Chapter 7

Adam began to get the impression his wife was hiding something from him. He was accustomed to avoiding her, but now it seemed as though she was the one avoiding him, always ducking into another room when it seemed likely they would cross paths, and appearing preoccupied with whatever she was doing whenever he approached.

Avoidance, it turned out, was only satisfactory when he was the one doing it. When his wife, whom he felt should be deferential to him, was avoiding him, he felt resentment grow in his chest.

He had yet to visit her bed, a choice largely made by the fact she was infrequently out of his thoughts, but he knew that the time would come soon. The earlier he had an heir or two, the better it would be for the both of them.

His only consolation was that her terrible playing had, at least for the time being, ceased.

When he entered his study in the east wing, however, he found a cat perched on his desk. A large tabby, tale flicked as it stared at him through large, malevolent yellow eyes.

A cat. In his home. For a moment, he could do nothing but stare at it in shock and horror. Cats were at best useful and at worst pets, and they had no business being inside a house. This one did not even look like a good mouser. It was too large for that, with an air of lazy superiority.

As it watched him, it raised a paw and swiped at his teacup, so it tumbled to the carpet.

"Get out," he snarled, launching himself at the intruder.

With a yowl, the cat leaped from the desk and landed lightly, sprinting out the open door and away.

"Jarvis!" he yelled, chasing it back into the main house. "There's a cat loose in the house. Please see it is caught."

A thought occurred to him—an unpleasant thought that made rage pound dully at his temples. Had the cat been planted there by a certain young lady with a grudge? He would certainly not put it past her to sneak into the east wing and deposit a cat there purely to anger him.

Anger had him moving, first checking the drawing room, the morning room, the dining room, and finally the library. There, he found her sitting on the floor, her skirts spread around her and her glossy hair pinned loosely at the back of her head, a few curls falling free. She looked as though she could be a milkmaid more than the regal duchess he had expected to marry, and yet at the sight of her, desire warred with his rage. There was a simple elegance to her movements, coupled with the innocence he knew her to have, that made her almost unreasonably appealing.

The freckles on her nose stood out as she turned to glance at him, and her face paled.

"My Lord Duke!" The speed at which she jumped to her feet made him wonder what expression must be on his face to inspire such fear. "What are you doing here?"

"The question is, wife, what—" He broke off as he saw what she had been concealing with her body. A cat and kittens nestled against a pillow that had been torn, with the stuffing falling out.

A cat with kittens in his library.

He would not stand for it.

* * *

Emmeline watched the Duke with mingled amusement and trepidation. This was not how she had intended their confrontation to unfold, and she had not seen him this angry since they got married, and there was a moment when she wondered if her plan might backfire.

His eyes darkened like an encroaching storm. "How dare you?"

"How dare I?" She gave a bitter little laugh. "The question is, how dare you, My Lord Duke? Storming in here like you are the last barbarian on this planet."

The term ‘barbarian' seemed to hit a nerve, and he scowled. "I am a peer of the realm, and you would do well to remember it."

"Oh, you have given me no space in which to forget, My Lord Duke."

"Stop calling me by that ridiculous title," he snapped. "My name is Adam, as you know very well."

She did know, but it had not occurred to her to use it. After all, even her parents did not call each other by their given names.

If he wanted her to abandon formal modes of address, he would have to earn it first.

"I fail to see what relevance your name has to you barging in here," she said stiffly.

"It—nothing."

He snapped his mouth shut and dragged a hand through his hair, and Emmeline did her best not to notice the way his eyes looked when they flashed with anger, or his sensual lips as they pressed together. His face was made up of hard angles and stern lines, and she could not help noticing how well rage settled on them, as though he had been designed for anger and passion.

No, thinking of passion was a dangerous thing to do.

"The fact of the matter is, you entered the east wing against my express instructions and you planted a cat on my desk. And it appears now you are harboring more cats in my library."

Emmeline frowned. "I did not enter…" Finally, the reason he had stormed across the house to find her dawned on her. "Oh, so that's where Mog got to. I was starting to wonder."

"Mog?"

"The tabby," she explained. "I was keeping her in here, but she has a penchant for wandering off. It has been such a trial keeping you from noticing her. But I suppose I failed, after all."

"The question is, Emmeline, why are there cats in my library?" He peered at the offending creatures. "They look dirty."

"They are not."

"Are you feeding them milk and fish?"

"Naturally." She placed her hands on her hips. "Why should I not? They deserve to eat well just as the rest of us do."

The tabby entered the room at hissed at him, her hackles rising.

He glared at Emmeline. "How many cats have you brought into my home?"

"Not too many."

"How many?" he bit out.

"Three. Not including the kittens." She watched as understanding dawned on him that there was another cat somewhere in the building. Hopefully, it would come out, but she could not rely on that.

He massaged his temples. "You are going to get rid of them, or else I will dispose of them myself. Do you understand?"

"Dispose of them yourself?" She glowered at him. "You would not dare."

"You have no concept of what I would and would not do."

Well, she could hardly deny that, but although he had been occasionally rude, and almost cruel, he had not been overtly unkind. And he had not forced himself on her even when he had said he would do so.

"Perhaps not," she said, "but?—"

"I will not have these creatures in my house, Emmeline."

The sound of her name on his tongue gave her an odd, little thrill. "I happen to like cats," she said, folding her arms.

"Be that as it may?—"

"And I have no intention of getting rid of them. They have made a home here."

"Because you have given them a home here, and against my wishes."

"It is hardly as though you spend time in this side of the house. Keep away from the library, and you will not have to be terrified of the poor darlings." She reached out a hand and scratched the head of the tabby, which purred.

In the time it had been with her, they had bonded, finally.

"Now listen here," he said fiercely.

But Keaton came to the door and knocked twice to attract their attention. "Your Grace," he said formally. "There is someone here to see you. The Viscount Sarron."

The Duke stiffened, frowning as though this interruption was unwelcome but not wholly so. "Show Sarron into the drawing room," he said. "I will be there in a moment."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Emmeline lifted her chin as the Duke returned his attention to her. "Do something about these cats," he instructed coldly. "I will not have them in my house."

"The household is my responsibility."

He took two strides toward her, tipping her chin and staring into her face with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "You forget, Emmeline, that this is my house."

"Would you be really so cruel to move the kittens?" she demanded. "Look at them. Would you have them killed? Is that your true nature?"

He glanced past her at the kittens. "What do you intend to do with them when they are grown?"

"I am certain they'll be helpful mousers."

His jaw clenched, and she could almost see that she had won. "Very well. Just keep them out of my sight."

If he had not been on his way to greet a guest, she might have fought some more, just to reiterate how much he was sacrificing by sharing his house with her—she might have attempted to dig her claws into him a little deeper—but now was not the moment.

There would be other occasions for that, she was certain.

She gave him an insincere smile. "Yes, My Lord Duke."

"And stop calling me by that ridiculous title," he snapped as he left the room.

* * *

Adam strode toward the drawing room, both glad for the interruption and frustrated that he was not more able to assert his authority. In truth, he had no desire to drown the cats—an unnecessary cruelty, in his opinion—and he hardly knew what the other solutions were to his problem. All he knew was that in leaving the way he had, Emmeline would no doubt think she had won that particular battle.

Theirs, it seemed, would always be a battle of wills. She was more fiery than he could ever have known upon marrying her, and that was a problem he would have to sort out at a later date.

Nicholas Wallace, the Viscount Sarron, was waiting for him by the window, a silhouette against the light.

Nicholas, William, and Adam had all been friends as boys, and the grin splitting Nicholas's face was yet another proof of their longstanding relationship.

"Adam," he said, coming to clap him on the shoulder. "By the devil, it's good to see you."

"I am sorry I did not seek you out in town." Adam rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted.

Nicholas looked, now that they were standing a little closer to each other, just as run down and exhausted. Grief gathered in fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Nicholas and William had been the same age, two years older than Adam, and of the three boys, they had been closer. In the same year at Eton, then Oxford, and launched into London Society at the same time.

Adam, following in their footsteps, was always welcomed, always considered Nicholas as one of his closest friends, but they had never been close in quite the same way as William and Nicholas had.

Nicholas was probably the only man on this earth who would fully understand what he was going through.

"No need to apologize," Nicholas said with a small, wry smile. "I understand why you did not. It must have been a shock, coming back to England to find…"

"A shock," Adam muttered, sinking onto the sofa. "You could say that."

"Why were you coming back in the first place? I thought the Navy—you were doing well, last I heard. Will was always proud of you."

The twinge in Adam's chest made him want to bend over forward and thump it away. "I heard wind that Will was in a bad place—debtors closing in, some worry that he might have to sell the estate."

Nicholas barked out a laugh. "Sell Crowny? You can't be serious."

"Well, things aren't that bad, but it's run-down, as you can see." Adam waved a tired hand at the worn upholstery and curtains. "And there was certainly something going on. Will always loved nothing more than a dance and a game of cards, but this feels different somehow."

"In what way?" Nicholas asked.

"I don't know. Why was he spending so carelessly when he knew of his obligations? Something does not add up here."

Nicholas's face tightened, his lips pressing together and his eyes narrowing. "Are you suggesting foul play?"

"Not necessarily." Adam huffed out a laugh. "I have been through his correspondence. There's nothing to suggest blackmail or anything of that sort. Or even that his spirit was ruffled, although I know it must have been. Did you notice anything strange?"

"About William?" Nicholas raised both eyebrows. "I am afraid not. You can't think it was self-inflicted?"

"Oh, no." Adam could not allow himself to think of that. "Just… something about his death strikes me as wrong, and no one else seems to see it. I thought perhaps you might."

Nicholas leaned against the back of the sofa, his long legs sprawled elegantly in front of him. "My dear friend," he said after a pause, "you know your brother would not have wanted you to get caught up in this kind of investigation. Think about your future. The estate. Your wife." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "I did not think I would see you engaged so soon after Will's death."

"I had an estate to save."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I don't doubt it was for immensely pragmatic reasons."

Adam scowled, though his marriage had been. Something Emmeline never failed to fling in his face. "Is it so odd that I only settled down out of necessity?"

"The next thing you know, you will be contending with a gaggle of children. A brood of them."

"I have no wish for a brood of children," Adam said dryly. "Perhaps you are getting my wishes confused with yours. Are you not recently married?"

Nicholas bowed his head. "I am."

"Who is she?"

"She was formerly Miss Hanaway," he said, "before I asked for her hand. Thought it was about time."

"And my brother wasn't looking to settle down?"

For the first time, Nicholas glanced away. "I… don't know. I don't believe so. We spoke little on the matter."

Adam nodded. That made sense. William rarely liked discussing more unpleasant topics, and he had never shown any desire to marry. In fact, William rarely seemed to enjoy any part of his role as Duke.

In terms of temperament, Adam had the discipline and the rigid work ethic that made him an excellent duke. He was prepared to take responsibility for his tenants and the farmland, and to ensure all their different properties across England were maintained. His brother, however, had been lax in these things.

William had never felt the same responsibility toward the estate as Adam had. He had come so close to destroying it.

"I am glad to see you have a wife," Adam said, smiling. "You should bring her to Crowny sometime."

"She could meet your wife," Nicholas said, amused. "Look at the way we have fallen into Society's trap, marrying for money and heirs."

Adam's smile turned wry. "Am I to assume it is not a love match, then?"

"A love match? Heavens, no. The only thing I love about her is her dowry, and her inclination to keep out of my way. She is intimidated by the size of the estate, I fancy, and managing the house keeps her occupied. All I need to do is visit her at night and give her pin money for dresses and other fripperies." Nicholas gave an elegant shrug. "Marriage is not as challenging as I believed it would be. It really takes up little of my time."

If only that was his experience, Adam thought. Emmeline's pretty, stubborn, freckled face flashed in his mind again, and he gritted his teeth against the irritation that flooded him. She was not meek and easily cowed. She made her presence uncomfortably known, even when he was taking his privacy in the east wing, and she did certainly not believe in obeying his word.

"What?" Nicholas asked, looking at his face and the expressions that no doubt flashed across it. "Is your wife not so malleable?"

"She knows her own mind," Adam said at last.

"The eldest Summers daughter, is that right?"

"Yes."

"I know little of her, but she has had three Seasons and barely one eligible offer of marriage. I heard it was because she was somewhat of a shrew."

Adam shrugged. "I initially asked for her sister's hand, but she put herself forward instead. The sister seemed disinclined to accept my hand, and their dowries were equal, so I agreed."

"A mistake," Nicholas said, shaking his head. "Never marry a shrew."

Adam recalled the way the younger sister had quivered and shaken, those pathetic tears streaming down her face. She barely seemed to have had a personality, apart from being lachrymose, something she had no doubt inherited from her mother. He could imagine her wandering around the house, overcome and sobbing in nooks and crannies.

Even Emmeline, who did not seem especially shrewish to him, was preferable to that.

"Of the two sisters, I don't regret my choice," he said.

Nicholas's eyebrows rose. "From what I have seen, the younger sister is uncommonly beautiful."

Emmeline's eyes, green and brown in turn, flashed in Adam's mind, along with the press of her lips against his and the softness of her body underneath his.

The younger sister might have drowned him in her tears, or perhaps frozen with fear, but Emmeline had responded to his challenge in kind.

Adam shrugged. "Perhaps, but the elder is pretty enough to suit my needs. Besides, we will have little reason to interact on a regular basis."

"Well then," Nicholas said, offering his hand in a brotherly shake. "I came to see how you were faring after your marriage, and it seems you are taking things well. I am happy for you, and I hope you will continue to find happiness in the future."

"Yes," Adam said with just a hint of sarcasm as he contemplated what the future seemed likely to hold. "I hope so too."