10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten

Louisa sat in the small club chair in her room, eyes securely fastened on the adjoining door to the duke's room. Would he remain there the entirety of the evening? Or was his midnight escape two weeks ago—on their wedding night, of all things—something he did often?

She stood, her bare feet soundlessly padding across the floor. Holding her breath, she pressed her ear to the wood.

Silence.

He could be sleeping. It was the most likely circumstance. Louisa herself had been spending most evenings in the quiet of her room. During the day, the dowager duchess kept her busy with household matters, making the private moments in her room more and more welcome. To be fair, her mother-in-law—while a slight bit stuffy—had not been unkind. Perhaps the duke had been correct when he said she was looking forward to being freed from her responsibility.

Prince perked up from the small bed on the floor situated by the corner of the room. He stood, shaking himself, coming to Louisa's feet and whimpering.

"No," Louisa whispered, pushing him gently away with her foot. "He will hear you." She shuffled back to her bed before Prince gave away her spying. Patting the place next to her, she eyed her dog. "Come, Prince."

But he didn't move, his small body trembling as he stared at her.

"You went outside just before I took you to bed," she hissed.

Prince walked to the door, marching in small circles as his whimpers turned into louder whines.

Louisa tossed her head back with a groan before going to her wardrobe and throwing on her dressing gown. She picked her newer, thicker gown that had a nice trim of white lace on the edges. "If you go outside and decide you do not have to go , then I will be most upset with you."

She scooped Prince into her arms before leaving her room, a curiosity pricking at her as she walked by the duke's door. As if sensing her desire to remain quiet, Prince let out a quick yelp directly in front of her husband's door.

"Shh!" Louisa hugged Prince tighter as she skulked the halls in near darkness. "He already does not care for you. Do you wish to wake him and make matters worse?"

Prince merely panted and wiggled, trying to free himself from her arms.

Louisa walked down the flights of stairs, and Prince pushed his paws against her chest with all the strength the small dog had. As she tried to force him to stay in her grasp, her words burst out into the quiet of the house. "No. Stay where you are."

"Excuse me?"

Louisa froze, her spine stiffening as her eyes followed the low voice. And there, standing in the doorway to the Lavender Room, was the duke. Disheveled, wearing only his shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and breeches, and holding a pair of spectacles in his hand.

She allowed herself to shamelessly take it all in while trying to find her voice. Goodness. What had come over her? And the more important question, what had come over him? Something about his relaxed state of dress and . . . and spectacles? Her stomach did twirls of delight even as she scolded it for doing so.

The duke seemed taken just as unawares as his eyes slid over her dressing gown, down to her bare feet, then back up to her shoulders where her hair hung free of its pins. A swallow trailed down his throat, and she watched it with intent fascination. A bit of stubble shadowed his neck and jaw, so much unlike the orderly man she saw during the day, going about his duties and tasks with an almost militant air.

She shook her head. "My apologies. I was talking to Prince. You are welcome to move if you wish."

With that, the duke's mouth curved into the faintest of smiles.

"Thank you." He nodded toward Prince. "Is there a reason you are parading your dog around the house at—" he glanced over his shoulder, causing his shirt to tighten across his upper arm, before turning back to her. "—nearly two in the morning?"

"Prince seemed to need to go outside."

"Ah." He pulled the ear of his spectacles to his mouth, touching it to his lip. "You know we have servants that can do that for you."

Louisa shrugged. "I thought I could stretch my legs." Her eyes betrayed her, dipping to the ear of the spectacles as it teased his lip. "And why are you awake?"

At this, the duke's shoulders lowered. "I was going over a few things. But I shan't keep you. Prince might need to—" He pointed his spectacles at her arms where Prince wiggled and whined.

"Oh, yes. Please, excuse me."

"If you wouldn't mind," he interrupted, causing Louisa to stop mid-escape, "there is something I would like your input on before you go back to your room."

All Louisa could do was nod. He wanted her input on something? Him? The Duke of Boroux?

She nodded. "Very well."

Louisa took her time as Prince meandered outside, finding exactly the correct spot to do his business before prancing back toward the house with a happy little waddle. Cold air brushed her face as she let him in, and they began the slow walk back to the Lavender Room.

Prince rushed in ahead of her, making a direct path for the settee near the low fire that burned on the far side of the room. The space seemed intimate during the night, glowing softly from the fire and a few sconces. And then there was the duke, leaning his palms on the same table he had placed the ruby and diamond necklace on before their wedding. A cluster of candles danced about, lighting up his profile as he stared at papers and fabrics littered across the table.

He glanced over his shoulder at her as she neared. But now, instead of holding his wire spectacles, he was wearing them.

"That was quicker than I anticipated," he said, returning his gaze back to the fabrics on the desk.

"Prince does not enjoy the cold, and there was a rather stiff breeze outside."

"You went outside?" He turned his face toward her, looking very much like he could peer into her soul with his small lenses.

She shrugged. "I only opened the door, but I could feel the breeze." She joined him in glancing about the bolts of fabric and paper. "What is all of this?"

The duke had his sleeves rolled up his forearm, and Louisa couldn't help but appreciate the corded muscles as he pressed his weight on them. He was her husband, after all. Surely looking was not so very wrong.

"I thought you could redecorate this room more to your liking."

Warmth started in the depths of her stomach, fingering out to her chest, leaving a tingle in its wake. "Truly?"

"Yes." His brow scrunched as if greatly pondering the situation. "I have never cared much for it. I admit that I always feel out of place here, and as Mother insists this is where we receive most of our guests . . . let's just say it does not help with my aversion to making conversation."

Louisa let her eyes dance across the table, taking in the expensive fabrics.

The duke stood up straight. "I had planned to show this to you tomorrow and allow you and Mother to discuss it then. But since you are awake now . . ."

"These are exquisite." Louisa ran her hand over a particularly lovely blue, green, and brown paisley. "This would make beautiful tapestries." His body beside her exuded warmth, and a rather irritating part of her wanted to run her hand along his forearm, just as she had the fabric, and see what the exposed skin felt like beneath her fingers.

"I am glad you like that one." His voice jerked her attention back to the samples on the table. "It's my personal favorite."

Louisa turned her head so she could see him more clearly. He stood, clasping his hands behind his back, eyes calculating as he gazed at the contents of the table. And then there were those distracting spectacles. Her next thought slipped from her lips. "I did not realize you wear eyeglasses."

"Oh." As if forgetting they were there, he touched a hand to his ear. "Yes. Only while reading. Or, in this case, looking at intricate patterns." He squinted his eyes, then leaned forward as if to demonstrate.

"Do you often stay up late looking at fabrics?"

His cheek creased with a smile and his chest gave a low rumble.

A laugh. It felt like a triumph.

"No. Though I do tend to stay up late. It's a time when I can finally—"

"Be alone?" She finished his sentence without thinking.

He kept his head forward, but his deep blue eyes shifted to her. "Yes. Precisely."

"Well, I do not wish to interrupt your peace and quiet." She pushed away from the table. "I should go back to bed."

"No, I didn't mean to imply—" He scuffed a hand across his face, apparently forgetting he was wearing his eyeglasses. They lay tilted at an odd angle as he let his hand fall, his index finger on his right hand tapping furiously on his thigh.

Louisa chuckled. "Here." She reached up, adjusting the frames so they sat level across his nose.

"Thank you." Sighing, he braced his hands on his hips. "As I was saying, I do not want you to feel like your presence here is a burden to me. I want us to . . ." His voice trailed off.

"To what?"

He reached his hands up into his hair, gripping the strands and making them stand up at half-hazard points. "Goodness if I know."

And then she laughed in truth. Not a chuckle or a smirk, but a laugh that bubbled up from her innermost being. She had never seen him like this. Usually, his shoulders were rigid beneath an immaculately pressed jacket, his hair groomed to perfection, his manners in check, and his words concise. But now, before her in the middle of the night, was a man she hardly recognized. Someone who thought to ask her opinions about something as simple as redecorating a room. Someone who allowed his shirt to lie unbuttoned across his collarbones, or let his hair remain in disarray while fiddling with his spectacles. Someone who seemed human.

And she also had to wonder again—as it became clear with his arms raised above his head, his forearms exposed and muscles more apparent in his shirtsleeves—how did he have such a physique?

Letting his arms fall, he removed his spectacles, rubbing his face with his free hand. His eyes peeped open as he held the bridge of his nose. "Are they that terrible?"

She tilted her chin up, her brow creasing. "What?"

"My eyeglasses. You seem distracted by them."

"And that must mean I dislike them?"

"No," he allowed, dipping his head and tone as he spoke. "But that seems the most likely scenario. My sister teased me mercilessly once it was realized I would need them. So, my general assumption is that they are unflattering." Despite his words, a smile crept up the corner of his mouth.

"I actually quite like them."

His smile turned false, as if she were only trying to be polite. "Thank you."

It was obvious he thought she was lying. "I am telling the truth, Robert. Though, I fear I would have done the same and teased Henry had he needed them." Louisa lightly pulled the eyeglasses from his hand, placing them back on his face. As she let her hand drop, her dratted curiosity brought her fingers gently trailing down his shirtsleeve. And the motion did not go unnoticed. His eyes flew to the soft touch.

She needed a distraction. Now.

"But a brother really shouldn't take a sister's teasing too seriously."

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "she wasn't the only one."

She needed to keep the conversation going before her actions could be further scrutinized. "Who else then?"

He waved a hand. "It is nothing. Just children being children."

This man seemed a more willing sharer as well. Perhaps she could dig a little further. "You have said something to a similar effect before."

He huffed a soft laugh. "I will not burden you with sad stories of a young boy with hurt feelings."

Placing the eyeglasses back on his face had brought them decidedly closer. Robert's deep voice seemed to vibrate in his chest, and she was loath to admit that it was a very nice chest indeed. Suddenly, she became very aware that she was alone in a room in the middle of the night with a man. A tall, strong, and rather attractive one at that.

"She sent a note today—" He looked back at the clock on the mantel. "Yesterday," he corrected, turning back to Louisa. "She invited me to visit her, if you would like to accompany me."

Louisa's mind struggled to understand the jump in conversation. "What?"

"Jessica."

Louisa took a quick step back. "Oh, of course. That would be lovely. I will plan to do that."

"Good." The duke leaned over to the table again, fingering the fabrics. "And then perhaps we can further discuss choices for the room."

Louisa began backing away, but stopped when he glanced toward her.

He smiled. "We shall need a new name for it once the redesign is complete."

Her heart stopped and her mouth fell open as his teeth showed in the candlelight. She had seen a couple of grins on his lips before—but nothing like this. His smile was wide and genuine, and while he had always been handsome, it transformed his face in an entirely new and breathtaking way.

This would not do at all. She was supposed to tolerate the man, not become attracted to him. But she also had not anticipated this man. This smiling, fumbling, spectacles wearing—

"Goodnight." She forced the words, ending any and all feelings right then and there. She had avoided marriage for the sole reason of not wishing to fall in love, but now her husband was changing the game. Marching toward Prince and his regal throne atop the settee, she snatched him up and strode to the hall and up the stairs before bolting herself in her room.

Hopefully tomorrow, the stoic, reserved, and decidedly stiff duke would be back in his place. For if not, she feared for her heart and what might become of it.