Under A Duke's Hand (12 page)

Aidan stared down at her swirling text, and
then at the translation penned by his man. He could not pick out
the part that disturbed him most. The entire letter devastated him,
and the fact that she had attempted to send it in secret devastated
him more. He’d only just returned from acquiring a gorgeous horse
for his duchess, but all the pleasure and anticipation of gifting
the horse had flown. He didn’t want to give it to her now.

“Your Grace?”

“I do not wish to be disturbed,” he told his
butler. “Close the door.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Shall I tell Lord Warren
and Lord Barrymore to call at another time?”

Aidan lifted his head and blinked, and shoved
the offending pages beneath some other papers on his desk. “No, I
would like to see the gentlemen. Are they in the first parlor?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Warren and Barrymore, thank God. He needed
some friendly faces right now. By the time he reached the most
sumptuous of the three parlors, his friends had already helped
themselves to the brandy.

“Arlington!” they exclaimed when he crossed
to shake their hands. The men waved off his handshake and gave him
back-pounding hugs, congratulating him on his marriage.

“Don’t spill your drinks on me,” he said with
feigned irritation. “It’s barely three in the afternoon.”

“There’s the proper fellow we know and love,”
joked the white-blond Earl of Warren.

His other friend, the Marquess of Barrymore,
was as dark-haired as Warren was light. Both men looked at him in
expectation.

“Well? Tell us everything,” said Barrymore.
“Are you enjoying the married state? How is your wife? Is she
pretty? How was Wales? How was your wedding?”

“Is she a hellion?” asked Warren. “Does she
think you’re grand as anything? Is she short or tall? Have you
spanked her yet?”

Aidan crossed to pour his own drink. “Sorry.
I’ve already forgotten all your questions.”

Barrymore jabbed Warren. “He’s forgetful. You
see? I’m guessing it’s due to lack of sleep.”

“Let’s hope so,” Warren concurred in a
suggestive tone.

Aidan turned back to his friends. “What are
you two doing here?”

“We stayed away a week, so as not to disturb
your honeymoon,” said Warren. “Although the ladies begged us to
come sooner.”

Barrymore nodded. “We could barely hold them
off. They’re back at Somerton with Townsend and Aurelia, and have
charged us to tell them everything about your new wife since they
couldn’t travel with the young ones.”

“And Minette is to have her own babe soon,”
said Warren. “Barrymore revealed that bit of news last week.”

“Goodness, Minette to be a mother.
Congratulations, Barrymore.” Aidan could hear the strain in his
voice. His friends studied him as they took seats before the fire.
“I suppose you’ve come to terms with it by now, eh, Warren?”

“I’m working on it,” the earl replied in a
grim tone. Warren had always been devilishly protective of his
sister, only to lose her in marriage to his equally devilish best
friend. Aidan had watched last year’s dramas and agitations with
smug amusement, never realizing he’d be in the midst of his own
wedded drama so soon.

“Can we meet her?” asked Warren. “Where is
she? Have you hidden her away? Is she ugly as sin?”

“She’s not ugly, and I haven’t hidden her,”
said Aidan. “She does a fine enough job of that herself.”

“She hides from him,” Barrymore said to
Warren. “I can’t say it sounds promising.”

“We’ve only been married a week,” Aidan said
in his defense. “And my bride was not as willing as I’d hoped.”

“Bother.” Warren tilted his head. “I’m
sorry.”

“If anyone can bring her around, you can,”
said Barrymore.

Aidan would have thought so until an hour
ago, when he’d intercepted her letter.

“If things are uncomfortable, we needn’t meet
her now,” said Warren. “The ladies can wait for their gossip about
your new duchess, like everyone else.”

“No, you can meet her. She spends most
afternoons in my mother’s garden. We’ll go look for her there.”

A servant informed him that Her Grace was
indeed strolling in the garden, so Aidan led his friends out to the
walled sanctuary. “Guinevere?” he called. He heard a rustling, and
saw her peek from a behind a row of shrubs in the corner. She’d
taken off her bonnet and gloves to attack an overgrown
flowerbed.

“Oh,” she said as the men walked up. She
brushed a bit of hair off her face, leaving behind a smudge. “I was
just... Well. These plants are too close together. I was clearing
some out.”

“With your fingers?” Aidan asked. “You might
ask the groundskeeper for the appropriate gardening tools. Or
enlist his help.”

“Oh,” she said again, and this time she
brushed her hands on the silk skirt of one of her new gowns. He set
his teeth against the impulse to scold her, and considered whether
he ought to dust the dirt off her face.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” he said. “Two
of my best friends in the world have come to call, and they would
like to meet you. This is the Earl of Warren and the Marquess of
Barrymore.” He indicated each man, and Guinevere made a curtsy.
“Warren, Barrymore, it’s my pleasure to introduce my wife
Guinevere, the Duchess of Arlington.”
Not exactly my
pleasure
, he thought to himself,
because I’m angry at her
for her letter, and she generally hates me.
But manners were
manners, so he stuck to the accepted script.

His friends stuck to the script too. Both of
them exclaimed how honored they were to meet her, and took her
bare, dirty hand without any indication she was soiling their
fingers. Gwen ought to have spoken next, to offer tea, or inquire
if they would like to stay for dinner, but instead she stood in
silence, her cheeks blushing pink.

“This seems a lovely garden,” said Warren. “I
always wanted to come in here when I was a boy. Will you show us
around?”

Aidan silently blessed his friend for easing
the awkward moment. That was normally his forte, but he did not
feel up to it at present. He studied his wife as she walked around
the garden between his friends. She seemed nervous but polite. She
gave no indication that she’d just written her father a letter of
scurrilous accusations about his behavior. She did not know yet
that he’d read the letter.

Oh, but he would tell her later, when he
punished her for her damnable deceit.

* * * * *

The duke’s friends stayed to tea and then
dinner, telling engaging stories and drawing conversation from Gwen
in such a natural way that she did not feel self-conscious. They
were so easy to get along with, she could barely comprehend that
they had grown up together with Arlington. Her husband occasionally
gave her looks that made her think he was angry. She supposed she
annoyed him with her manners and conversation, and he was unable to
chastise her in front of company. In fact, his friends kept him
busy the entire night, as the men stayed at drink and conversation
long past the time the duke normally visited her rooms.

What a relief, not having to submit to his
carnal demands. She wished his friends would stay for a week and
distract him from her company, but they left the following day just
after luncheon in order to return to their wives.

Gwen prayed she would be leaving soon too.
She had given her sealed letter to the housekeeper, beseeching her
to send it at once, and the lady had bustled off to do so. That was
one benefit of being a duchess—servants listened to you and did
what you asked. Now she chewed her finger and paced her sitting
room. With luck, the letter would reach Cairwyn and her papa’s
hands by week’s end, so he could come to her aid before they
removed to London.

A brisk knock sounded at the door. Since she
had dismissed her lady’s maid, Gwen answered herself. A footman
held out a silver tray with a gilded notecard. Gwen unfolded it and
read the bold script.

I require your presence in my chambers at
once.

Arlington

She glanced at the footman, her stomach
fluttering with a frisson of unease. Was it time for the duke to
berate her for all her missteps, now that his friends had left?

“I... Well... I wonder if you would tell him
I am not feeling well?” It was not a lie. She didn’t want to face
him, not with the curt tone of that note.

The footman bowed and disappeared across the
hall. Gwen closed the door and leaned back against it, and let out
a long breath. She had just started toward her bed chamber when the
door opened and Arlington himself appeared. He said nothing, only
took her arm and pulled her from her room, yanking her across the
hall to his chambers in full view of the servants.

“Do not drag me about,” she complained as he
forced her into his sitting room.

“When I say I require your presence at once,
that means I require your presence at once. We have something to
discuss.” She watched in horror as he went to his desk and picked
up her letter. “Do you recognize this?”

She couldn’t believe he had it, and that it
was not on the way to Cairwyn at all. “How did you get that?”

“Nothing goes out of this house that I don’t
look at.”

“It was sealed. It wasn’t meant for you to
read.”

“That seems patently obvious.” His sharp
voice ricocheted off the walls. “Nothing goes out of this house
that I don’t look at,” he repeated with irate emphasis. “And thank
God for that, because if your father had gotten this letter, there
would have been a great deal of trouble for everyone involved. It’s
taken me a full day just to believe that you wrote it, that you
could have been so reckless as to put these words on the page.”

“Everything in that letter is true,” she
cried.

“None of it is true. These are the
melodramatic ravings of a spoiled, self-centered child. How dare
you write these things, when I have shown you nothing but kindness?
When you have wanted for nothing? When I have given you my title
and my husbandly care, and pleasure every night? ‘Lewd whims,’
Guinevere?”

She quailed at the cold strength of his fury.
“You are lewd to me,” she said. “I don’t like it.”

“That’s a damnable lie. It’s a lie to say I
treat you like a savage. It’s a lie to say that I punish you in a
brutal and unfeeling manner, or force you to my will. This letter
is full of false accusations and disparagement to my
character.”

He was not only angry, he was hurt and
insulted. She couldn’t bear to look at him, because she knew the
letter was full of lies and exaggerations. “I don’t want to be
married to you,” she said, the only excuse she had for her
actions.

He put his hands aside his head and then
threw them out in exasperation. “How many times must I explain this
to you? This isn’t a marriage of choice. It’s a state marriage and
it has nothing to do with your happiness. You’re not married to me.
You’re married to England and Wales, and the goddamned will of the
crown.”

“You’re not happy either,” she said,
shrinking away from him. “I know you don’t want to be married to me
any more than I want to be married to you. We don’t suit one
another.”

“And so you write a letter full of false
accusations and try to send it behind my back? Do you have any idea
what would have happened if this missive had made its way into your
father’s hands?” He threw the letter down and advanced on her, his
blue eyes glinting like tempered steel. “I’ll tell you what would
have happened. I would have cleared my name, darling. There are
limits to what honor can take. I would have branded you a liar and
shamed you and your family before the king. Your father would have
been ruined for challenging me, and you would have become a
despised object of scorn. Your family would have lost everything,
all because you
don’t want to be married to me.
”

He spit out these last words as if they
disgusted him. Gwen twisted her hands together.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes clouding with
tears. “I’m sorry I did it.”

“You’re sorry you did it, or you’re sorry you
got caught?”

“I’m sorry I did it. I knew it was wrong, but
I... You’re right. I behaved as a spoiled child who wished to have
her way.”

He took her arm and leaned down so they were
nose to nose. “I have servants who read Welsh, you little deceiver.
In case you think to do any such thing again.”

She had thought she had his scorn before, but
it was nothing to the scorn he showed her now. “I’m sorry. It’s
only that I want so badly to go home.”

He gave her a shake. “You’re not going home.
You’re stuck in this hell of a marriage, just as I am.” He turned
at a tap on the door and said, “Come.”

The door opened to a servant bearing a
silver-lidded tray.

“Put it there,” said Arlington, pointing to a
side table.

The servant complied and left. The duke
regarded her another moment or two, his hand still gripping her
arm.

“I believe you feel remorseful. I also
believe you want to go home. But you’re not going home, not now,
not ever. You’re married to me and you are going to bear the
Arlington heirs. This is your life, no matter how you struggle
against it. Tell me you understand that.”

“I understand it,” she said, wiping her
cheeks.

“And no matter how much you hate me, no
matter how much you abhor my company and my ‘lewd whims,’ I’m going
to remain your husband until one of us dies.”

“That’s such a grim way to put it,” she said
miserably.

“Grim or not, it’s the truth. I will
reiterate now that I require your respect in this marriage, as well
as appropriate, obedient behavior, which you have not displayed.”
He pulled her over to the upholstered chair flanking the side
table. “You’re going to be punished, not ‘brutally or unfeelingly,’
but as befits a wife who has written a letter sorely defaming her
husband’s honor.”