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Chapter Eleven

Nathanial didn't see his bride at breakfast the next morning. Nor, though he waited in the library for quite some time and even ventured up to her dressing room, did he so much as see her leave the house. When he inquired about her whereabouts, however, it was to discover that she had left to visit her family.

"Thank you, Jarvis," he said. "If the Duchess arrives home tonight, please let her know I would like to speak with her."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Left alone once again, Nathanial paced the floor. Although he was aware of a pressing need to speak with her, he hardly knew what he wanted to say. To tell her it was an isolated event and he had no intention of it happening again? To reassure her that as her husband, he had no designs on her?

The truth was, he hadn't intended on kissing her then. The thought had not been further from his mind when he had set off to find her. Not there, not then, and not, necessarily, at all. But she had returned his embrace, a flush on her cheeks, and she had touched his face with such sweetness.

And she hadn't kissed Montague .

Nathanial didn't usually consider himself a jealous man, but if his wife was going to kiss anyone for the first time, he would much rather it be him.

And then she had run away.

He had never kissed a woman who had run away.

Frustrated, and well aware Theo had no intention of returning any time soon, Nathanial took a walk he had not made in some time. Since his marriage, in fact. He might have done, if he had not been so busy with Theo, and if Juliet had not made their connection rather more public than he liked at the theatre.

Staying away had been easy. Today, however, he wanted a distraction, and he knew that if nothing else, Juliet knew how to distract him.

He found her in her drawing room, brow furrowed as she stared at a piece of paper on her writing desk. For a moment, he merely observed her. She was clearly expecting no visitors; although her dress was expensive, she wore her hair loose. It made her look younger.

He leaned against the doorframe and rapped on the half-open door. Juliet glanced up and her eyes widened. "Nathanial," she said, forgetting his title in her surprise. "You—you came."

"As you can see."

"I thought you might not." She left the paper on the desk, apparently forgotten, as she hurried towards him, arms outstretched. "What can be the reason for you staying away from me so long?"

"Why, don't tell me you missed me," he said, glancing across at the missive. From this distance, he couldn't read it, but it was clearly a letter. "You have enough to keep you entertained."

"I do not have another duke," she said coyly, moving to kiss his cheek. For no reason he could articulate, he avoided her caress. "And you know, dukes are hard to come by, Your Grace."

Now he was here, he felt unsettled, as though the walls were too close and the air too stale. He strode to the sofa and sat, his hands loose in his lap. "Do you merely value me for my title?"

"Not at all," she said, sitting beside him and trailing a finger up his arm. "I find many things appealing about you, as you well know."

"Such as the depths of my pockets." He shrugged off her restless fingers. "Would you have encouraged me if I were a Mr Hardinge of indifferent wealth?"

She paused, and he knew the answer; he had known the answer since their relationship had begun. His value to her lay in his title, his wealth, the many things he could offer her. Theirs was a mutually beneficial relationship.

At least, it had been.

She tilted her head. "What of me?" she asked, but although her tone strove to be carefree, it drooped at the end like a flower deprived of light. "Would you continue to see me if I were plain, or if I didn't offer you what I do?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

"Then we are in a similar position, Your Grace." Her gaze sharpened. "Except you have a wife and are less inclined to share my bed."

"I am busier than I'd intended, certainly."

"I remember a man who assured me in no uncertain terms that his wife would not change his life."

Nathanial also remembered that man, in the same way one recalls a particularly distant dream. "It appears matrimony is a rather consuming state." He looked again at Juliet. There were fine lines around her eyes and she was looking at him with more possessiveness than he liked.

She was no Theo. And the prospect of being with her now was not an appealing one .

"This was a mistake," he said, standing abruptly. "Excuse me."

"Your Grace—"

Without another word, he strode from the room.

Juliet tucked her muff more tightly against the chilly breeze. An iron sky glowered down at her, and not for the first time, she concluded this had been a mistake. Meeting Montague at her home was one thing; there, they could speak in private and no one would see them together.

Here, in Hyde Park with the Serpentine River glinting away in the distance, they were exposed in a way she didn't appreciate. Montague added nothing to her status or reputation, unlike Nathanial, and he had never consented to walk out with her.

Finally, Montague strolled towards her in a dark coat and elegant navy gloves. "Juliet," he said, a secretive smile curling his lips. That was a smile that would make many a young girl's heart flutter, if they were susceptible to such things. Juliet was not. "You are looking especially well today."

"I know," she said, accepting his arm. "I always look well. You're late."

He pulled out a pocket watch and examined it. "Only by ten minutes or so."

"Ten minutes in the cold may as well be half an hour." With Montague, Juliet didn't bother with her usual politeness; they had a mutual purpose that depended little on her personal charms. "Did you not get my note?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"I said it was urgent. "

"I'm here," he repeated, smiling at a young lady as they passed. "I had not taken you for a shrew, my dear."

"The Duke visited me this morning for the first time in a long while," she snapped. "And he was distant. Said something about being occupied with his wife. He looked at me and he didn't see me, Montague." And she had tried everything she knew of; nothing had erased that distant look in his eyes like faraway stars. "He was thinking of her—I know it."

"It appears you are having less luck with the Duke than we had hoped."

"Thank you for identifying the obvious." The cold had penetrated her gloves and the tips of her fingers were numb. She was not built for the cold; the sooner spring arrived, the better. "How are you faring with her?"

"She's willing but shy. When I find the right place, if I make it romantic enough, I have no doubt she'll be amenable. Then all I'll have to do is allow Nathanial to see our intimacy. I know women, and he's not had her yet. I'm certain of it."

"What's taking you so long?" Juliet demanded. "She's a blushing girl and you an experienced man—if you cannot lure her to bed, there will be few who can."

"Patience, my dear," he murmured. "She needs time."

"We do not have time, Montague. The longer we dally, the more likely the Duke is to fall in love with her pretty face." A pretty face Juliet could not compete with; despite her best efforts, she could not ward away time forever. "I have known Nathanial well over these past five years and he is falling for her. I can feel it."

"That will matter little if she does not fall for him."

"And you are certain of that?" Juliet pulled her hand from Montague's arm and turned to face him. "He is her husband; she may not deny him."

"Was that your experience with your husband?" Montague's voice was gently mocking, and she turned her head away. He gripped her chin with strong fingers. "You may choose not to trust me, but the Duke's pretty little wife is within my grasp. If I bide my time, she will lift her skirts for me, and we will both get what we want."

"Only if the Duke knows about it."

Montague smiled cruelly. "Oh, he will know about it, my dear. I'll make sure of that."

Juliet caught his arm and wrenched it from her face. "You had better act quickly before there is an heir and your chance at consequence is lost forever."

"And you," he said, allowing her to draw his hand away, "had better find a way to lure your Duke back to you before you lose him forever. A pretty game you tried to play in the theatre, and so publicly. If I know my cousin—and believe me, I do—he hasn't just neglected you because of his wife."

That had been a mistake, but she would never admit it to Montague. "Leave the Duke to me and you will not be disappointed."

"You have many charms," he said, his gaze raking her up and down. Later, she knew, he would visit her, and she would accept his advances, because the web they had woven was too tangled for her to risk rejecting him. "Play your cards well, and you will yet win him back. And you know how to do that?"

"How?" she asked, unable to help herself.

Montague placed his lips by her ear. "By pretending he doesn't exist." Smiling, he leant back and offered her his arm again. "There is nothing so guaranteed to drive a man wild with longing—we are all dogs with bones, and we protect what's ours."

"What will prevent him from protecting his wife?"

"Why, I will." With a practised air, he smiled at yet another woman who passed. "I shall be taking little Theodosia to a masquerade tomorrow night, and we shall see what comes of it. "

Juliet raised a brow. "That little mouse at a masquerade? Does she know?"

"She will." With that, he dropped her arm, offered her a sardonic bow, and left her standing alone in the middle of the path. Careful not to let a hint of displeasure escape onto her face, she tucked her hands back into her muff and tightened her numb fingers into a ball.

Theo successfully avoided Nathanial.

It had not been an easy feat; when she knew he was waiting for her downstairs, she slipped down the stairs and out of a side door, leaving a message with Jarvis that she was visiting her family. And when she returned home that afternoon, with a cold nose, it was to an invitation from Montague to a masked ball. He made no mention of Nathanial's name, and she could not but feel it was an excuse to see her again.

An excuse she . . .

Well, frankly, she didn't know if she relished it or not. It was flattering, to be sure, and Theo enjoyed the flattery, but she couldn't deny the fact something had changed the moment Nathanial had kissed her.

Or rather, the moment she had kissed him back.

She bashed out some scales on the pianoforte in the drawing room, the notes hard and angry and often irregular. This was the first time since their marriage that she had bothered to sit down and practise, but the cold had dissuaded her from venturing outside, and she had no engagements.

Except this masked ball tonight.

With Montague, her every romantic ideal.

Or so she had thought until Nathanial had kissed her.

She played a clashing chord and glared at the keys. If Nathanial hadn't kissed her, she wouldn't need to feel as though she owed him something—owed him, specifically, not to go with Sir Montague.

But this masked ball provided her with an excuse not to be with Nathanial, which was very tempting. If they spent any time together, they would have to discuss the kiss, and no amount of friendship could prepare one for that conversation. She had been thinking about it all day and still had no idea what to say.

"Theo?" Nathanial said from the doorway of the drawing room.

"I'm practising," she informed him, in case the evidence before his eyes, and ears, was not enough. To ensure she drove the point home, she played another few runs of inaccurate chords.

"I thought perhaps you could spare a few moments for your husband," he said, taking the seat directly behind her. "Or had you forgotten that in your attempts to ignore me?"

"I'm not ignoring you."

"Oh? Then perhaps we could talk."

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Her life was made up of perhaps—of maybes and coulds and shoulds. There were no certainties on which she could depend; the only certainty she had was that Nathanial was her husband. And although they had been married for almost two months now, the kiss had proved she knew so little about him. She did not know how his hands felt, or the way her name would sound if he whispered it to her.

She did not know what it would be like to be truly married to him.

But heavens, thinking about that helped no one.

"Very well," she said, turning on the seat and placing her hands neatly on her lap. "About what do you wish to talk? "

A bleak smile touched his lips. "So formal, Theo. Is spending time with me so unappealing?"

Oh, she could not hate him when he looked at her like that. "Of course not," she said, and when he held out a hand to her, she took it. "I'm just—I'm very busy."

He looked at her intently, but he merely said, "I appear to have the misfortune to have married a social butterfly."

"Is that not a duchess's role?" she teased, but her tone fell flat. She fiddled with her dress. "That reminds me. I have a-an engagement tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. I had not thought you would mind."

"Of course not, if that is what you wish." His gaze searched hers. "Would you like me to attend?"

With Sir Montague? She almost laughed. "Oh, you should find it boring." She couldn't seem to still her nervous hands. "Why, did you have plans?"

"It appears I don't any longer," he said, still looking at her with eyes that pierced straight through her. "Perhaps another time."

"Yes," she said, rising. "Perhaps another time."

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

"We should talk about that kiss," Nathanial said as she reached the door, and she froze. "I would not like you to think I am forcing my advances on you."

"Of course not," she managed.

"And it will not happen again if you don't want it to."

Theo mumbled something incomprehensible and flew from the room, covering her burning face with her hands. Of course he would think she did not want him to kiss her—she had run from him. Twice now.

But, of course, she didn't want him to kiss her. That would be absurd. They were friends, and friends did not kiss. Friends did not circle each other like moths to a flame; they did not wake up dreaming about the look in his grey eyes.

For him, it had probably been nothing. A dalliance with a woman he, in the eyes of the law, owned. And for her, too, it would be nothing. She would suppress any other things until they were nothing.

After all, there could be nothing as terrible as discovering feelings for one's husband. They had married for convenience and she would not let herself forget it.

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