Page 26 of Bride of the Fae Duke

He snapped around – a razor-sharp motion, as if to bite her head off. ‘What is the point of this bloody interrogation, Eleanor?’

What was the point?

‘Curiosity,’ she said, which should have been the whole truth. If she had a single sensible bone in her body, it could not be anything else. ‘Just curiosity.’

His lips tightened to a thin line, and eventhatgesture looked unreasonably pretty in that stark, inhuman face. ‘Are you satisfied, then?’

No.

No, she was not.

Sheoughtto be, and yet seeing him like this, a hardened shell of a man so unlike the glimpses she caught in every crook and corner of his home … How in the world could sheeverbe satisfied with it?

‘Anne has been trying to pick up drawing again,’ she said, speaking without thinking. ‘She’s had to switch hands, though, so it’s a challenge. I think she would benefit a lot from some help, if you happen to have a few hours to spare.’

Locke stared at her – a hard, incredulous stare, but no longer nearly as cold as the glowers he’d levelled at her in the first days of their marriage.

‘After all,’ Nellie cheerfully continued, ‘it’s not a problem if you spend some time withher, is it? I’ll make sure to stay far away, of course.’

The word he muttered under his breath as he turned away and strode out of the room sounded a suspicious lot likeimpossible. The door to his study slammed behind him the next moment. She heard the croaking of the couch on the other side – then heard the couch croakagain, followed by the sound of pacing footsteps, back and forth, back and forth.

Good.

She’d prod him again tomorrow.

With a content sigh, she sat up a little straighter in the pillows, turned to the nightstand, and picked up the Merland play she’d requested from him the day before.

The entrance hall seemed a different place entirely with the cream-coloured, flowery wallpaper she and Mrs. Hartnell had chosen after hours of deliberation: warm and inviting, a perfect match to the summer sunlight bursting in whenever the front door opened to let a servant or craftsman through. Or perhaps it was the brand new, pale green carpet runner on the narrow stairs, or the garlands on the banister, or the far simpler chandelier they’d found in the attic to replace the unwieldy crystal creation that had hovered over the room before …

‘Now all we need to do is figure out some decoration,’ Mrs. Hartnell said with audible smugness as she surveyed the walls. ‘We had the portraits, of course?’

The portraits of three previous ladies Locke. They had been shrouded in black velvet, as if the mere sight of them might bring death into the home.

‘Yes,’ Nellie said slowly, chewing her bottom lip. ‘The portraits.’

Mrs. Hartnell’s side glance didn’t escape her. ‘You may prefer not to have them in the hall at all, Your Grace.’

‘I would be overjoyed to have them in the hall.’ It was not even an exaggeration. Two weeks of digging through her predecessors’ belongings were doing strange things to her heart – as if sheknewthem, now, the six women. As if they might have been friends. ‘They lived here, after all. I see no reason to treat them as rivals. I’m just not sure …’

She didn’t finish the sentence, cognizant of the maids scrubbing the floor one room away. Her quick glance upwards was enough for the housekeeper’s keen eyes, though.

‘Ah. The duke.’

‘Yes.’ Nellie gave a quick smile. ‘Perhaps we’d better not take the risk. Do we have any other suitable options – any family portraits, for example?’

‘Those should besomewhere.’ Mrs. Hartnell pursed her lips. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen Sir Ambrose and Sir Percival – the duke’s uncles – at some point this week. And Lord Peregrine Locke – the duke’s grandfather – must have a portrait too.’

‘Well, let’s start with those, then. And who knows …’ Nellie glanced through the open door of the salon, where Anne sat bent over the couch with a sketchbook and a set of charcoal pencils, tongue out between her lips as her left hand swept over the paper. ‘We may have some new art to display soon.’

Mrs. Hartnell’s face lit up. ‘She’s madegreatprogress this week, hasn’t she?’

‘Oh yes,’ Nellie said, smiling her most innocent smile. ‘Yes, she really has.’

‘OfcourseEgeric’s wife isn’t the true heroine of the play,’ Locke grunted between gritted teeth as she rode him, his hands fisting in the blankets, his hair a tangled blue halo around his face. His eyes glittered feverishly as he watched her, and sweet divines, it was hard to remind herself there was nothing but simple lust in that look. ‘She’s never evennamed. She only appears in a single scene, and …’

Nellie shook her hair down her back, coming up over him. ‘But shedoesuncover the whole conspiracy, doesn’t she?’

‘She doesn’t know anyone is listening!’ He cursed as she impaled herself hard, fast, on his length, taking him all the wayto that little sensitive spot where she could never,neverget enough of him. ‘Little good her questions would have done if theactualheroes hadn’t been around to hear—’

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