Page 38 of My Demanding Duke

Once the door had shut behind her, Hugh poured himself another brandy. The cosiness of the room had dissipated somewhat with Anna’s departure, so he moved himself to his library.

There, he attended to the growing pile of correspondence he had neglected since the wedding. He dashed out several letters to his various estate managers, a note to his man of business who kept an eye over his merchant interests, and finally an abrupt note to his solicitor at The Inns of Court, to say that his will needed updating. For a moment, he wondered if he should send a footman to The Bird’s Nest to question if Shatter had heard news on Lord Mosley, but he decided against it—that task was better carried out in person.

The longcase clock in the hallway began to chime the hour: midnight. Hugh stretched, allowing himself to succumb to his tiredness.

He blew out the candles, placed a guard before the fire, then set off for his bedchamber. There, he dismissed a groggy Thompson and undressed himself for bed.

Impatiently he donned a nightshirt, over which he threw on a silk banyan. Then, he crept to the door that joined his room to Anna’s, opening it as quietly as he could.

He slipped inside, intending only to check if she was sleeping, but when he caught sight of her, curled up beneath the covers, he paused, overcome with longing.

Longing not for her body—though he couldn’t deny that desire stirred in his belly—but for the warmth and peace she radiated. He discarded his earlier intention to steal a glance at her and leave, and instead made for the bed. Carefully, he lowered himself down beside her, throwing a protective arm over her body, as he settled himself on his side.

I’ll just rest a moment, he told himself, as his eyes grew heavy. Within seconds he was asleep, lulled into a peaceful rest by the warmth and comfort of his wife’s body beside him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

ANNA STOOD BEFOREthe looking glass as Josie fastened the last pearl button on her evening gown. Her gaze drifted past her reflection, settling instead on the neatly made bed behind her. She had awoken during the night to find herself wrapped in Hugh's arms, held tightly like some precious treasure.

When morning had arrived, she had woken to find he was gone—not even leaving an impression on the bedsheets, to let her know that she had not dreamed his presence.

Her new husband was a mystery to her; consumed by fiery passion one moment, gentle as a lamb the next. She sensed there were secrets beneath his carefully constructed, haughty veneer. Secrets he would never share. Would he forever remain an enigma that could kiss her with passion one moment and retreat behind cold formality the next?

“You’ll mark it," Josie fretted, batting Anna’s hands away from worrying the material of the gown that had arrived that morning from Madame Devearaux’s.

“Nobody will note a mark or two,” Anna replied with a shrug, “Unless they examine my skirts with a magnifying glass.”

For a moment, Josie looked as though she was going to suggest that this was not beyond the realm of possibilities. Despite her own anxiety, Anna offered her lady’s maid an affectionate smile.

“Nobody would dare attempt such a thing with Falconbridge by my side,” she reassured her.

“True, he’s quite fearsome,” Josie agreed, flittering about brushing imaginary lint from the gown’s full skirts. “But one never knows who is watching, so try not to fidget and ruin my good work.”

She paused then, as though considering her words, before adding a rather reluctant; “Your Grace.”

“I promise I will try,” Anna swore.

“Try?” Josie raised a skeptical brow. “Well then, I can expect to have the flat-iron ready when you return. Still, your fidgeting keeps me in gainful employment so I won’t grouse too much. Now, turn and show me.”

Anna turned from the mirror to present herself to Josie—an act that seemed a tad ridiculous, for she could already see her in the looking glass. Josie rewarded her efforts with a happy sigh, her brown eyes misty.

“If your mama could see you now,” she declared, fishing a handkerchief from her pocket to blow her nose loudly. “She always wanted the best for you and now, here you are, decked out in silks like a princess.”

“A mere duchess, I’m afraid,” Anna smiled, though she did agree with Josie that the dress was exquisite. The emerald silk gown draped gracefully over her figure, its empire waistline embellished with delicate gold beading that caught the candlelight with each breath she took. The neckline dipped lower than Anna was used to, framed by delicate Venetian lace.

“Are you certain I don’t need a fichu?” Anna questioned, turning to frown at her appearance one last time.

“A fichu?” Josie snorted, “You’re going to a ball, not visiting a convent. You’re the picture of grace and elegance—at least you will be, if you can keep from fidgeting.”

Josie affectionately batted Anna’s hand away from her neckline before marching her out the door with a mixture of well-wishes and muttered warnings about the dire misfortunes that might befall a duchess who rumpled new silk.

Falconbridge was waiting for her at the bottom of the grand staircase, impatiently pacing the marble tiles of the entrance hall.

He turned, as he heard her step on the stair..

"You look magnificent," he said, his eyes travelling slowly from the top of her head to the tips of her satin slippers—before returning, Anna noted with amusement, to her cleavage for a second glance.

She should have worn the fichu.

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