Page 37 of Trapped with her Cruel Duke

Is that what our marriage is going to be like? A business arrangement for all time—loveless and devoid of any real feelings?

She knew that Christian had not had any desire to woo her or to truly take her as his wife. She was a way for him to learn what happened to Marcus, and she believed that he would stop at nothing to get the answers he needed.

I never wished to marry him either. This is hardly a surprise, so why does it make me feel so wretched?

Louise would have been content to remain a spinster for the rest of her days, studying flowers, working on her book, and never entertaining any thoughts of marriage. But now that she did have a husband, she hated the idea that she would be condemned to a life like that of her parents.

She glanced at the Dowager Duchess’s stoic expression.

“I do not wish to upset you with this knowledge, you understand,” Sabine continued, her hands twisting in her lap as she met Louise’s gaze. “I wish you to find happiness in your own way. But I have lived a life of secrets under a shroud of lies and deceit. That is no way to begin a partnership, and you deserve to know the truth.”

“Thank you, Sabine. I appreciate you telling me, and I am sorry that you have suffered the prejudices of my class all your life.”

Sabine’s smile was gentle. “I have made my choices, and as I said, I would not change them, not even after losing my husband and knowing all that I know now.”

It was past eleven, and Louise had been sitting in her room, waiting for Christian to arrive home for almost two hours. The fire was dying down to its embers, but she was not even dressed for bed.

“I am not going to take a lover when I have a wife to take my pleasure from…”

Christian’s words had been floating around in her head for most of the night. When he had told her that he would be faithful to her, it had hardly mattered. She had been angry with him and unconcerned about how he spent his time.

Now, having seen the desire in his eyes and felt the strength of his arms around her as his tongue stroked hers, she could not put the thought out of her mind.

Many men have mistresses at their clubs. It is well-known and spoken of quite openly in some circles. What if Christian is with another woman right now?

The thought was maddening. She did not want to care what he was doing behind closed doors—she shouldnothave cared.

And yet I do.

She rose from her chair and paced in front of the fire as she put a hand on her stomach, feeling the pulse of nerves grow ever stronger the more minutes ticked by.

She glanced at the clock for what must have been the hundredth time, her irritation spiking all the more when she recalled what his mother said to her earlier. If he did not believe in love, what was to prevent him from spending every waking moment at his club at the expense of all else?

Her hands clenched into fists as she made her decision.

I will not wait for my dear husband to grace me with his presence. If he thinks I shall sit at home and be the dutiful wife, he is sorely mistaken.

Ten minutes later, she was climbing into the carriage beneath the watchful eye of a weary-looking footman.

“Orions, please,” she ordered sharply as the rain lashed against the side of the carriage, and she pulled her skirts through the door as it clicked shut behind her.

The sky was black as pitch, and the sound of the rain pelting the roof above her head was almost deafening, but she would not be dissuaded from her course.

Her resolve did falter a little, however, as they made their way slowly through the streets. Shadowy figures passed by the carriage in the darkness, unidentifiable shapes moving through the gloom, some of them too close for comfort.

As she stared out, she saw a hulking man standing in a shop’s doorway and looking up in the rain as he pulled off his jacket and shirt, hollering into the night, the whites of his eyes visible.

Nervous and frightened of anyone who might take an interest in the carriage, she lowered the blind, the small candle above her head the only source of light as she waited for them to reach their destination.

It seemed to take an age before she heard some shouting above her and the carriage door was wrenched open. The footman stood in the deluge, soaked to the skin as she swiftly climbed out.

“Go somewhere warm and eat something while you wait for us,” she instructed, and the driver and footman trundled away.

As Louise turned to the club, she found herself unprepared for the sight of the door before her. Not so many days ago, she had arrived here for the first time at her father’s whim, utterly unaware of the course her life would take from that moment.

She leveled the door with a hard stare.

I am no longer Louise Dawson. I am the Duchess of Egerton, and I am here to see my husband.

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