I find myself deeply satisfied with the turn of events.” Mrs. Brown turned to look at Christiana, who sat with Amelia, laughing about something, spectacles gleaming in the lamplight. “I have known her for quite some time and her happiness is important to me.”
“As is, I gather, yours is to her.”
“I know she dislikes my choice of husband, but she has accepted me regardless.”
“And you, no doubt, have done the same.”
“At first, I’ll confess, I was dubious. But she insisted this was her best course of action—and who was I to argue?
Once Mrs. Dove-Lyon gets involved, one has very little chance of untangling oneself, and of course she has her father to contend with.
Repulsive man.” She turned that assessing gaze back at Hugh.
“You know, for a long time, I thought her incapable of forming romantic attachments. And more than that, unwilling. Most ladies aspire to marriage—that is all we are ever taught to expect from the world. But Chris has never wanted that. She wanted independence and knowledge.”
He already knew this. He braced his elbows on the back of the sofa behind him as he looked across at Mrs. Brown. “Is that supposed to change how I feel about the necessity of our marriage?”
“Not in the slightest, I assure you. In fact…” Here, she paused, licking her lips as she attempted to choose her words carefully.
Once, Hugh might have been drawn to a lady like her.
He would have flirted with her, attempted to curate her fancy, before moving along to a different target.
But now, her style of beauty held no appeal to him.
Nor did the prospect of flirting with anyone—save Christiana.
“I thought I knew her,” Mrs. Brown said, stealing his attention.
“We have been friends for so long, and I thought I knew her mind almost as well as my own. But seeing her here with you has challenged my every assumption. I have never seen her look so at peace. And I have never known her to conceive such a liking of a gentleman before.” Her expression turned arch as she raised a brow at Hugh. “Do with that what you will.”
If only, Hugh thought, he knew what on earth to do about it.
Christiana lay in Laura’s bed, the two women huddled under the covers the way they had when they had been at school together. Back then, they had been so enthusiastic about the world ahead of them. Christiana, for her independence, and Laura for her marriage.
Both had found reality different from their imaginings.
“Do you ever think about our old dreams?” Laura asked, stretching her hand above her, the light from the single candle illuminating her fingers against the darkness. “All those things we used to want?”
“Why, have you given up wanting them?”
“‘Given up’ is such an ugly phrase. More that I have come to want other things.”
Christiana snorted. “Such as a rather more humble existence.”
“A great love,” Laura corrected, “that defies the bounds of reason.”
The sound of that was more appealing to Christiana than it had ever been before.
“What of you?” Laura asked. “You dreamed of a life in your father’s home with your books and your estate and a quiet life. Instead, you are here. A duchess, with a husband.”
“So I am,” Christiana said, half-smiling at the memory of Hugh standing in the doorway wearing only his shirt. “I’m not sorry for it.”
“No?”
“There is such a thing as loneliness. My life at my father’s estate was lonely, though I didn’t know it at the time. It would have been still more so after he died and I resided there alone.” No matter how many servants she might have been able to afford, she would have been alone.
“The duke is good for you,” Laura said contemplatively.
“Kind. I doubted it at first, but he is. And he thinks highly of you and your good opinion. When he thought I might speak badly of him to you, he was ready to take up arms against me.” She laughed.
“I have no doubt he could put me in my place, quite cuttingly too.”
“And that is what makes a good husband?”
“Darling.” Laura propped herself on her elbows, looking at her. “At dinner, and again in the drawing room, he could not take his eyes off you. Do you understand what that means? I could have danced naked before him, and he would not so much as blinked.”
A warm flush made its way up Christiana’s neck to her face. “I don’t believe that.”
“You may as well, because I know what a gentleman looks like when he’s interested, and your duke could not have been further from it.
The only thing he could bear to talk about with any enthusiasm was you.
” Laura flopped back against the bedsheets.
“You are fortunate, indeed, to have such a husband, even if he is scarred.”
“I don’t mind the scarring,” Christiana said.
“I can’t speak as to that, but the mask makes him look rather mysterious.
Devilish. If I hadn’t met my darling Ewan and encountered the duke in a drawing room, you may be sure I would have done my best to win his attention.
” Laura nudged Christiana’s shoulder with her own.
“And if you had been there, I would have failed miserably.”
That hardly seemed as though it could be true. Christiana had not, admittedly, met many gentlemen, but none had so much as glanced in her direction when a prettier option had lain before them.
But Hugh had. Even from across the room, she had felt him watching her.
“I want more than just one kiss,” she admitted, the words terrifying now that they had been uttered aloud; she couldn’t take them back now, even if she wanted to. “Even if we can’t have everything.”
“Good,” Laura said approvingly. “So you should.” She rolled to face her in a rustle of bedclothes and blankets, her face partially obscured by shadow.
Her hair coiled around her neck in a single braid.
“Although I think you are already there, dearest. He obviously wants you—he is a man who looks at his wife as though she were the sun to his earth. The stars and moon to his night sky.”
“You,” Christiana said, trying to bite back her smile, “have been reading too many romance books.”
“If he has not kissed you again, it’s because he’s waiting for you to initiate.
My guess is he can’t be certain you want this, which means that you have to tempt him.
Prove to him that you want him, then push him beyond the bounds of his self-control.
He strikes me as a man of restraint, Chris, so you must break it. ”
Her stomach twisted in nervous anticipation. “I’m no flirt, Laura. I can’t do that.”
“I have a better idea. Let me select your gown for the carnival, Chris. And then, in the evening, allow me to choose your nightgown. You will go to his bedchambers and you will ask to speak with him, and then you will seduce him so thoroughly, he will be unable to deny you.”
Christiana spluttered. “Seduce him? If I cannot flirt, how do you expect me to achieve that?”
“There is no easier thing in the world. All you need to do is look tempting and be close to him. Lean in, look as though you might kiss him, then halt just out of reach. Let your hair fall freely down your back. And skin—men like skin, dearest. Make the most of it.”
She severely doubted she could do this. She was no siren—she was lanky and awkward, not to mention bespectacled, and she could imagine nothing more difficult than actively trying to tempt Hugh into bed.
But gambling was, always, about risk.
“I shall do my best,” she said.