Page 92 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

Yet a troubling thought lingered. What if Marina, now comfortably established as a duchess with both financial independence and literary acclaim, no longer needed him? What if she’d simply played the devoted wife until she felt secure enough to stand on her own?

Leo knew the thought was irrational, but it took root. Marina had never given him any reason to question her sincerity. Their bond had evolved beyond mere arrangement, becoming genuine and deepening day by day.

Yet as his carriage approached Berkeley Square, Leo watched a handsome young man help a fashionably dressed lady into a hackney carriage, their hands lingering a moment too long for propriety. The echo of betrayal thrummed through him, a memory of another pair of hands clasped in darkness.

Felicity made her choice once before,the insidious voice whispered.What makes you think Marina won’t make a similar choice when the opportunity arises?

By the time he arrived home, Leo had subdued the worst of his unfounded suspicions, but a certain guardedness remained. He watched Marina at dinner with fresh eyes, looking for signs of deceit or calculation in her animated conversation about a book she’d been reading.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she observed as they sat before the fire in his study after the meal, her needlework forgotten in her lap as she studied him. “Is something bothering you?”

Leo forced a smile, reaching for the brandy decanter to refill his glass. “Just distracted by some business matters. Nothing important.”

Marina’s gaze remained on his face a moment too long, as if sensing the lie. Then she nodded, returning to her embroidery.

The ease between them had fractured, and Leo knew it was his fault. Noah was right. He was sabotaging what they had built together and allowing old fears to poison the present.Yet, knowing this didn’t seem to help him stop the spiral of suspicion.

As he watched Marina’s bent head, the firelight playing across her dark curls, Leo was seized by a painful realization. He cared for her far more deeply than he had intended. The thought of losing her, of being betrayed again, was suddenly unbearable.

And that vulnerability terrified him more than any external threat ever could.

CHAPTER 33

“Ibelieve I’ll walk to Bond Street this morning, Betty,” Marina said, adjusting her bonnet in the mirror. “Mrs. Wentworth mentioned a new shipment of French ribbons that would complement my green day dress perfectly.”

Betty looked up from where she was arranging Marina’s shawls in the wardrobe. “Shall I call accompany you, Your Grace?”

“No, thank you, Betty.” Marina reached for her gloves, trying to dismiss the strange disquiet that had followed her since the previous evening.

“His Grace might not approve of you walking alone,” Betty said hesitantly.

Marina paused, considering her maid’s concern. Leo had been oddly distant at breakfast, polite but watchful in a way that madeher uncomfortable. While they ate, his intense gaze made her feel like he was appraising her, not admiring her.

“His Grace has business with his solicitor this morning,” Marina replied, forcing lightness into her tone. “What he doesn’t know won’t trouble him. Besides, I’ll take Thomas with me.”

The young footman would provide a suitable escort without the carriage. Marina needed space to think, to understand what had changed between them.

Just yesterday, Leo had been supportive of her writing, offering to deliver her manuscript personally. His praise had seemed genuine, and his kiss afterward passionate. Yet by dinner, something had shifted—a coolness had crept into his manner, and there was a distance she couldn’t explain.

“Is everything all right between you and His Grace?” Betty asked, her loyalty to Marina overcoming her usual discretion.

Marina sighed, sinking onto the edge of her bed. “I’m not entirely sure. Something’s changed, but I don’t know what.”

“Men can be strange creatures,” Betty offered with the wisdom of her twenty years. “My mother always said they’re like weather in April. Sunshine one moment, storms the next, with no warning in between.”

Marina smiled despite her concern. “An accurate comparison. Well, I won’t solve the mystery sitting here. I’ll return before lunch.”

As she descended the stairs, Marina paused in the corridor that led to her private writing room. Something felt wrong, but she couldn’t immediately identify what. Pushing open the door, she looked around the familiar space—the writing desk positioned to catch the morning light, the bookshelves filled with her favorite volumes, the comfortable chair where she often sat to read.

The book she’d been reading yesterday, a collection of poetry Leo had given her, lay on the desk rather than on the side table where she distinctly remembered leaving it. Marina frowned, crossing to examine it. Had a maid moved it while dusting? But the household staff knew not to disturb her papers or books.

She picked up the volume and opened it to where her ribbon bookmark lay. Nothing seemed changed, but something still troubled her. This wasn’t the first such incident in recent days. Last week, she’d found her desk drawer slightly open though she always kept it locked. Two days ago, her journal had been moved from beneath her blotter to beside it.

Small things, easily attributed to forgetfulness or the minor carelessness of the servants. Yet considered together, they created a pattern that raised the fine hairs on her neck.

Marina shook off the feeling and returned the book to the side table. She was being fanciful, allowing Leo’s strange mood to color her perception of ordinary occurrences.

With Thomas following at a respectable distance, Marina stepped out into the spring sunshine. The warm May morning had drawn many fashionable Londoners onto the streets, and she nodded to several acquaintances as she made her way toward Bond Street’s elegant shops.

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