Chapter 10

10

Patience hugged her knees under the silky sheets and hid her face in them. Her room was dark, the outlines of gorgeously carved furniture and the shadows behind paintings on the walls were like silent sentinels, guarding her desolation.

A scratch at the window made her shiver. A branch of the ash tree, perhaps? It must be.

The night behind the closed curtains and windows was quiet but felt menacing. She shivered, listening, but there was nothing but the wind rustling the branches and the grass.

She blinked her heavy eyes. They felt like they were full of sand, and her body ached and felt overheated, as though she was running a fever.

Since her wedding, she had been unable to sleep properly, lying awake most of the night. She missed her sisters' warmth, the sound of breathing, occasional snoring, and the dipping of the mattress as they moved. The sheets at Rose Cottage were scratchy and had holes, the sheep wool of the mattresses gathered in clumps at places. But it felt familiar.

Here… She lay on silky sheets on an inviting mattress, in he r big, beautiful room, surrounded by exquisite furniture. There was no one snoring or kicking her in their sleep, and yet she lay awake, miserable.

There were no carrots to scrub, no caterpillars to pick from cabbage leaves, no wasp nests to fight. Every day, she could eat meat that melted on her tongue and fish so fresh it still smelled of the sea in sauces with names that sounded like myths and tasted like something straight from heaven.

She had servants who sprinted to fulfill her every need at a single word.

She wore beautiful gowns that were every girl's dream and had a lady's maid who knew how to make her look like a goddess.

She could take multiple baths every single day.

And yet, she had never felt as alone and as abandoned as she felt now.

All of this felt false, like a golden cage where her eyes burned with insomnia and her body was so exhausted she felt as though she was slowly dying.

But your family will be free from debt and your father will avoid debtor's prison.

That was what she told herself every night when she performed her family's special ritual of putting bad emotions into a box. That did make her feel a little better. But she still couldn't sleep.

If only she had a warm body next to her to help her feel less alone… Even if it was a cat!

One year like this. That was the agreement.

Then he'd ship her out to another estate, where perhaps she'd finally be able to do her gardening and botanical work. Perhaps she'd even be able to invite Anne to live with her, if Mama could spare her. Once the duke would give them an estate to bring in income, they would be able to hire a servant or two, and her sisters wouldn't need to do all of the housework.

She and Anne would spend their days dedicated to science with no one watching over them. Anne would write another treatise. The first one had been published quite unexpectedly, given a woman's work on mathematics has never been published before. Her poor sister had a wounded heart that would not heal. She had secretly confided in Patience four years ago that Justin, now the Earl of Chans, had proposed and then left her. Yet another man playing with a woman's emotions, Patience thought.

But it did no good to dwell on that. For now, all she needed was to know if Rath really had paid off her papa's debts. If all this loneliness and isolation she felt was not in vain.

Yesterday, at Lady Buchanan's soirée, he had snapped at her, called her naive and silly. Her cheeks burned from embarrassment as she remembered the astonished faces.

Except… What exactly did she do wrong? He had talked about an incident with her brother at Oxford.

The incident…she'd thought it must be John's suicide at first. But Dorian's tone of voice, the complete dread and devastation on his face made her doubt it.

And he thought about that every time he looked at her? No wonder he'd locked her in her own part of the manor and avoided her like a plague, she thought with a twinge of pain. But then why had he married her?

The man was an enigma. Rich, powerful, angry, hurt, and damaged.

That was her husband.

She ached to know all his secrets, that mysterious connection between him, John…and, apparently…her.

She knew that despite her weariness, despite her gritty eyes, there wouldn't be any rest for her tonight .

Maybe knowing her papa's debts were paid would help her sleep.

That was something her husband could tell her. He had to.

She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and put on her slippers. He'd told her his quarters were forbidden, but what would he do, really?

A chill ran through her as she put on a dressing gown.

Quite a lot, actually. That was what he could do. Those massive, muscular arms, the sheer strength in those jabs she'd seen him make every morning. The powerful thighs. The chest so hard it could have been made of stone.

He could do a lot to her if he wanted. And there was nothing she could do in response.

And yet, she couldn't just sit here and hide.

Anything was better than this loneliness.

She lit a candle, put it in a holder, and walked into the hallway.

She knew where his quarters were—Mrs. Knight had showed her so she'd know what part of the house to avoid.

She walked down the corridor of her own quarters and past the landing of the large central stairway that divided the house into two parts. With her heart drumming very hard, she crossed the invisible border that separated his territory from hers.

A wooden floor plank creaked, as though announcing to the whole house she was doing something forbidden. She froze, her own breathing loud in her ears, her pulse beating hard.

She listened for the sound of someone hurrying to stop her, for some kind of a guard, like the duke's valet or a footman, or even Mrs. Knight. Someone to block her way and demand what her business was here.

But no one came. The corridors were dark, with the night inky and moonless outside, she could only see with the light coming from her candle.

She swallowed hard, trying to eliminate the dryness in her mouth. With her feet heavy, she kept walking into forbidden territory.

She guessed the duke's bedroom must be in the mirrored location of her own. She walked into his corridor, and noted the paintings here were all of maritime scenes, seascapes, male portraits, perhaps of his ancestors, and battles, while hers were much more feminine—flowers, female portraits, gentle rolling hills, and lush gardens.

She felt the scorn of the duke's ancestors on her. How dare she disobey her husband's rule?

But she was so desperately lonely she craved any human company, even that of the man she was quite terrified of deep down. He still intimidated her, with his godlike appearance and his demeanor like he knew, and kept, all the world's secrets while she was so young and knew nothing.

She stood before the door she supposed was his, and breathed deeply in and out, feeling like nothing would be the same again after she opened this door.

She turned the handle and entered.

A growl and barking exploded in her ears and a heap of rough, wiry fur reeking of dog knocked all the air out of her as it jumped on her and pressed her against the wall. The candle fell on the floor and darkness descended. In the very dim light coming from three large windows, she could see the gnashing of giant teeth as the dog barked, deafening her. She screamed, terror clutching her like never before.

This was going to be how she died. She'd stepped into the forbidden, and this was her punishment.

A hell beast was going to tear her throat out .

Flecks of saliva landed on her face and neck, dog breath gagging her.

"Titan, sit!" barked a powerful male voice.

One moment she was going to be the beast's dinner, the next, it let her go, backed away, and sat down by the feet of the very tall, very muscular, and very angry owner of the room.

"What on Earth are you doing here?" he roared.

Without waiting for a reply, he picked up her candle and walked to the nearby sideboard.

She was shaking, prickly fear still coursing through her in icy cold surges as she watched him try to light the candle.

He struck the flint and steel together awkwardly, his movements hindered by the glove. The sparks fell short, dying before they could ignite the tinder.

Patience bit her lip, a pang of pity striking her heart. What was hiding under that thick leather glove that he wore even now? Did he sleep in it, or had he swiftly put it on before he rose?

On the third attempt, he struck the steel, and a spark leapt forth and lingered on the tinder, catching slowly. Patience remained frozen as the tinder began to smolder. With a careful breath, Dorian coaxed the tiny flame to life, then brought a thin piece of wood to the flame, lit it, and brought it to the wick of the candle.

As he lifted the candle before him, golden light illuminated his bare, hard, muscular chest, which she could see through the opening of his dark crimson dressing gown. Did he not sleep in a nightgown?

What an odd thing to wonder, she chastised herself, when his Irish wolfhound had almost just eaten her.

She stared at Titan. She'd never become acquainted with the dog, but she'd seen him by Dorian's side every morning from her window .

How could this creature have been a hell beast one moment and the next, sit like a happy puppy, wagging its long tail, as it looked at his master very satisfied with itself. Yes , said Titan's fierce, toothy face, I protected you, I'm a good dog.

She straightened her shoulders and met her husband's furious yet sleepy face.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded again, calmer this time, accentuating every word. "I forbade you to come here."

She raised her chin and called upon the power of positivity and her smile. No fear. No negative emotions. She was fine. "I apologize for the commotion," she said, and Dorian cocked one brow.

"You're apologizing?" He shook his head, irritation in his tone. "Do state your reason for being here before I send you back to your room!"

"Perhaps if you hadn't restricted me to the point where I feel like I live in a prison, I might not have needed to barge into your room!" she exclaimed.

He raised both brows now. "Prison?"

"Yes. Prison."

"You have everything you could ever want."

"Not everything." She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling like she had his attention now, and walked deeper into his room, observing her surroundings. "First, I'd like to know if you did pay my father's debts."

This room was the exact reflection of hers, except it was all in dark blues with some red accents. The bedsheets were crimson and the curtains on the windows were navy blue with thin red stripes. The masculine space fitted him well. There were old swords and shields, and even a mace, hanging on the wall .

Oh, Good Lord, was he going to use any of them for her punishment?

"Yes, I paid your father's debts, Madam," he declared. "I did it the very day of our wedding."

Relief flooded her. "Good. At least I know my family won't be on the streets and my father won't be in debtor's prison."

His predator gaze narrowed on her. "Anything else?"

"Thank you," she said and smiled at him.

He looked quite disarmed for a moment, then swallowed and scowled again.

"Besides that," she said, "I must demand that I sleep in your bed."

His jaw dropped. He blinked. For that moment, he looked like a boy, carefree and surprised, perhaps even full of wonder. It made him look so young, despite the lock of white hair at his temple.

"Pardon me?" he demanded.

"I can't sleep. I haven't been able to sleep since I arrived here."

"Why not?"

"My whole life, I slept with my sisters. It seems I'm incapable of sleeping alone."

He licked his lower lip and bit it.

"And in addition," she said, "I'd like you to have dinner with me. It's been very, very lonely."

"Dinner?" he barked, his eyes widening now.

"Yes," she said and smiled despite his roaring and the anger she could see in him. "Dinner. That is what a family does. They share meals together."

"We are not a family," he growled.

"Clearly not," she scoffed. "I'm so very lonely here! I have no friends, no one to talk to. I'm not allowed to leave my quarters. I'm not allowed to have contact with my own husband! And you won't even let me go to the garden! I brought some of my roses from home, and now they're slowly dying in the mews. They're still bundled up when they should be planted in their new soil, growing in their new home."

He gently placed the candle upon the sideboard and became unnervingly calm, and a chill ran through her. Very slowly, step by step, he walked towards her, holding her in his dark sapphire gaze.

Perhaps she had made a mistake after all. A much bigger mistake than barging into the room of a man who had a beast guarding him who was ready to devour even his wife.

The duke appeared far more lethal than any hellhound, older and dangerously enigmatic, with secrets lurking behind his eyes—secrets she was certain she wouldn't like at all.

He advanced towards her until he stood so close she could smell the clean, masculine scent of his skin. A warm sensation grew at the bottom of her stomach, and she ached for him to stand even closer.

"My dear girl," he murmured, distant thunder crackling in his voice. "You're in no position to make demands. You disobeyed me. You broke the rules. I warned you there would be consequences. You leave me no choice but to punish you."