Chapter 6
“With a special license,” the duke said, without warning, “we might be married by the end of the week, Lady Madeline.”
Madeline choked on her toast.
Breakfast at the duke’s house was a much grander affair than she was used to.
Generally, she and Papa took a light breakfast together in the morning room before going about their respective days, but the duke insisted upon everybody eating in the dining room.
The table was huge and laden with breakfast foods of all kinds.
The previous day and night had passed quickly, with the duke sticking to his study and only joining them briefly at dinner. Madeline would have been pleased to have things go on in that manner, but now here he was, speaking of marriage.
She glanced around the table for support.
Only the four of them sat at the table, with Adam still sleeping in his crib upstairs, watched over by a diligent, freshly hired nurse.
The poor dowager—who had insisted that Madeline call her Dorothea—merely glanced nervously between them all.
The woman could likely sense that something was wrong, but clearly had no idea what that wrongness might be.
“Why the rush?” Papa inquired, and Madeline smiled at him gratefully. She found herself unequal to speaking at that moment.
“Well, the sooner we wed, the sooner the question of who will raise Adam will be put to rest,” the duke responded evenly. “With your permission, Lady Madeline, I can have the documents ready as soon as possible. What do you say?”
Madeline swallowed thickly. Her throat was raw from the stray toast crumbs. She felt faintly sick.
“Very well,” she answered at last, as if there was really anything else she could say.
Am I wrong about him? Does he really intend to marry me after all?
This was a concerning thought. Tearing her eyes from her plate, Madeline found the duke staring at her, brow furrowed.
“If you have a moment after breakfast,” he said at last, “I should like to walk with you in the gardens, Lady Madeline. My mother and your father can watch the baby. What do you say?”
Was there anything she could say?
“Very well,” Madeline managed.
He gave a brisk nod, his eyes still boring into her.
“Good,” was all he said. “Good.”
Half an hour later, they both stepped out onto the terrace. It was a fine, fresh day, with a distinct chill in the air. Madeline found herself glad that she’d put on a shawl, as Papa had suggested.
She let out a long, slow breath and glanced nervously up at the man at her side. In the unforgiving morning light, the duke seemed even larger than usual. He wasn’t looking at her, but instead staring across at the lawn where a couple of gardeners worked.
Beside the lawn was a neat little woodland area, and Madeline spotted a gravel path winding through it. It was an open enough walkway, so they wouldn’t go through anywhere secluded. Probably not, at least.
“We’ll go this way,” the duke remarked, gesturing. He set off at a long stride, leaving Madeline to scurry after him. She saw at once that she would end up running if he did not slow down.
“Have a care, Your Grace!” she yelped, already out of breath. “I cannot keep up with you.”
He glanced down at her, visibly surprised, and slowed his gait.
“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I do forget what a long stride I have. And you had better call me Tristan, you know. Since we are getting married.” Pausing, he glanced down at her, his amber eyes glinting in the sun. “You didn’t think we would get married, did you?”
She lifted her chin. “We are not married yet. But I might as well say no, I did not. I assumed it was all a ploy.”
He gave a short nod. “Isaac said that you might. I can assure you that I plan to go through with the wedding. You’ll see in time. The only discussion on the subject is how we shall go about our married life.”
Madeline tensed a little, glancing uncertainly up at him.
Surely he didn’t mean to discuss the great matter that went on between men and women!
People did talk about it among their friends; she knew that.
Even the most proper little lady in society had indulged in a panicked, whispered conversation about it in a quiet corner with her friends.
Some ladies discussed it more openly. Not too openly, of course.
And then there were women like the infamous Mrs. Blackett, Lady Davenport, and, of course, opera singers like Miss Juliana Bolt and Mrs. Rushworth, who had the audacity to be as open and frank about their private activities, and even claimed that they ought to have the same rights and openness about the matter as men.
Bold thoughts indeed. It was hard not to admire them.
Quietly, of course.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Madeline managed at last, as flatly as she could.
They crossed the lawn, the damp grass soaking Madeline’s slippers. No sooner had her toes begun to feel cold and damp than they reached the crunching gravel. The air was cooler here, and greener somehow, if that was possible.
“I am not concerned about producing an heir,” the duke—Tristan—said bluntly. He did not look at her when he spoke. “You need not worry about sharing my bed if the idea does not appeal to you.”
A flush stole over Madeline’s cheeks, growing hotter and hotter until she was sure that her face would explode.
Of course, he doesn’t want me to share his bed, she thought furiously. A thin, short little thing like me? I can’t even get my hair to stay in ringlets for long. I haven’t even got much in the way of bosoms. Ugh.
It was a relief, or so she told herself, vigorously. It meant that she did not have to worry about the details of the… the act. It was a weight off her mind—or at least it should be.
“Very well,” Madeline heard herself say, more evenly than she might have hoped for herself. “I am glad that you do not have any expectations of me in that regard.”
Well, that was bolder than she’d intended. The duke—Tristan—stopped dead, turning to face her.
“Why, I’ll be,” he remarked, chuckling. “You needn’t sound so relieved.”
She folded her hands demurely in front of her. “Any respectable lady would be relieved.”
“Relieved at being spared marital duties altogether, or relieved at being spared marital duties with me?”
Madeline narrowed her eyes at him. “I shall let you decide which answer suits you better.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Clever, Madeline, very clever! However, I feel obliged—for the sake of my own pride—to remind you that you might find my, ahem, company enjoyable regardless of producing an heir.”
Madeline folded her arms tight across her chest. “Oh, I doubt that very much.”
He tilted his head to one side, his grin widening. It occurred to Madeline that he was enjoying himself very much.
“Ahh, of course. How could I forget—your poem! You despise all men, do you not? For their role in subjugating women and whatnot.”
“You are saying that men do not subjugate women?”
“And you despise them all equally, do you?”
“Oh, you are nonsensical, Your Grace. Tristan.” Madeline forced herself to take a step closer, just to prove that she was not afraid of his proximity. The trees swayed around them, rustling in the gentle breeze. A leaf detached itself from a branch and came floating down between them.
“I would ask,” Madeline continued, making herself catch his gaze and hold it, “that you do not talk about my poems, and certainly not about my recitation at the Devil’s clubhouse. Once we are married, my actions will reflect upon you, so you’d do well to keep my secrets.”
He chuckled, leaning down just a little. She caught a breath of his scent, a heady, spicy cologne that made her blink.
“Secrets, eh? Now that is intriguing.”
She cursed herself for her choice of words. “I didn’t mean secrets. I just meant… well, I meant things that are my business, and nobody else’s.”
“Things?”
“Yes, things!”
He leaned back, fiddling with his cuffs.
His sleeve slid back, revealing a few inches of muscular forearm.
She noticed that the skin on his wrists was tanned and found herself wondering how he had come about that tan.
Gentlemen wore long sleeves and jackets at all times. Did he ever remove his shirt in public?
This thought sent a shocking pulse of something through her, curling in her chest and rippling downwards in a wave of heat. It was so new and unexpected that she sucked in a breath and took an involuntary step back.
“You must know,” the duke drawled, “that I can find out all of your secrets, proclivities, and things by the end of the day. You know that, don’t you?”
She flushed.
Thank heavens he’s so unpleasant; otherwise, I might actually worry that I was feeling attracted to him.
“My secrets are not very interesting,” she rallied, and turned to walk away. “I won’t stay here to be insulted.”
Quick as a flash, his arm shot out, long fingers curling around her wrist. The contact was so sudden and shocking that Madeline gave a faint squeak, allowing herself to be unceremoniously hauled back.
His grip was not tight. It did not hurt, but neither could she pull away. She stared down at his long fingers, willing her heart to stop beating in her throat.
“Unhand me,” Madeline managed at last, hoping she sounded as outraged as she felt.
“Is it a lover, I wonder?” Tristan murmured, almost thoughtful. “Do you have a lover, Madeline?”
Her gaze flew up to his, outraged green meeting a lazily curious amber-red.
“I do not,” she gasped, hardly able to credit the fact that he had even asked. What cheek! “Do you?”
He eyed her for a moment, as if deciding whether to respond.
“No,” he said at last. “Not anymore.”
Madeline stared up at him. He must be lying. Of course, he was lying. Men like him had dozens, if not hundreds, of mistresses. Probably several at once.
Why would he lie? We aren’t going to have a proper marriage. We’ll never be anything beyond reluctant acquaintances. Perhaps one day we might be friends, although of course that doesn’t seem very likely at the moment.
“Do you believe me?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“Yes,” Madeline responded at last, a little surprised to hear the word coming from her own lips. “I think I do. I don’t mind what you do, of course, so long as you don’t embarrass me publicly.”
He chuckled, dropping her wrist. Her skin seemed to burn where he had touched her. Madeline drew her hand almost protectively back to her chest. She half-expected to see red finger marks on her skin, but there was nothing. She could still feel his touch, though. How odd.
“I’m not sure that I have ever been dismissed so absolutely,” Tristan laughed, shaking his head. “And it’s a little irking to find that the first real dismissal of my life is coming from my bride.”
Madeline clenched her jaw, temper flaring. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”
His smile faded. “You don’t enjoy being laughed at, do you?”
“Nobody does. And to be clear, Your Grace, I shall tell you now that you had better take yourself a lover, because I will never share your bed.”
He flinched backward, real surprise flickering across his face.
“What?”
She wanted to laugh, although the matter was really not funny. “Why are you so shocked, Your Grace? You already told me I need not. Did you perhaps not mean that?”
“Well, I…”
“So, out with it, then. Does this mean that the engagement is over? Do you truly want to marry a little wife like me, who cares nothing for you and has no interest in sharing your bed?”
There was a taut silence between them. Tristan was not smiling now. Madeline did not allow herself to look away. Perhaps it was silly, but she felt as though the air almost crackled between them.
Tristan spoke first, breaking the silence.
“Well,” he said at last. “That’s a blow to my pride. I was not aware that I was quite so repulsive.”
Madeline flushed deeper. “I did not say that you were repulsive. I am sure many women find you attractive. If they like that sort of thing, that is.” She gestured weakly at the duke in general.
His eyebrow flickered. “How kind of you.”
“I only mean to say that I do not want my own children. I adore Adam, of course, but I am frankly relieved that you do not require an heir of your own.”
There was a long silence after that. Tristan’s gaze never wavered. The man didn’t even blink. It was extremely off-putting.
“That’s a rather unusual opinion for a woman to hold,” he said at last.
Madeline bit her lower lip. “Unusual, but not unheard of.”
“Hm. And why do you not want to bring little Madelines into the world?”
She should have expected this question. Clearing her throat, Madeline smoothed the front of her gown, looking away.
“I just don’t, Your Grace. I’d prefer if we left it at that.”
She could still feel his gaze on her. At last, he sighed.
“Very well. It’s of no concern of mine. You and I share a love of Adam and an interest in his well-being, and that is where our common ground ends.”
“I agree.”
“As do I.”
She sniffed. “There’s no need for us to keep on walking together then, is there?”
He pursed his lips, gaze meeting hers once more. His eyes—those curious red-brown eyes—seemed to drag her in somehow. It was a very strange feeling.
“I suppose not,” he responded. “But I wish to take a walk.”
“Well, I wish to go back to the house and Papa.”
“You should do so then.”
“Perhaps I should.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Tearing her gaze away from his, Madeline turned on her heel and stamped away, quietly seething.
Oh, he was insufferable.
I am going to spend the entirety of my married life avoiding my husband.