7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven

Robert's eyes stubbornly wished to remain closed. He could already tell by the red glow behind his lids that the day had begun without him. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he propped his elbows on his knees and attempted to rub the sleep from his face. For a moment, temptation called to him to shove his face back into his pillow and sleep for a few more hours.

And then he remembered.

Yesterday, he had married Miss Morgan.

The jolt of realization woke him fully, shooting him to his feet. He walked to the bellpull to call for his valet as he kept scrubbing his face. He didn't wish to be late for breakfast and raise suspicion. Miss Morgan would be blissfully unaware that he'd had a late night. For all she knew, he was a late riser.

Though Louisa might have questions herself. He had paced his room last night, sure he was going to form a rut in the floor. His thoughts had swung from one to the next. Did she expect him to come to her room? Had their contractual agreement freed them from physical expectations of each other? He had been about to go mad until the small note slipped beneath his bedroom door, giving him the perfect excuse to leave and not worry about what his wife's expectations might be of him on their wedding night.

His hand stopped over his face. Would she have thought to come to his door last night when he failed to appear at hers? His eyes, peering through the gap between his fingers, strayed to their adjoining door. No. That was most unlikely.

His valet slipped into his room, going about his tasks silently. As young Norman yanked and pulled Robert's clothing into order, Robert felt his mask fall into place. No longer was he Robert, the man pacing his room with insecure questions, but the Duke of Boroux, who held his shoulders back and kept his face devoid of anything.

If they do not know your weaknesses, they cannot exploit them. If you do not feel, their words will not hurt you.

Now, it was the facade he wore out of the bounds of his room. Keeping his face clear. Not letting people into his inner circle. Holding everyone at arm's length. And, for the most part, it had served him well.

Robert winced as Norman pulled his waistcoat snugly against his ribs, buttoning it nimbly from years of practice.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace. I am doing my best to be careful."

"No worries, Norman." Robert gently touched his side. "It is only a bit tender."

The young man tentatively glanced up and nodded, but he didn't speak again as he finished his work.

Robert was about to head downstairs, but he felt a sudden need to check his appearance in the looking glass. He gave himself a quick once-over, not noticing anything out of place.

"Norman, does this jacket suit me?"

"Excuse me, Your Grace?" Norman's eyes rounded at the unexpected question. Rarely did Robert engage in such personal conversation with him.

"Never mind," Robert groaned. "I am being ridiculous."

"You have a very fine wardrobe. Anything you wear will likely suit you."

"Of course. Be on your way, Norman." Robert waved his hand. "I will not need your services anymore this morning."

"Very well, Your Grace." He bowed and scurried from the room as if he desperately wished to avoid further questions from his employer.

Robert shook his head before taking determined steps toward his door. He would not become a silly fop just because he was now married and happened to find his wife attractive and witty, and she seemed comfortable in her own skin—whatever the deuce that meant.

To love and to cherish.

The vows kept pestering him, imprinting on his mind. And no matter what Robert did, he could not shake them.

With my body, I thee worship.

Robert's feet hit the stairs in a one-two rhythm until he reached the ground floor of the house. He would have to leave that mystery for another day. As for now, he was about to have breakfast with his new wife.

He almost couldn't breathe.

Robert stopped, closed his eyes, and willed himself to gather his wits. Yes, he had found Miss Morgan intriguing before he had offered for her. Yes, he had singled her out as the woman he wished to spend his days with. But that information did not need to be known beyond anyone but himself. And before he could present himself to her this morning, he needed to get his mask firmly in place. But the vows . . . he had vowed those things in front of Louisa and God.

"Good morning," a feminine voice called to him from the archway.

Robert's eyes flew open, heat creeping up his neck. He quickly settled his gaze, taking a breath to diminish his color.

Miss Morgan tilted her head. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." He gave her a small bow.

"No need for that," she said with a laugh, waving him off. "We are married, after all."

She wore a sprigged muslin in a soft peach hue, and he could see why it was her favorite color for gowns. It suited her very well.

To love and to cherish.

Good gracious, his mind needed to keep its thoughts to itself.

She gave him a coy smile, the curls about her face swaying as she turned and walked ahead. The small moment of privacy gave Robert the opportunity to sort his thoughts before following behind. She left a trail of something soft and feminine in the air and he was horrified by the way he took a deep breath, greedily filling his lungs with it.

He quickly followed after her, and they each took plates from the sideboard.

"How did you sleep?" Louisa asked as she spooned some fruit on her plate. She spared him a glance before moving on to a platter of warm rolls.

He took his time filling his plate, choosing both his food and words carefully. "Very well. Thank you." It wasn't a lie. The time he did sleep, he slept soundly. "And yourself?"

They passed by a window overlooking the gardens behind the house and the sun lit up the lighter blonde strands in her curls. And her eyes . . . he would have sworn they were simply brown, but up close, in the bright light of morning, they glowed a warm amber.

Louisa looked up from her plate, gazing out the window as she gently closed her eyes—basking in the warm sun on her face. She finally gave a soft sigh, shrugging as she went back to her task. "I slept fine, I suppose."

"Suppose?"

"Oh, nothing serious. It's only a new house and new surroundings. New . . . noises." Her eyes flicked to him.

"New noises?" How could a noise possibly be new?

She set her plate down, propping her hand on the sideboard as she turned to face him. "Have you never observed that different houses have their own sounds?"

"I suppose I have never thought much of it."

"Oh, it is certainly the truth. Every house has its own creaks and groans. Why, just last night I heard some strange creaking. Almost as if this house had a ghost." She blinked up at him, smiling.

"Really? In all my years, I have never seen evidence of such a thing." But he was much too practical to even entertain the thought. He decided to keep that particular sentiment to himself, however.

She looked down at her plate, completely relaxed as he stood there dumbly staring at her. She put a finger to her chin. "Yes, I do think I shall name him George."

"Name him?" Robert couldn't keep the shock from his voice. Goodness. This woman would keep him on his toes.

"Of course." She put a hand to her chest. "It certainly had a masculine sound to it."

"In what way?" He leaned nearer, catching another nose-full of whatever feminine scent followed her about.

She leaned closer as well, as if sharing a dastardly secret. She cupped a hand to her cheek. "A woman's feet do not make that much noise."

Suspicion crawled up his spine. Had she heard him leave last night? If so, he did not wish to discuss the details of his evening, so he decided playing along was his best course of action. "Well," he said, straightening and grabbing his plate. He plopped a healthy dose of eggs in the center. He was starving. "I do believe you are on to something. Let me know if you find any other . . . ghosts."

"Certainly." She gave him one last grin before returning to her own plate. "Oh, one more thing."

He took a roll, spreading on a generous portion of salted butter. "Yes?"

"I was wondering when you plan to visit my room?"

Robert's roll dropped from his hand, landing on the tines of his fork and sending it flying to the floor, where it landed with a loud clatter. He swallowed, reaching for a clean utensil. "Is there not a better time to discuss this?"

"I feel now is best. Your mother is not here yet."

He nodded, his throat tightening. "Very well. I—I had thought of waiting to visit you."

"I see." Miss Morgan did not move on, standing in his path to the table and freedom from this conversation. "So, we will keep things of that nature as a matter of business as well?"

Robert nodded. "That seems a good plan." Though he supposed it wasn't as simple as she was making it. It was not that he did not desire her in that way, but he wanted to know her better first. It was bad enough that he could hardly have a normal conversation with her, then to add to it the physical aspect . . .

"You are thinking," Miss Morgan said, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Yes, I am." He noticed his finger pattering away on his leg, and he stilled it. "I only want to feel more comfortable in our situation before we move in that direction. Do you have any objection to that?"

She smiled, raising her shoulders. "Not at all. I just wish to be clear of our expectations of each other."

Robert could not get over how relaxed she seemed during the entirety of this conversation. If only he could somehow harness that ability for himself.

"Would you have ever brought this up? Or would you have left me waiting for years?" She placed a hand on her hip, grinning at him.

Goodness. Hopefully it would not be years.

"I am very sorry, Miss Mo—"

"Louisa," she corrected.

He nodded. "Yes. I should have discussed this with you sooner, and I will be sure to let you know when things . . . change."

She tucked her lips in, hiding her obvious smile. "You are rather adorable when you are nervous."

Adorable? Not dashing? Handsome? Attractive? "Thank you," he said, like the idiot he was. Perhaps one day he would be able to keep up with his wife, but today was not that day.

They walked in silence over to the table as his mother entered, joining them. "After breakfast, I thought we could go over some things," she said, piercing Louisa with an expectant stare.

Louisa swallowed her first bite, giving his mother a nod. "Yes, of course. I look forward to it."

His mother rang a bell and a servant immediately entered and poured her a cup of tea. She was nothing if not prompt, precise, and organized. She would have Louisa trained in the ways of being a duchess in record time. Robert wondered how much of that had to do with her precise nature, and how much had to do with her wishing to be done with the role herself.

"I do expect some visitors today," Louisa continued.

Visitors already? "That sounds nice." The lie slipped over Robert's tongue with ease. Visitors were rarely something he looked forward to. But as long as they came to visit his wife and not him, then it was none of his concern.

"Yes, Henry and Violet plan to bring Prince over."

"Prince?" Robert didn't like the way she said those words. As if Prince was a living, breathing thing. "And who is this Prince?"

"My dog." She looked up at him from across the table, her comfortable demeanor for the first time rubbing him the wrong way. Like she hadn't suddenly dropped news that he would now be sharing his immaculate home with a furry creature that would follow him about, whining or barking or wanting to go for walks . . .

"A dog?" He gripped his fork a little tighter. "And what size is this dog?"

"Prince," she corrected him, enunciating the name as if he had somehow forgotten it already.

He wasn't a dunce. He was merely irritated.

She continued. "He is quite small, actually. I shall be surprised if you even notice him. This house is large enough for him to wander without being underfoot."

"Quite." Robert stopped any other words before he said something he might come to regret.

"A dog?" His mother looked utterly repulsed, her face crinkling. "In Stonemoore?"

Brooks came through the doorway, shifting his feet and not meeting Robert's eyes. "Lord and Lady Wood are here. With a . . . guest."

Robert slowly swiveled his head to Louisa before standing. "Yes, Brooks. Show them to the front morning room."

"All of them?"

Robert drew in a measured breath, trying not to sigh. "Yes. Her grace will be there to greet them."

Louisa stood. "You will not even notice him, I swear." She held her hand out in front of her as if warding off his doubt, then spun about and followed Brooks from the room.

Curiosity caused Robert to follow. He did not plan on staying to visit, but he needed to assure himself of the dog's stature or it would not leave his thoughts.

As they neared the room of mention, Robert heard raised voices.

"Prince, no! Come back here!"

Following the shouts, a small creature darted from the front morning room, quick as a shot, barreling toward him faster than Robert thought the tiny legs were capable of moving.

Louisa stopped in the hall, crouching down. "Prince!" The dog pounced into her arms, wiggling about and licking her face. "Oh, I know. I have missed you. Have you been a good dog for Henry?"

Robert wasn't sure, but he thought a grumble sounded from the room beyond.

Well, the dog was small. Now that Robert confirmed it, he could take his leave. Turning on his heel, he took two steps toward his office when a shrill yap sounded in the air. Small but mighty. And then he heard small feet skittering across the marble floor tiles.

"Prince, no!"

Robert turned, but before he could so much as think, a small weight pressed against his leg. And not just once, but repeatedly as the small dog jumped and wagged its tail, tongue lagging out the side in apparent excitement. Robert did not share the small beast's sentiments.

Louisa chuckled as she sauntered toward him, holding out her arms.

For a brief moment of terror, Robert thought she was going to embrace him. But soon it became clear she was only picking up her horribly behaved dog. She took Prince in her arms, snuggling her face into the furry creature's neck. A large smile lit up her face, and she raised her eyes to Robert as he watched it all unfold.

Her smile dimmed. "Are you all right? Do not tell me you are afraid of one little dog."

It wasn't the dog that scared him—it was the woman that held it. When Robert had briefly thought—though admittedly, stupidly—she was going to wrap him in an embrace, all blood had drained from his head, only to have it all go rushing back into his face. He did not believe he was blushing. As a grown man, and a duke, no less, he would do no such thing. But it did make his head feel fuzzy.

"Your Grace?" Her concern seemed to grow as he remained mute.

"Yes. I am fine." He ran a hand over his jacket. "I hope you enjoy your visit with your brother and his wife."

"You could join us if you wish." She watched him as she idly scratched behind the small dog's ears.

Did she want him to join her? Should he?

"If you are busy," she said, "you need not feel obligated."

Goodness. His wife already seemed able to read his mind, which was a rather unsettling thought. Yes, he knew she was adept at reading a room, but he had not considered her being able to read him. He had gone to great lengths to make sure he was unreadable. And that's the way he preferred it.

"I have some work to accomplish this morning, otherwise I would join you. Please send your family my regrets and assure them we will schedule something soon."

"Of course." She gave him one last parting smile, then turned and went to join her brother and sister-in-law in the morning room with her little dog in tow.

Robert quickly turned down the hall, making his way to his office. Did he feel her eyes on his back as he walked away? Or was he only being insecure and overdramatic? He could swear a heat was spreading over his back and shoulders.

When he reached the end of the hall to turn, he stole a glance back down the hall. But it was empty.