Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Three Nights Later

G emma paced in front of the door that led between her bedchamber and her husband’s. It had been three days. Three days of them barely speaking to each other. Three nights of them attending ton balls as if they were a happily married couple.

Grovemont hadn’t told her anything about himself, his life, or even how he expected them to conduct themselves as a married couple. It was truly strange. All he’d done was eat breakfast with her in the mornings, his face stuck behind the newspaper, with no words spoken past, “Good morning.”

Then he’d escorted her three nights in a row to a ton ball. They’d ridden in his luxuriously appointed coach together, speaking only of things such as the weather and the traffic in monosyllables. Then, once at the ball, he’d take off in one direction and she’d been forced to go in search of her family and friends in another. At some point, her husband found her, danced one waltz with her, left her again, and then gathered her at the end of the evening for the same boring ride home.

Was this how her marriage was to be? Day after day of hardly speaking and barely spending time together? It was maddeningly dull.

And to add insult to injury, her new husband still hadn’t visited her bed. Each night, she’d put on the frothy lacy concoction from her wedding night and waited until she heard the snoring. Then she’d sunk into the mattress and pulled the covers over her head, completely frustrated and confused. What was wrong with him?

Oh, God. Was he impotent? She’d heard about such things. From Meredith, actually. Apparently, her first husband had been, ahem , unable to perform. But something told Gemma that impotence was not Grovemont’s issue. In fact, she got the distinct impression it had something to do with her .

Gemma wanted to ask Meredith about it. But her pride kept her from it. If she explained to either Meredith or her mother what was going on here, no doubt they’d be appalled. Those two ladies lived quite different lives. Lives with talking, and tea sharing, and newspaper discussions, and laughter. And while she didn’t want to contemplate how her mother and father had ever spent time in their bedchamber, Gemma was certain Meredith and Griffin shared plenty of time in that room. And from what Meredith had intimated, they greatly enjoyed themselves there.

This, whatever it was, with Grovemont was something else entirely. Some sort of purgatory of pleasantries that made one feel as if one were going mad. Her husband had never said anything unpleasant toward her or indicated he was unhappy with her, but surely there was something wrong if he hadn’t seen fit to visit her bed at night. Even if she hadn’t yet blossomed, he should at least see fit to consummate their marriage .

Gemma had tolerated it impassively the last three nights, but now here she was on night four and she was quite tired of the uncertainty and waiting. Either her husband would bed her, or he’d explain to her why not!

Before her nerve left her, she took a deep breath, turned, and stomped to the door. She knocked on it loudly, so sharply her knuckles hurt.

Silence.

She put her ear to the door. The snoring had stopped. She must have woken him.

A few moments passed. She lifted her hand to knock again when she heard “Come in” muttered sleepily.

Gulping and willing her pounding heart to settle, she pushed open the door between their rooms and stepped into the quiet darkness.

The light from her bedchamber illuminated a small space around her.

“Yes,” came her husband’s deep voice from the bed. “What is it?”

What is it ? She fought the urge to stamp her bare foot. Did he truly not know? He had to. “I… I…” Oh, God. For all that she’d been impatient enough to knock and enter, she’d thought very little about what she would say once she arrived.

“Are you all right, Gemma?”

It was the first time she’d heard him say her Christian name. She’d begun to wonder if he even knew what it was. But at least he’d given her an opening.

“No. I’m not all right,” she blurted. Oh, so much for acting the regal duchess. Regal duchesses must not have the temper Gemma was born with.

“If you’re ill, I’m certain Mrs. Howard can get you something to?—”

“I’m not ill ,” she said in a far louder voice than she’d meant to. “I’m…”

The man didn’t even have the decency to light a candle so she could see his face.

“I’m confused,” she finished.

“Confused?”

Here it was. She’d come this far. She might as well say it all. She took a few steps closer to the bed and peered toward him through the darkness. “It’s been four nights since we married, and we haven’t…” She stopped, half-hoping the floor would open and swallow her. But Southburys weren’t cowards. She must press on. “You haven’t…” She bit her lip. How exactly should she put this? “We haven’t shared a bed.”

“Correct,” came his steady voice in the darkness while her heart pounded like a drum.

Wait. What had he said? Correct? Correct. She already knew she was correct. What the devil did that mean?

“And?” she prodded, her hands on her hips now. She’d been nervous when she’d first walked into the room, but she was quickly becoming annoyed.

“And that’s the way I intend for it to remain…for now.”

The complete nonchalance in his voice made her blood boil. He intended? That’s the way he intended for it to remain ? Dear God, the man sounded as if he was talking about a business arrangement rather than an intimate evening between husband and wife.

“I don’t understand,” she continued. “I may not know much about it, but I am under the distinct impression that a man should take his wife to his bed after their marriage.”

He had the audacity to sigh. Audibly sigh. “There are several things about our marriage that are not traditional.”

Her hands had curled into fists at her sides. Not traditional? What did that mean? “Such as?” She angrily blinked at him. Oh, do tell, Your Grace .

“Such as the manner in which we married,” he offered.

She took a deep breath. Oh, yes. There was that. That needed to be discussed. She was nothing but pleased that he’d brought it up. “Yes, that’s something I would like to discuss with you. I never meant to?—”

“Never meant to what?” His voice rose and dripped with anger-edged skepticism, sounding so harsh that it made her take a step back. “Never meant to trap me into marriage? Save your breath, Gemma. I know you and your friend were scheming that night in your brother’s study. I heard what you said to her.”

Gemma’s eyes flew open wide. He was angry. Angry and holding the way they’d married against her. Fine. That stood to reason, but why hadn’t he given her the courtesy of asking her about it first? She would just have to set him straight. “First, Lady Mary Costner is not my friend and second, it wasn’t?—”

“The only thing that will make this worse is if you continue to lie to me.” His voice was calm but hard.

Her brows snapped together. “Lie to you? I never?—”

“I abhor liars.”

“So do I.” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and glared at him. She might not be able to see him, but she hoped he could see the anger on her face in the light from her room.

A flint struck and the lamp on the table next to his bed flared to life. In an instant, he pushed the covers off and stood. He was wearing only a loose pair of linen trousers obviously meant for sleeping. His chest was entirely bare, and Gemma couldn’t help but notice the muscles that stood out in stark relief along his abdomen and the light dusting of blond hair that formed a V and disappeared in an intriguing line down his trousers. She stared. She couldn’t help herself. She’d never seen a man’s bare chest before. And this one…well, it looked particularly fine. Her mouth went dry, and she completely forgot what she’d been saying.

His dark-blue eyes flashed like sapphires in the dimness and his voice was a low growl. “Allow me to make this clear. Our marriage will in no way be conventional. I have kept you here in town to keep up appearances. I will not have the ton gossiping about me or my wife. But make no mistake, you may have taken away my choice of whom to marry, but I will be making all the decisions from now on. Including where you live, where we go, and when, where, and if I bed you. Do you understand ?”

White-hot anger exploded behind Gemma’s eyes. Then it spread quickly through her body until she felt as if she might burst into flames right in front of him. Do you understand ? The pompous, demeaning words played themselves over and over in her head. Oh, she understood all right. She understood that her husband was under the mistaken impression that she would be the sort of wife who would allow him to treat her like an inconsequential piece of property. She understood that he was a haughty, condescending, pompous horse’s ass!

This duchess, regal or no, was not about to accept such treatment.

“Do you understand, Gemma?” he repeated. His jaw was clenched, and his voice remained low.

“Perfectly,” she shot out before turning sharply on her heel. She stomped back through the doorway and ripped the door shut behind her. The slam of it reverberated through both rooms. No doubt the servants had even heard it. Good.

Clearly, regal was not the sort of duchess she would be. Angry. Angry was more like it. At least at the moment. She paced in front of the large fireplace in her bedchamber. That man ! She’d given him every benefit of the doubt up ’til now, but the truth was glaring. Her new husband didn’t want to be married to her. He blamed her for ruining his life, and he intended to make her pay without so much as bothering to listen to her explanation of what had happened that night in Griffin’s study, or the apology she’d fully intended to provide.

Lucian Banks was the worst kind of man. And she was married to him. Forever .