Chapter 4

Emmeline stared after the Duke as he disappeared within the house's walls, swallowed up by his prestige and history. A footman leaped forward to hand her down from the carriage, and a smartly dressed housekeeper approached with a kindly smile.

"Your Grace," she said, curtsying. "It is an honor to meet you. When His Grace wrote to inform us that he was getting married and bringing his bride to the house—well, make no mistake, Ma'am, I was deeply intrigued to see what lady had caught his eye."

Emmeline almost laughed, both at the housekeeper's chattiness, which was wholly unexpected from a retainer of such a taciturn man, and by the idea that she had caught his eye.

The only thing that appeared to catch his eye was money.

"I am glad to meet you, Mrs.…"

"Oh, Mrs. Pentwhistle. Come on in now, so we can get you settled. I have had your bedchamber prepared, and I hope it is to your taste, although of course you can make changes as you see fit."

Mrs. Pentwhistle hurried into the house. She was a plump lady of indeterminate age, her demeanor that of determined cheerfulness. No wonder, when one had to consider what she must be forced to endure on a daily basis.

It was a good thing that Emmeline had not expected pomp and ceremony when she arrived because the servants were busy carrying out their duties. Mrs. Pentwhistle introduced her to them by name, and Emmeline did her best to remember them. Just because she intended to force the Duke to chase her out of the house did not mean she should be remiss in her duties in regard to the servants. They were not to blame for their master's deficiencies.

The interior of the house was just as she had imagined it to be: a little old, a little worn, but in excellent taste. Whoever the previous mistress of the house had been, she had done her job well.

"Well, that would have been the Duke's mother," Mrs. Pentwhistle said when asked. Her face twisted with sadness. "That was a tragedy. Gone before her time, she was, and the nicest mistress you could ever have asked for."

Emmeline crossed to the library window and stared out across the gardens. To her surprise and relief, although the library was as worn as every other part of the house, the chairs threadbare and the bindings on the books somewhat fragile, it was a large and well-proportioned room.

"What happened to her?"

"There was a nasty fire. A terrible accident." Mrs. Pentwhistle shook her head sadly. "The house has been devoid of a mistress since then, though I pride myself on not letting the place fall to rack and ruin."

"No, indeed you have not," Emmeline reassured her. "I would not wish to change a thing."

Mrs. Pentwhistle's plump face creased into a smile. "You can be honest, Your Grace" —Emmeline would never get used to the title, she was convinced—"the house is sadly shabby and in need of refurbishment."

"Oh, perhaps some new cushions for the chairs," Emmeline said. "And a few new curtains, perhaps, where these have faded from the sun. But it is very elegant and charming."

Mrs. Pentwhistle beamed. "You are very good to say so, Your Grace. Now, let me show you to your bedchamber."

Upstairs was much like below, and Emmeline was ushered into her bedchamber, where she discovered a room that had evidently been made up especially for her. A door in the left-hand wall led to the Duke's room. The proximity of it made her shudder a little, but she steeled herself and looked in her dressing room and the copper tub that was already placed in front of the fire, ready for when she would want a bath.

"Where is His Grace?" she asked after a few moments.

Mrs. Pentwhistle gave a not very convincing smile. "I expect he is in the east wing. He allows no one else there, you know."

"No one?"

"Not even the maids to dust."

"I see," Emmeline said. "Am I to take it he keeps to himself often?"

"Yes, Your Grace, that is quite it. He often takes dinner there, too. We are to leave trays outside the door to his study."

"How odd," Emmeline murmured. How little she knew of this man she had married. "Do you have any notion of what he does in there?"

"I imagine he is handling his affairs," Mrs. Pentwhistle said sagely. "There is a lot of responsibility that comes with having an estate, you know. And especially one in this state."

Emmeline looked at the faded curtains surrounding her large, stately bed. Once, it must have been grand, but the years had left their mark, and it was increasingly obvious that the only reason he had wanted a wife was so he could use her dowry to fix his estate.

Well, her dowry could do that, certainly. And although she had reacted less than warmly at first sight of the house, she did not dislike it. No, indeed, she positively loved it.

That was the last thing she wanted.

She did not want her dowry to be used for such a purpose, and she resented thinking even for a moment that maybe it would not be so bad if it were used in such a fashion.

"Is he a good master?" she asked, certain she would receive a hedging reply at best—because how could someone with the Duke's coldness and temper possibly be a good master?

But to her surprise, Mrs. Pentwhistle beamed. "The best! Why, when he was younger, we had never expected he would inherit the dukedom, but all of us are pleased that he has come home and assumed his duties."

"Come home from where?"

"The Navy, Your Grace. Did he not tell you? He enlisted several years ago, and I am not entirely sure what prompted him to return, but it is good that he did, considering his brother sadly passed away days before he arrived."

How tragic.

Emmeline then forced the sympathy away. She would have been sympathetic if he had not treated her and her sister so coldly.

"What excellent timing," she said instead. "Did he grow up here?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

Emmeline cast another glance around the room, her gaze landing on the door that separated her bedchamber from the Duke's. No doubt the servants all assumed that he would be availing himself of her on their wedding night.

A strange shiver ran through her. The day before, her mother had attempted to explain the particular intimacy that husbands and wives shared, and what her duty would be. By all accounts, it was not going to be entirely pleasant, but she must grin and bear it, and under all circumstances not provoke him.

Inwardly, Emmeline snorted. By all means, she would not provoke him, but that did not mean she would grant him leave to use her body whenever he wished.

Although, of course, if the Duke were to burst through the door and enter her bedroom, demanding his due as her husband, could she deny him?

Did she want to? Her mother had made it seem like a chore, but she had several married friends who said otherwise.

"What about the rest of the house?" she asked, turning back to Mrs. Pentwhistle. "I wish to see everything, and explain to me how things are done here. I am accustomed to managing my parents' house, but this is a rather older building, and I am sure I do not want to disrupt what you have already been doing here."

"Of course, Your Grace," Mrs. Pentwhistle said. "Right this way."

* * *

Adam stared at the ceiling and ignored the raging prompting of his body. Being near Emmeline in the carriage was enough to tell him how attractive he found her. An irritating, useless compulsion to take her and make her his—to shut her infuriating mouth with kisses.

Now she was his wife, that was his right as her husband. And on their wedding night, it was more his right than ever.

But if he allowed her to become anything other than a means to an end—if he allowed himself to want her too much—then that would prove a problem for the future.

He wanted nothing from her. Desire was a force he could put aside. Yes, eventually he would take her to bed, but now was not the moment, particularly if she was still settling in. For all her bravado, he had known how little she wanted to marry him.

No need to make it worse.

This was not unnecessary compassion. It would suit him better if she was reconciled to her new place in life before he took advantage of his conjugal rights. She would be more pliable then. More malleable.

His decision had nothing to do with the unnerving way he wanted her, against all reason and all odds. Nothing to do with the fact that he could not allow himself any distractions from his cause. One way or the other, he was going to get to the bottom of William's death, and the presence of a wife was not going to interfere with that.

* * *

Emmeline woke up. She lay for a few moments, ruminating on her situation, before ringing for her maid. Instead of having breakfast in bed, she chose to rise unfashionably early, dressing and descending to the breakfast room.

And there, to her surprise, was the Duke. She had not seen him since he had left her in the carriage, and seeing him here now was enough of a surprise that she stopped short in the doorway, staring at him.

He lowered his newspaper and glared at her with a combination of shock and annoyance.

"Your Grace," she said, curtsying.

"This is remarkably early for you to be breakfasting," he said in a tone of dismay.

"I am sorry, My Lord Duke. Had you expected me to lie in bed in a decline instead of getting on with my day?"

Flicking out his newspaper, he looked away from her, but he thought she heard him mutter, "Would that you had."

Undeterred, Emmeline sat in the chair opposite his and examined the food laid out. Scones, toast, eggs, fruit. A plain breakfast, but perfectly serviceable. Perhaps they did not have a very skilled cook.

The Duke lowered his newspaper again, glaring at her. "In the future, you may order breakfast in your room."

"Of course, I may," she said, selecting a piece of toast and putting it on her plate. In the mornings, she tended to prefer a heartier breakfast, but she would make do. "But I prefer to get up and about. There is so much to be done and so few hours of the day. Do you not agree?"

Scowling, he disappeared behind his newspaper again. "I cannot imagine what you presume to be occupying yourself with."

"Well, Mrs. Pentwhistle was so obliging as to give me a tour, and I could not help noticing the furniture was shockingly outdated." She gave him a bright smile in the hopes he would detest it. "I thought I would have it replaced."

In reality, she was going to have it reupholstered, and in a similar style because she liked the old house as it was, but she had no intention of saying that to the Duke.

"Do not," he said shortly.

"Why not?"

"Because I have requested it."

"Commanded it, more like."

He lowered his newspaper as he picked up his coffee and took a sip. "Very well. I have commanded it. You are not to replace anything in this house."

"How am I to do my duty as the Duchess, then?"

"You may read. The library is well-stocked."

"It may surprise you to learn I have other hobbies."

"Arguing?" he asked sardonically, folding up his newspaper. "There is a pianoforte in the drawing room. You may play that."

"Is that all you think young ladies do?" she demanded, folding her arms. "You think they merely lounge around, reading and playing the pianoforte?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why, do you sing?"

"Very badly. Perhaps I ought to serenade you one night, My Lord Duke?"

"Perhaps not." Picking up his coffee cup, he left the room with his newspaper under his arm, leaving Emmeline staring after him in a high temper.

Well, so he had succeeded in getting under her skin, but she had no intention of letting him get away with it.

Particularlyas he seemed to be going out of his way to avoid her.

"Very well," she said to the empty room, ignoring the impassive footmen who had witnessed their first fight as a married couple. "So you have won this battle, Your Grace, but it is I who shall win the war."