Chapter 13

Emmeline had never been so angry in her life. To think that her husband, the proper, the oh-so-righteous Duke of Kant, had the gall, the audacity to do the things he had done and then leave. It was utterly unacceptable. The outside of enough.

She was furious.

For two full days, she stormed about the house in her anger. Never scaring the servants—they could guess at the source of her irritation, but they would never know for certain—but making her displeasure known.

When he came back, she would never allow him to touch her again. For him to flee?—

Oh, it was humiliating.

The worst part was that he had opened her eyes to what could be between them if only he had the conviction to allow it to happen.

If only he would give in to his carnal desires.

As it was, she was left to languish in his home while he gallivanted about the country by himself.

"He went to London?" she asked the groom.

It was, to her knowledge, the fifth time they'd had this conversation, but he showed nothing but patience.

"I believe so, Your Grace."

"And he at no point suggested that I might join him with Rogers?"

"He did not, Your Grace."

Several times, she considered ordering for a carriage to be brought around to visit her family without him. That would show him. For all his insistence that they would live as husband and wife, he was hardly spending any time with her at all. What would he truly mind if they led separate lives? It wouldn't be much different from the way they were at present.

The only difference was that she would be living with her family, and people would talk. That, he had made clear, he would not accept.

In the end, she wasn't entirely sure why she chose to remain. Perhaps it was because she had not fully discovered the secrets that Adam concealed, and she would rest at nothing until she uncovered them one by one.

Or perhaps it was because, in the dark of the night, her body sang out for all the pleasure he had given her. And for all her promises to herself that she would never let him touch her again, she knew she would so long as he would make her climax once more.

If that made her weak, so be it.

But as long as she remained at the house, she would not be idle.

"Tell me about the late Duke," she said to Mrs. Pentwhistle as she examined the new drapes she intended to hang in the hall. Let the Duke see about that.

"Ah, that was a tragic case." Mrs. Pentwhistle shook her head sadly.

"What happened? The Duke has never been especially… forthcoming."

"It devastated him, of course. And after the fire… well you can imagine what that did to him."

"I had heard that the late Duke slipped and hit his head," Emmeline said delicately. "Is that truly what happened?"

"Well, I suppose that's the thing. No one knows for sure. The body was never discovered."

"No one found it?" Emmeline was hard put to conceal her surprise. "Then how do you know he's dead?"

"It's not confirmed, but he dismissed the servants on the day of his disappearance. It wasn't wholly unlike him, you know, to let us take days off. I suppose he liked his peace and quiet. It made for an easy life—he paid us for the holiday we took, so we saw it as a good thing. And the day of his death…" Mrs. Pentwhistle sucked in a breath. "It's a nasty business. No one around here likes to talk about it. See, he'd been acting funny for a little while."

Emmeline stared. "He had?"

"Some say he fell, but I don't know that's the whole of it. My theory is he must have been out walking—he loved to walk—and he slipped and hit his head."

"So not at the house?"

"Not unless he got trapped in a secret room." Mrs. Pentwhistle chuckled, but Emmeline stared.

Perhaps that truly was what had happened. After all, she had nearly perished in a secret corridor. The castle was full of secret places.

"We should find his body once and for all," she declared.

"Now, Your Grace, consider. I can turn a blind eye to gardening, but I draw the line at hunting for corpses. You are a duchess now, and duchesses simply do not go hunting for dead dukes."

"But in the east wing, there are?—"

"Please, Your Grace." Mrs. Pentwhistle looked genuinely distressed. "His Grace asked that you not go exploring again without him being here, and I would hate for either of us to get into trouble."

If Emmeline was the only one likely to get into trouble, she would have risked it—especially now as she had a taste for the Duke's favored ‘punishment,' but Mrs. Pentwhistle would not be so lucky.

"Very well," she said, relenting. "But the moment he is back, I shall put forward my theory."

"You must also consider, Your Grace, that the Duke has had ample opportunity to think about all these considerations himself. I'm certain if there was any chance, he would have looked himself."

That was likely true, but Emmeline couldn't let go of her conviction so easily. If there was a mystery here, she was determined to unravel it.

* * *

Opposite Adam, a glass of brandy in his hand, Nicholas sighed. "This again? When will you accept he's gone, Adam?"

"When there is proof clear before my eyes that he perished. You say it's probable that he fell or had a heart attack, but that leaves no explanation."

"My friend, that's because there is no explanation, or at least none that I can give you." Nicholas ran a distracted hand along his jaw. "I told you I saw him the day of his death, but it was a short meeting to inform him of my impending marriage."

A marriage that William had not had a chance to attend.

Adam sighed, leaning back in his chair and accepting a glass of scotch. "I know this is hard for you as it is for me."

"Not a day goes by when I don't think of him." Nicholas's voice was low.

"Nor I."

"I know you wish to uncover some great secret, but I think there's not much mystery to it. He went out for a walk, and while out there, he fell and knocked his head. You know he loved to walk. And if no one knew he was missing for some time, that provided ample opportunity for animals to find and…" Nicholas's jaw tightened, and his eyes were glazed, an expression of such agony crossing his face that Adam was half tempted to leave the room. "It's an inglorious end to such a fine man, but what else is there to say? It's not as though he would have done it himself."

"No, of course not." Adam was sure of few things in life, but of that point he was certain. "William would never have done such a thing."

"Put the matter out of your mind. It's distressing for you and everyone around you." Nicholas tossed his drink back, grimacing. "I wish it were not so either, but he's gone, Adam. The best thing you can do now is accept it."

Almost everyone had been giving Adam the same advice since he had arrived home to find his brother gone. But there was a part of him—a stubborn part, he could readily admit—that refused. Giving up would be accepting something that should not be.

It would be a betrayal to his brother.

Adam could not do that.

But it was also evident that his old friend was deeply affected by the conversation, so he let the matter drop and moved on to lighter topics—Nicholas's marriage and Prinny's latest public disgrace.

Talking of scandal when it was so far removed from them was easy, and when Adam at last retired to bed, he felt a modicum of peace.

* * *

Days passed without Adam returning to her. After her initial anger, Emmeline realized with horror that another emotion was creeping up on her, one she had never been forced to combat before.

She was lonely.

Almost all her life, she'd had her sister as a companion and the constant demands of a mother incapable of regulating her emotions. Sometimes, that had put her in a difficult position, but she had never wanted company. She and her sister would sit up late talking and gossiping and speaking of their hopes for the future.

She could, she supposed, put her thoughts into a letter, but she had been so adamant that she would be perfectly fine in this marriage she had stepped forward for, and she knew Aurelia would feel guilty if she knew even part of it.

As a result, she told no one of her dissatisfaction, although she swore that when Adam finally returned from wherever he had gone, he would know the full of it.

When she heard a knock at the front door and the butler answered, her heart leaped into her throat, and she thought for certain that Adam had returned. Gathering her skirts in her hands, she left the drawing room and strode toward the hall, preparing herself for the inevitable battle of wills that would be sure to follow.

No, not merely preparing—she was anticipating it. Her blood hummed at the thought of pitting herself against him and what might happen after.

But the person who greeted her was not her husband. In fact, he was not a man she recognized at all. He was a tall, though not unreasonably so, gentleman with soft brown hair falling into his forehead, and a charming smile which he immediately turned on her.

"I heard that the Duke got married, but I had not known his wife would be such a diamond of the first water," he said gallantly, holding out his hand. When she placed her hand in his, confused by this effusive greeting, he kissed her knuckles. "Forgive the intrusion. Is the Duke home?"

"I'm afraid not," she said, drawing herself up. "May I ask who you are?"

"Of course! Mr. Rickard Hansen, at your service." He swept into a bow, and she recognized that although she was unfamiliar with his face, he must have been taught court manners. "I'm a friend of Adam's."

"Oh. He has never mentioned you."

Rickard's smile was easy. "He didn't? That old dog."

There was a Scottish lilt in his voice, which Emmeline was forced to admit she found particularly attractive.

"Well, never mind that. I suppose I shall have to wait until he returns home. Do you know when he is due back?"

This was humiliating, but Emmeline had not been bred a lady for nothing. She gave him a gracious smile. "I'm afraid not. Do come in. Have you traveled far?"

"From Glasgow, as it happens."

"Quite some way, then."

"Yes, indeed." He gave her a lopsided, charming smile. "I confess I'm tired and probably in great need of a bath."

Emmeline made the split-second decision to welcome him into the house. If he had traveled all the way from Scotland, he would like as not be in need of a place to sleep—and if this man did know Adam, then perhaps it would answer one of her questions.

If not, then at least she would have some company. If Adam objected to that, perhaps he ought to make an effort to keep her company more often.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Emmeline said. "I'll have a room and a bath prepared for you. Why don't you join me for dinner in a few hours once you've had a chance to clean up?"

His face split into a genuine smile. "My thanks, Your Grace. It's an honor to be so welcomed into your home."

"It's my pleasure, and always a delight to meet one of my husband's friends."

A flicker of something shone in Rickard's gray eyes, but a second later it was gone, and she had no time to identify it.

"Of course, of course. Well, I haven't seen him in a long time. You'll have to tell me what he's like now. And to think he's married."

Emmeline arched an eyebrow. "Is that such a surprise?"

"When I see the provocation, I can fully understand," he said gallantly, with a rakish wink that made her laugh.

His flirting was outrageous, but there was something about it that made her suspect he meant not a word, and that put her at ease. Much as she and Adam were experiencing teething problems, she had no intention of finding lovers under his roof.

"Keaton," Emmeline said to the butler, "be so good as to show Mr. Hansen up to the blue bedroom."

Keaton inclined his head, though she could see disapproval marring his expression. "Of course. Right this way, Sir."

Alone once again, Emmeline was at her leisure to wonder what was going to happen now—and what her husband would say about it when he finally returned home.