Page 13 of Bride of the Fae Duke

They’d have to be, she reassured herself as she slipped out of her room and crossed to the front side of the house, her nervousness drowned out by her far more imminent annoyance. The duke came across as the sort of man who’d tell her to spread her legs, pound away for five minutes, and promptly fall asleep, like the men the other housemaids had whispered about – which was perhaps not entirely enjoyable, but efficient enough for the purposes of their marriage. So it seemed likely she’d be back in her own bed well before eleven …

Assuming, of course, she could remember which of these dratted doors gave access to his rooms. She should have paid better attention during the housekeeper’s quick tour of the house that afternoon.

Hoping for the best, she eventually picked a door at random and knocked. She was the duchess of this place now, after all. Surely the rest of the household would forgive her if she accidentally went bursting into the wrong place?

No answer followed, even after she knocked a second time. She moved on to the next room.

This time, the reply came immediately – an audibly terse, ‘Yes?’

Her husband.

All the resolve in the world couldn’t keep her hands from trembling slightly as she twisted the doorknob and pushed.

The room beyond was what she’d started to expect from this house – so carefully devoid of all personality it had to be deliberate. Not a fleck of colour on the walls. No flowers, no paintings, no little piles of human clutter. Just stark functionality wherever she looked: a set of methodically organised bookshelves, a near-empty desk, a chair so stiff it did not look intended to be sat on. The only hint of softness was the couch in the farthest corner, plush and more worn than she’d expect in a duke’s household.

It was on that couch he was sitting, in his shirtsleeves, his blue hair unbound and a crystal glass of some amber-coloured liquor in his hand.

She caught a single glimpse of him like that – a man she hardly recognised as the harsh creature she’d married that morning. Broad shoulders sagging. Stiff spine bent. And the look she found in his eyes as he snapped around towards her … it was not the absent formality with which he’d regarded her before the altar of the High Divines, or even the blunt practicality with which he’d proposed to her the day before.

Instead, the catlike eyes that met hers exuded nothing but bone-deep exhaustion.

Just for a moment, and then he recognised her. In a single, disorienting eyeblink, he morphed back into the hard-shouldered, square-jawed aristocrat she knew – a look in his eyes that brought to mind all seventeen generations of familyhonour upon which she was infringing by barging in on him like this.

‘Eleanor?’ His voice was as sharp as his cheekbones.

I prefer Nellie, she almost told him, then realised that this would be infinitely better – that she didn’t mind at all if she didn’t have to be herself in his bed. Perhaps Nellie Finch did not even have to sleep with him. Just Eleanor, duchess of Locke – just the woman who was a stranger to both of them.

She pushed the door shut behind her. It fell into the lock with an ominousclick.

‘Good evening, Your Grace,’ she said, ignoring the tremor of doubt at that honorific – did duchesses still call their husbandsYour Grace, or was she supposed to have switched to a more informal alternative at this point? He likely didn’t care. If he cared, he shouldn’t have married a housemaid. ‘Forgive me for imposing on you like this, Your Grace. I was wondering when you were planning to get to work.’

He stared at her as though she’d walked in straight through a solid wall.

And again it was as if a layer of ice cracked around him for a single heartbeat, as he blinked at her and blinked again – forgetting for a moment, it seemed, to be haughty and perpetually on the brink of vexation, as if his manners were an ill-fitting coat he had trouble keeping on in the far more familiar surroundings of this room.

‘Work,’he said slowly.

It came out flat. Hollow. As if he was just repeating the sounds from her lips without the faintest notion of their meaning – as if he had forgotten why he’d married her.

Sweet divines. Justhow muchof that bottle had ended up in his stomach already?

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ Nellie said, speaking just a fraction slower in case it was more than the single glass in his hand. Lord Eyestonebecame a positive simpleton after three glasses of Cook’s plum liquor – better to be sure. ‘Conceiving a child. Getting you an heir. That was the whole purpose of this charade, wasn’t it?’

This time, he didn’t reply at all.

She really was getting tired of him gaping at her like that.Shewasn’t the one who’d come up with this entire plan, for goodness’ sake. He didn’t get to look at her like she was the mad one here, when she was doing nothing more insane than reminding him of the desperate approach thathehad devised for the both of them.

Folding her arms, she pointedly added, ‘Your Grace?’

That seemed to shake him awake. In a single jerking motion, he plunked his glass down on the side table, turned the full muscular bulk of his body towards her, and sharply inquired, ‘You want to get startedtonight?’

‘Well, most people seem to prefer the night for that sort of business,’ Nellie said, feeling more and more indignant. ‘All the same to me if you’d like to have me over the breakfast table, but in that case, you could have let me know in advance that would be the approach. I would have eaten more at dinner.’

‘You— Divines help me.’ He planted his elbows onto his thighs as he leaned forward – rather muscular thighs, she couldn’t help but notice, and what little she could see of his arms beneath his shirt appeared to be similarly corded. ‘I prefer to eat my breakfast uninterrupted, thank you very much, and I generally agree the night is the most convenient time of day for ourwork. That said, I assumed you and your sister might like to have some time to settle in.’

‘To settle in?’ she echoed. ‘You thought I’d still be unpacking those six whole dresses I have in my possession?’

His blue-lashed eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve only just arrived.’

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