Chapter Seven
Dante welcomed the bite of the cold air into his lungs as he rode his horse along the bridle paths in Hyde Park.
A light snow drifted down to dot the grassy areas and fall upon his shoulders, but the point of the ride was for more than mere exercise.
He needed to clear his head and think about the problem of his wife.
Except, she wasn’t the full problem, it was more of a mixture of them both and the fact they were irrevocably wed for the rest of their lives.
They’d been married all of one day, and he’d already created animosity between them.
Neither of them could go forward like they were currently.
The arguing and broken dishes aside, the conflict was simply too much for his overwrought brain.
God, he’d acted the cad. Hell, it went beyond that.
He’d been a monster to have forced himself on her.
Twice.
But then, hadn’t he likened himself to a monster for everything he’d already done in his life? Despite what she’d done or how she’d orchestrated things during the ball that had led to the scandal which prompted the union, she hadn’t deserved to be treated no better than a cheap harlot.
What the hell is wrong with me?
As he manipulated the reins and guided his mount along the path that sloped down a bit, he retreated once more into the dark mire of his thoughts.
The fact remained that he was married. For good or for ill, he had pledged his troth to Anne, and he wasn’t the sort of man to declare defeat once there was a mission placed in front of him.
A shiver went down his spine from more than just the nip in the air.
At worst, he needed to talk with her, to square up a few things and find out what he was dealing with.
At worst, he’d sleep at the club for a while until tempers died down, but he didn’t wish to do that.
Half the problem was his and he needed to take care of it.
Additionally, it was the Christmastide season.
Oddly, regardless of his distaste for everything that entailed, he craved companionship and desperately wished to belong…
somewhere. Would his wife be willing to compromise and celebrate the season with him?
Had he already damaged his fledgling union from his action of the first day?
When his horse huffed out a breath, he grinned, and it felt all too grim.
“Have I mucked it up, then, Balfour?”
Another huff came from his mount.
That’s what he thought, too. With a frown, he wheeled the horse about so they could retrace their steps and eventually go home.
Midway through the trip, he came upon another rider who he recognized as a member of Club Damnation.
Though he didn’t see this man often due to their schedules, Dante had always thought him a decent sort.
As decent as any of them could be, that was.
“Lothario.” Obviously, that title of “duke” had been given to him and he hadn’t come by it naturally.
Was he a womanizer like his namesake? Dante didn’t know him well enough to say.
He inclined his chin as the other man came abreast of his horse.
“Not a good day for a ride, but then we all need to take in the fresh air, eh?”
The man nodded. His reddish-blond hair curled at his collar beneath the brim of his beaver-felt top hat. “Horrid weather, of course, but it is London in December.” He shrugged. “I heard you married yesterday.”
“I did.”
“By choice?”
“Does any man?” When he laughed, the sound was forced and quite false. “It has been… interesting.” Briefly, he told his friend that his new wife wanted to avenge the death of her brother, and that she believed he’d killed said man.
“Did you?” One of Lothario’s blond eyebrows rose in question. “You were a spy for five years, and in deep cover for half that time. You could have.”
“I know.” Dante nodded. “Suffice it to say, at this moment, I have no idea. Beyond that, I’ve acted the arse after knowing her for an hour before saying vows.” With heat on the back of his neck, he told the other man what had occurred yesterday.
Shock went through Lothario’s expression. “You essentially bedded her without consent?”
“Yes.”
“God. It’s a wonder she didn’t stab you right then.” The other man shook his head. “She’s your wife, man, not a courtesan. No matter how the union came about, you should, at the very least, treat her with respect. Women with strong wills don’t appreciate being used.”
“So I am beginning to understand.” Had he already mucked things up that they couldn’t be corrected? “What would you do?”
Lothario snorted. “Best not to ask me for advice, mate. I’ve never been married before and don’t plan to step into parson’s mousetrap. Too much risk from all angles.”
“Ah, so you wish to continue chasing skirts?”
“Well, I do need to mirror my namesake, but there is also a need to become a hermit.” The other man shrugged. “I’m afraid life has taken a toll, but I wouldn’t say no to a skilled mistress. There are needs, after all.”
“It seems I have some decisions to make.” Dante rubbed a gloved hand along the side of his face. “Don’t linger out here too long, Lothario. It’s wretchedly cold.”
“That it is.” The other man touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “I wish you good fortune with your wife. Christmastide will prove miserable if you’re fighting like cats and dogs.”
“Indeed.” With a click of his tongue, he set his mount into motion once more.
What the devil was he going to do about Anne?
Did he want a wife? If he were honest with himself, he did not.
Yet he wouldn’t turn down the chance at companionship.
It might be a lovely thing if he had someone close that he could talk with and be honest with.
Except he’d already started this relationship off by playing an arse. How did he fix it?
When he passed a cluster of holly bushes, he tugged on the reins and brought his horse to a halt.
“This will just be a momentary pause, Balfour.” With a pat on his mount’s neck, Dante slid out of the saddle.
The horse, apparently, didn’t care, for he moved to the side of the path to nibble at the dead grass poking up from the light layer of snow.
Meanwhile, Dante broke a few branches off a holly bush, making sure that at least one of them had a cluster of berries intact.
Would it be enough for a peace offering of sorts?
He would find out shortly. With the branches in hand, he remounted his horse and then continued up the path that would eventually lead out of Hyde Park.
Twenty minutes later, he arrived at his townhouse.
“Peterson,” he said to the butler as he handed over his outerwear. “Where is Mrs. Cunningham?”
The older man’s face didn’t indicate his thoughts. “From what I understand, she is in the morning room, taking tea and enjoying breakfast.” His eyes slightly narrowed. “She is in a delicate state as I have been told from Mrs. Dirkfield, so I would caution you not to upset her further.”
Was he being lectured by his staff? Quickly diffusing the hot anger in his chest, Dante nodded, for he deserved the warning. “Thank you. I’ll join her for at least coffee. It’s deuced cold outside.”
“So I have observed.” Then the butler eyed the holly branches resting on a narrow table in the entry hall. “Don’t forget your plant life.”
“Thank you.” He grabbed the branches and then took himself off to the morning room, which was situated on the second level at the rear of the house next to the dining room. It was a space he never used, for it held a more feminine air and atmosphere.
With the butler’s words ringing in his head, Dante stood at the doorway and focused his gaze on his wife.
She was in profile to his view with her dark brown hair caught up in a loose chignon.
A faint bruise showed on her neck; from his grip?
There was also a matching bruise on the wrist at that side of her body as well.
Damn, how rough had he been? As he continued to watch, she took a sip of her tea, and that was when he spied the slim volume held in her other hand.
A sense of regret went through his chest to crash with cold mortification of what he’d done yesterday.
Oddly enough, Dante wished to make amends, start everything over, perhaps throughout the whole course of his life.
Why not start with the person he’d recently wronged and then perhaps work backward if he could?
Would it make him a better man? He didn’t know. Would it take away some of the darkness sitting on his soul? He sure as hell hoped so, but he wouldn’t know unless he tried.
“Anne.” When he uttered her name, his voice sounded like a rusty gate. After clearing his throat, he tried again as he entered the room. “Good morning, Anne.”
She startled a bit, and gently set her cup into its saucer. Seconds later, she closed the book and set it down to one side of her plate. Only then did she turn her head to glance at him as he approached the round table that could seat four.
“I’m surprised to see you out of bed so early.” The moment she said that, the longcase clock in the corridor struck nine. “I would have wagered you were one of those layabouts who didn’t rise before noon.”
That was fair, and he probably deserved the assumption.
“I actually enjoy rising early, for I savor the hush of the morning before most everyone else is up and about. Often, I’ll go riding through Hyde Park regardless of the weather. The exercise gives me an opportunity to think.”
“Ah, so then you are capable of that also. How lovely to know.” Sarcasm fairly dripped from her voice, but when her gaze fell to the branches in his hand, she frowned. “Are those cuttings from a holly bush?”
“They are.” As if he were a green youth, Dante presented the branches to her. “I saw them while riding in the park and thought you might enjoy them seeing as how it’s the Christmastide season.”
“Why would you do something like this?” She bounced her regard between the branches and his face.