Chapter 38

CHAPTER 38

AUGUSTA

I look over at the sheets next to me and wrinkle my nose. Again, a crusty puddle of Portswell's seed stains the sheets. Somehow, knowing he's been spilling himself there and not on me makes it even worse. It's as if he refuses to even sully himself by proxy.

The morning's sun struggles to peek through the gray clouds matching my mood to perfection. Even though I gave myself a release again last night, it's becoming unsatisfying. Perhaps that's the duke's plan all along. Once I grow needy enough, I'll crawl to him, begging for his touch.

Well, if he can be stubborn, so can I. With a longing sigh, I run my hand over my arm. It's still not the same. And it's not the pleasure his rough touch brings but the intimacy that goes with it. I feel so very much alone here in this house with nowhere to go and no one to talk to.

True, the girls have sent missives, but as I can tell by reading between the lines, they seem to be under house arrest as well. It hurts knowing I caused that, but I also struggle knowing they each made their own decision. I shouldn't be the only one to blame when I wasn't even the one who suggested the outing in the first place.

With a weary sigh, I allow Lydia to get me ready for breakfast. There's no use getting dressed up, seeing as there will be nowhere to go once I'm done eating. It will be yet another day of aimless wandering and having the housekeeper assist me in being a duchess.

Though I never gave much thought to life as a duchess, once I trapped Portswell, I pictured endless balls, carriage rides, visits to the theatre, and so much more. Not to be confined to such a small footprint. I long to be free, to feel the wind whipping through my clothes and hair.

Hell, I long for my trousers, for the anonymity it gave me. Instead, I'm stuck with all this finery, but no purpose. I'm less than useless.

As I descend the stairs, I look for my husband, but find him curiously absent from the base. Normally, he's there waiting for me, doing his best to play the part of a doting husband. I'm not sure if anyone actually believes this charade, but they don't speak out against it.

Every day, my maid grabs the linen, making a point to ignore the mess left behind by my husband, and carries it away as if it's a normal occurrence. Perhaps the working class is just easier to fool. I was able to slip out unawares. Portswell was able to visit me with none the wiser.

Shaking my head, I make my way into the breakfast parlor and look for my husband. He's not there either. A frown mars my face as I look at the untouched meat, breads, and jams. An odd sensation curls in my gut as I walk back out and to the front door.

Instantly, the doorman is there, blocking my path. "Forgive me Madam. You are not allowed to leave."

I scowl at the man who looks not much older than me. "You do realize I am duchess of this house. Do you not?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Madam. I am under strict orders."

"And if I order you to move?"

"Please, Madam. I have a family to help feed. I-"

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "Do not concern yourself. I will not exit the premises. Your livelihood is intact. I'm not so heartless as to cause you such distress. Despite whatever the duke may have told you."

He sags for a moment, the relief palpable in the air. "He's said nothing but kind words about you, Madam. And I see that his assessment of you is correct."

Tears burn at my eyes, but I blink them away before they can fall. "Did he say why I cannot leave?"

"He conveyed to me that you understood. That your safety is at risk."

"Yes," I laugh, touching my head. "I just assumed the threat was over. Do you happen to know where my husband is?"

"His Grace has left to gather with the others at the House of Lords, Madam," the butler intones, striding up to us. "Is there anything I can assist you with in his stead?"

"No. Thank you. He simply left with no word, and I was concerned."

"He did not want to disturb your rest, Madam. Have you broken your fast yet?"

I smile at the older man while seething on the inside. The way he manages me leaves a foul taste in my mouth. It's bad enough I'm to obey an ogre of a husband, but I must bow to the whims of his butler too? I'm not a child though he cajoles me like one.

Resisting the urge to stomp all the way back to the breakfast parlor, I load up my plate with a few things and sit by myself. Though the house is relatively small to the one back in the country, it feels so large and empty with just me here. It's hard not to feel sorry for myself as I butter the bread and take a bite.

Tears clog the back of my throat, making it difficult to eat. But I choke it down, managing to not cry in front of the servants. What would they think of me? No doubt many others married to peerage must deal with their husbands leaving to take care of government matters.

Only for me, it feels personal.

"Blast," I cry out, stabbing my finger with the needle yet again.

"Her Grace the Duchess of Foxford," the butler interrupts before making way for my friend.

She smiles at me for a moment, as if smothering a laugh. "I've never been all that fond of needlepoint myself, but if Joseph heard me swear, it would be worse than that little prick."

I toss down the mess of strands and run over to her, nearly tackling her in a hug. "Oh, it is so good to see someone other than my own reflection and the servants. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to have them around, but they aren't good for certain bits of conversation or fun."

"Shall we play a game? Vingt-et-un strike your fancy?"

My face falls as I motion to a nearby settee. "Alas, I still do not have access to my cards."

"No worry. I have a deck of my own. When you told us your tale the other night, you failed to mention just how many men you fleeced as you deprived them of your coin. So modest."

"Again, my reputation precedes me," I grin, leading her to a table. "In truth, it's all a matter of being able to read your opponent. That, and I looked so young, many of the men underestimated me."

"Well, you must know, I've been informed not one bit of coin is to exchange hands. If Joseph found out…"

"Probably the same outcome as Portswell."

She scrunches her nose as she sits down and shuffles the cards. "You still do not call your husband by his Christian name? If it's a matter of formality, you need not do so on my account."

"I wish it were that simple. He has yet to say I can call him anything but Portswell or Your Grace."

"How odd. Usually such intimacies are granted even before marriage. To not have them even after… It's all rather strange."

"If only it were just that. This entire marriage has been a fiasco."

A concerned gaze flits over her eyes as she leans forward. "If you wish to confide in me, I'll do my best to assist. My marriage certainly wasn't easy, but it's far stronger from the initial strife."

Minutes fly by as we take turns flipping cards, each of us trying to get to twenty-one points first without going over. All the while, I tell her everything, starting from the very beginning. At this point, I have no shame. If she can help me recapture the fire my marriage once held, I'll suffer any indignation.

"Hmmm. Certainly a conundrum indeed. I would, of course, suggest you speak with him, but it seems as if you tried that."

"I'm at the point where I honestly don't know what to say. My words are jumbled and froth with feelings and sensations I cannot seem to convey. If only I could share a mind with him, allow him to feel my earnest affection. I don't try to be naughty. I just feel restless and need to find something else to occupy me."

"I understand completely. If only you were near your heat. Perhaps if he claimed you… But then, if you haven't even shared a marriage bed, he might be impervious to your condition."

"I know very little of such things and less about claiming. The men I gathered information from were betas and more interested in lewd acts than something like that."

Teresa pulls her gown down a bit, showing me the scar on her neck in better light. "It's a mating bite. Usually only those in true love matches give this to their partners. Once done, you can see and hear each other's thoughts and emotions. In many ways it's a curse because my husband likes to twist my need against me, but it has gone a long way in soothing ruffled feathers."

"Because he knows intimately your intention. Correct?"

"Exactly."

"But must I wait for my heat? Is the process tied together?"

She hedges as if looking for the right way to phrase it. "As I understand it, it's an agonizing process. During your heat, you are so delirious, so out of your mind with carnal need that any pain is muted beyond remembering."

"I see."

"In the meantime." She gathers the cards back up and puts them in her reticule. "I'd take this time alone to really explore the house. If your husband is anything like mine, he has a special room he likes to perform his rougher actions in. Much like the rooms at The Rose and Thorne. Perhaps that can remind him why you two are a good fit."

"Thank you. Truly. You've been a balm to my soul."

"Don't you fret. Once your heat has come and you share a bond, I'm sure he'll relax his stranglehold over you and this house. He's more likely afraid for you. But once he can sense you and know what's happening to your mind and body, he can be less fearful."

"One can only hope."

I walk my friend to the door and watch as she leaves. The moment she exits, the doorman takes up residence in front once more. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I start on my mission to find this secret room. Until now, I've been so despondent that I've not learned my surroundings.

Giddy for the first time in a while, I walk down the hallways committing everything to memory. No door goes untouched. If anyone asks, I'm merely doing my wifely duty and seeing how to make this place a home for both of us. Unfortunately, nothing turns up as anything more than a guest room, parlor room, or his study.

Perhaps Teresa is wrong and Portswell doesn't have a secret lair in which to ravage me. Slumping down at his desk, I study the walls of books. I could possibly stay here and wait for him, reminding him of the first time he took me in hand.

But that proves to be a bit boring. I try my best to occupy my time by looking at the various books, only to stop as I feel a bit of a breeze. How odd. I hold my hand to it, smiling as I realize it's coming from a particular shelf. I push, pull, and tug, until finally it opens up, revealing a hidden passage.

My heart trips a bit as I take up a lamp and slide in. Not wanting to alert the staff, I slip my fingers around a handhold and pull the door shut behind me. Just to make sure I'm not trapped, I push on it, letting my breath out in a whoosh as it opens once more.

Trembles of excitement flow up and down my spine as I follow the path to its conclusion where another door stands. I open it, my heart pounding in my chest. From the light cast by the lamp, I see it is indeed a space like The Rose and Thorne.

My fingers graze the odd furniture as I make my way to the fireplace. It takes little time to get a fire roaring, illuminating the space. All that's left is for my husband to come find me so we can bury the hatchet once and for all.