Page 28 of Bride of the Fae Duke

Othrys startled as if from a dream. Damn it, but it was time he got out of here – he had plenty to arrange before the whole city took a day off for midsummer tomorrow, and besides, he was not supposed to pay his wife any attention. Even if it was bloody hard to ignore her when his house was changing around him by the day. Even if she stubbornly refused to make herself forgettable, the way she dazzled as she bounded into his study every night. Even if—

‘Lord Locke!’ Anne’s voice interrupted his unwilling musing. She came hurrying down the stairs with charcoal stains on her pink cheeks and a sketchbook clutched against her equally stained dress. ‘Lord Locke, look what I made!’

A portrait of her sister.

A stunningly beautiful one, at that.

It was ridiculous, the way his compliments and suggested adjustments made him itch to take up a pencil himself again. He hadn’t felt that urge since Isaure had taken her last breath in his arms nine years ago, her skin burning hot with fever, theinfected wound on her finger an oozing shade of blue – a day that he’d thought would haunt him forever. And yet, these weeks …

He’d covered and hidden every trace of his first wife for years in his desperate attempts not to think of her, and now he was finding she haunted him not nearly so much when he walked past her drawings every day.

What had Eleanor said?The heartache won’t fade as long as you don’t let anything else in.

He’d lost track of his own voice for a moment. But whatever he’d managed to force past his lips for Anne, it seemed to have been sufficient: she was glowing with pride as she bounced on into the living room to show her work to her sister and housekeeper. Forcing himself to walk on towards his study, he heard her excitedly declare, ‘Even Lord Locke says it’s the best thing I’ve ever drawn …’

‘Oh!’ Eleanor interrupted, suddenly breathless. ‘Did he come home? Lord Locke?’

Othrys stiffened again.

Which was nonsensical, of course it was nonsensical … but sweet divines, had that been a hint ofimpatiencein her voice?

He had no time to wonder. He barely had time to blink before she came rushing into the hall, dressed in brilliant yellow, her blonde hair a mass of curls around her blushing face – and it was in that moment that he realised he had not seen her in the bright light of day since the morning of their wedding, when she had been quiet and timid and justifiably overwhelmed. Now, on the other hand …

Now she swept in like summer itself.

She did not look like a duchess. There was no hiding the slight clumsiness of her motions that betrayed she was not used to the attire; her steps were just a little ungainly, proof her mother had not trained her since early childhood to walk straight andpoised. But there was avibrancyto her, a light in her eyes and a sparkle in her smile, that turned her stumbling grace into something far, far more addictive than the most elegant of manners.

Something so painfully alive it might just be an antidote to the bitter, deadly poison of him.

‘Give us a moment, would you, Tanner,’ she told the footman, who removed himself with a surprisingly respectful nod. And then she stood before him, small yet fierce, looking as if this was nothing but routine to her – as if they hadn’t meticulously avoided each other around the house for the full three weeks of their marriage.

‘Hello, husband,’ she said, a mischievous smile playing around that clever mouth.

A befuddled bark of laughter escaped him. ‘Hello, wife. Is anything urgent the matter, or—’

‘A little bit.’ She lowered her voice, throwing a quick look around the hallway before she continued, ‘My monthly bleeding started this morning. I thought you should know.’

That he should— Oh.

Yes.

Because he still needed an heir. Because this meant their first round of trying had failed, in spite of all Lord Heartstrong’s advice and their dutiful … well, work.

Or something like work.

‘Ah,’ he said, clearing his throat, trying to refocus his thoughts. It didn’t help – itreallydidn’t help – that he always undressed her the moment she stepped into his vicinity. His eyes kept straying down now, towards the body he knew lay hidden beneath the yellow silk – too tanned and too muscular for a lady, and disconcertingly alluring all the same. ‘I see. We’re not yet done with each other, then. I suppose that is … rather bad news.’

‘Yes,’ she said, chewing pensively on her bottom lip. She did not appear terribly distraught, Othrys couldn’t help but notice. ‘Yes, I suppose it is, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ he said again. ‘Yes, definitely.’

They stared at each other for a moment, as if waiting for a countermove in some game they might or might not be playing. What did she expect him to say now – that it was fine? That it wasn’t fine? Hell, was he supposed to console her?

She really,reallydid not look in dire need of consolation.

‘I suppose that means we’ll just have to keep trying,’ he guessed, and she abruptly released a breath – almost like a sigh of relief.

‘Yes.’ This time her agreement came almost eagerly. ‘Yes, that’s the only sensible conclusion, isn’t it?’

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