9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

Robert had been married for two weeks and was still not accustomed to having his wife walking the halls of his home. For the most part, Miss Morgan kept to herself. Meals were quiet but comfortable. His mother had been keeping Louisa busy as she showed her how to run the household. But tonight . . . well, it would not be a quiet or comfortable affair. They were to attend their first event since their marriage. Not only would every eye be fastened to them for the entire evening, but many well-wishers would be offering their congratulations, and likely sharing their unasked for and unwanted thoughts about how quick of an engagement it had been.

Robert knocked on the door to his wife's room. The one in the hall that was more public. Not the adjoining door in their rooms, which he still pretended didn't exist.

"Just one moment," she called, her voice light.

Clearly she was looking forward to the evening more than himself.

"I can wait downstairs." His knuckles still rested against her door as he awaited her answer. Footsteps pattered within the room and the door opened, causing Robert to jerk his fingers away.

"I'm ready," Miss Morgan said with a smile. She adjusted the earring on her right lobe, twisting it with her gloved hand. Tilting her head to the side, her gaze washed over him. It was not a sensual perusal, but she gave her head a nod. "You look very dashing."

Oh dear. Now was he to return the compliment? He did not think he would succeed in the effortless manner in which she said and did everything. Refusing to shift his feet or fidget within his evening attire, he dipped his head. "And you look lovely."

"Thank you." She smiled, and before Robert could offer his arm, she took it herself, moving toward the stairs. "I can see that you would rather step on a nail than attend this evening." Another grin crept across her lips. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You are not wrong." He turned them down the stairs, taking his time so he did not rush her. Their legs were decidedly of different lengths, and he did not wish to pull her along as if he were a runaway horse.

"I knew it." She ran her hand up his arm as she tightened her grip, and he nearly lost his footing. He was unused to such a casual touch from a woman, even if she did not mean to do it in a romantic way.

"And what are you thinking, Your Grace?" she said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Excuse me?" He spared her a quick glance as they made it to the ground floor. They stopped by the door, and he grabbed his hat and a light shawl for her to wear in the carriage. He held it dumbly in his hands, unsure of what to do while she turned with her back to him. Did she expect him to drape it for her? If he was wrong, death would be preferable to the mortification he would feel.

"I can tell your mind is full of thoughts, yet I cannot exactly read what they are," she said, continuing their conversation as he had an internal debate with himself.

Finally, he gently laid it across her shoulders. "Are you usually able to read people's thoughts?" One corner of her shawl caught on her shoulder instead of draping as it should. He awkwardly reached forward, pulling it out correctly before offering his arm back to her.

She shrugged. "Mostly. I am not a mind reader by any means, but I generally notice people's mannerisms and tone of voice. And while I can tell you are not pleased to be attending tonight's event, that is about all I've been able to decipher."

"I see." He looked at the shawl and could not help but ask his question aloud. "Did I—did I do that correctly?" He tilted his head toward her shoulder.

She turned her large brown eyes to him. "Excuse me?"

"The shawl." He pressed his finger on his free hand into his thigh. "Is that what I was supposed to do?"

"Oh." She fingered the delicate fabric before smiling up at him. "Yes. You did perfectly."

Relief coursed through his limbs, and his fingers were overcome by a strange tingling sensation—almost as if his blood had stopped just short of them and now rushed back with his relief. "Very good."

Miss Morgan dipped her head in an attempt to hide her smile. Robert held his arm out to her and led her to the carriage, where they took seats opposite each other.

"I must admit I feel as if I have cheated regarding your demeanor."

"Oh?" He clasped his hands in his lap, forcing himself to appear cool, calm, and collected.

She grinned. "Yes. Your reluctance to be in crowds is no secret."

He tilted his head, studying her. The light from the streetlamps wavered over her shoulders and neck, and for the first time this evening, he truly allowed himself to appreciate her appearance.

He had not lied. She did look lovely.

Blonde curls framed her cheeks, kissing her skin as they swayed from the gentle rocking of the carriage. Her lips appeared soft and relaxed—until she suddenly gave them a small pucker.

"You do not care to ask how I know?" She tucked her chin slightly as her eyes smiled up at him. And yes. Her eyes smiled. He would not have thought it possible, but her eyes held mischief and grins and a sense of knowing that made his skin prickle with unease. As if she could see things he would rather she not. Such as, had she noticed him noticing her?

"If you would like to share how you came about such knowledge, then please feel free."

She brought a hand to her chin, her eyes slowly trailing over him before shrugging. "It is quite simple, really. You always look miserable when in a crowd."

Robert ran his tongue across his teeth in an attempt not to smile, but he felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

His wife turned so he had a view of her lovely profile. Then her eyes peeked over at him. "I really wish you would not withhold your smiles."

Apparently, she noticed that as well. Robert let the quiet set in after her words, his mind running through his options. He could let her remark fade into oblivion, not giving it a second thought. Or he could share a small detail of himself with her. They were married and had agreed to be friends. He should give her something of himself, even something small.

"You are thinking again."

He turned back to her, pausing for a moment. She had a soft smile playing about her lips, her posture somehow perfectly straight yet soft. Robert's eyes trailed over the slope from her neck to her shoulders, a wide expanse of creamy skin showing in her pale-green evening gown. He brought his eyes back to her studious gaze. "I am."

"Care to share?" She tilted her chin up slightly with her question and he was tempted to follow the line down her neck once more, but he forced himself to retain his wits. Admiring his wife's beauty would not help his train of thoughts.

He kept his face still. "That was what my thoughts were, actually. Whether I should share something with you or not."

"Well, seeing as how we have agreed to be friends, I think you should." Her cheeky grin and perceptive eyes teased the words from his mouth.

"I was only going to remark on why I do not show my emotions much. As a duke, I am often seen as a pawn in people's political games or other types of influence. I prefer to keep my guard up lest I be taken advantage of, or worse, duped into looking a fool."

The grin faded from her lips, her lashes slowly blinking as she studied him. "And how long have you kept people at arm's length?"

He gazed out the window of the carriage before his eyes caught on a cluster of people talking and laughing on the sidewalk. That was how his life felt sometimes. People on one side of life, laughing, not having a care, while he watched through a window. Yes, they could see him, but there was a barrier between them. An invisible shield of his own making. But shields also served a purpose—to protect the one who wielded it.

"Please forgive me, Your Grace," she said, breaking the quiet. "I seem to have asked a question too personal for your taste."

He turned toward her. "You are my wife, are you not?"

"Yes." Her voice was soft—almost tentative—as if not sure of the answer to his question.

Robert allowed himself to give a small lift to his shoulder. "I suppose I have done it since I was a young boy. Children can be . . ."

"Cruel?"

Robert turned and watched as the gas lamps came closer before fading behind them, only to be quickly followed by another. It gave him something to focus on other than his pretty and inquisitive wife. "Yes."

Apparently, she thought she had delved into his mind enough for one evening, for the rest of their ride was spent in silence—other than the faint sounds drifting in from outside. He was quite certain he could feel her gaze searing the side of his face, and while he felt uncomfortable about being the subject of her study, he did not glance her way.

When they arrived at the Hughes' residence, Robert stepped down from the carriage, offering his hand to Louisa before securing her grasp on his arm as he led her inside. He could feel his conscious retreating within himself. Whatever fissure he had allowed in the carriage had to be put to an end.

When they walked through the large double doors, Robert let the first effects of the crowd wash over him. His chest tightened, his skin restricted, and his breathing had to be done with a concerted effort to remain steady. But he made the effort, as he always did.

"How lovely," his wife said from his shoulder.

He turned his head, giving the room a cursory glance. "Quite."

"Oh, good heavens!" an older woman cried, rushing toward them with hands in a flurry.

Lady Hughes.

"I cannot believe my ball is the first event where the new duke and duchess make their debut." She gripped her full skirts as she dipped into a curtsey. "Truly, I am incredibly honored, Your Grace." She gave Robert her attention first, before quickly diverting to his wife. "And you, Miss Morgan." Her eyes went wide as saucers. "Except you are Miss Morgan no more." The middle-aged woman's hand flew to her chest. "Your Grace."

His wife smiled. "I fear that term makes me feel a bit stuffy, but I would also not insult my husband by asking you to continue to call me Miss Morgan. And since propriety forbids me from having you call me by my Christian name, I suppose ‘Your Grace' must do. I believe my husband would appreciate that as well." She smiled, and then, in an act that made no sense and he had not seen coming, she reached up and pinched his cheek.

Robert stared down at her, aghast. Did she honestly just do that?

"My dear husband can be a very quiet sort." Miss Morgan raised her shoulders as she smiled at Lady Hughes.

Lady Hughes giggled in delight. And yes, the only word Robert could think to describe her reaction was a giggle. Like a little girl who got a new toy. Or, in this case, a new and very much sought after piece of information.

"I am so glad you have settled down and formed such a happy union, Your Grace. Your duchess is a pure delight."

His mouth still hung open after the cheek ordeal, but he quickly snatched it closed. A strange sensation filled Robert's chest at their hostess's sentiment, glancing over at Miss Morgan as she smiled with ease. His duchess .

He could slap himself. She would likely not enjoy the trail of his thoughts.

Lady Hughes laughed, throwing her head back. Her cheeks were flushed, and Robert wondered just how much punch the woman had enjoyed already.

But Robert realized, with some level of contentment, that most of the questions and conversation were now being pointed at his wife.

He could have kissed her. Theoretically, of course.

Lady Hughes' rambling finally came to an end, and his wife offered her a smile as Robert led her further into the room. He dipped his head down to whisper in her ear, pausing as he drew a breath, and his senses were filled with crisp apples and a citrusy scent. Did all women smell like this? He could not claim to have ever been close enough to notice, but the warmth radiating off Miss Morgan's skin and the smell of whatever perfume she used was driving him to distraction.

"Yes, Your Grace?" She turned, standing beside him and bringing their noses together and almost touching.

He pulled back slightly. Keep it together, Robert.

"That was brilliant." Except for pinching his cheek in full view of a ballroom of people , he neglected to add.

She raised her brow. "Is that all you require from me? Well, had I known your expectations were so low, I might have agreed to marry you sooner."

He stayed near her face and before he could stop it, he felt the lines between his brows crease. Just as he began lifting his head, she lightly grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back to her.

"I am teasing you, Your Grace."

He looked down at her from the corner of his eye, not trusting himself to meet her gaze fully at this distance.

"Try and keep up?" She released his shoulder, grinning, before turning and walking toward a group of people. Without anyone walking over to her or forcing her hand, she freely conversed with ladies as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And he was left with no words—only a gaze that filled him with a faint sense of dread, for he knew what the feeling was.

Longing.

He—Robert, the Duke of Boroux—liked his wife.