Page 36 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
Freya lay awake tense and worried. She didn’t think she could sleep until she knew what Eric intended to do.
Will he stay away all night, or is he coming?
Freya did not think she would be able to sleep if he didn’t come. Not in this wing. She had gone up with Isabella to her chambers in the east wing, and they sat on her bed together as Freya told her sister about the house in Bath and gave her a heavily censored version of her married life so far.
“He seems to be a lovely man,” Isabella said tentatively. “Do you not like him because father chose him?”
Freya blew out of breath, once again blown away by Isabella’s perceptive nature. “Who said I don’t like him?”
Isabella just gave her a look.
“All right fine. I did not like how we met, and he has not gone out of his way to impress me ever since with any sparkling personality. He’s rude and callous, and he just makes me very angry.”
Isabella looked troubled. “Is he horrible to you then?”
Freya hesitated. She did not want her sister to worry about her, nor did she want to mislead her. “I suppose he isn’t horrible. He and I are just oil and water— we do not mix. But you are free to like him if you want to.”
Isabella sighed, “He was kind to me, and William sings his praises. He says he was a hero in the war, and the scar on his face is due to some horrific battle that he won in the high seas against pirates.” Her eyes shone with admiration.
Freya refrained from rolling her own eyes. “I suppose that to his brother, he is a hero,” she murmured.
Isabella once again looked worried. Freya rubbed her back. “Do not worry your pretty little head about it. We shall sort it out between us, never fear. Now, tell me what you’ve been up to since I’ve been away. I have missed you so.”
Isabella lit up. “I missed you too, but William has been good company.” She launched into a long soliloquy about everything that they had been doing. Freya barely listened; she was too busy watching Isabella’s face and relishing the excitement and happiness she could see there. Clearly having a mother figure and a companion close to her age was good for her.
Perhaps I can try my best to get along with Eric — if only for her sake.
As she lay on her back staring at the ceiling wondering if Eric would come back, she thought about her conversation with both Isabella and Mrs. Campbell. Both seem to have a very optimistic view of the future regarding their marriage. She could not imagine why.
The candle burned down to its wick, and still, Eric had not returned. She was tempted to get out of bed and go and look for him, but then what would she say when she found him?
She sat up, hesitating with indecision as to what to do next. Suddenly, she heard footsteps in the hallway and dived back down onto her pillow, scrunching her eyes shut in an effort to look like she was sleeping peacefully.
The door opened and the scent of sandalwood tobacco and whiskey let her know that Eric was back. She relaxed her shoulders feigning sleep as she listened to the rustle of his clothing as he took it off, the splash of water in the basin, and the sound of him washing up after himself. She wondered if she opened her eyes, would she see his naked chest?
It was too much temptation; she had to do it. She peered beneath her lashes at him, realizing that he was standing naked by the table, washing his face and armpits. Her eyes fell on the rounded cheeks of his bottom, and her heart stuttered to a stop before speeding up until it was racing.
Under her breath, she whimpered.
What is this man trying to do to me? Why can he not have some propriety?
She lay there in her shift, shutting her eyes tight and trying to still the trembling in her hands. The bed dipped, and she felt his warmth next to her.
Is he still unclothed?she wondered with trepidation. She did not know what she would do if he touched her. He gave a loud sigh and seemed to relax into the bedding and into sleep.
She did not know if she was glad or disappointed. She closed her eyes as well, doing her best to fall into unconsciousness.
ChapterSixteen
Eric woke up early as the sun was just lighting the sky. He glanced over at Freya, still buried deep in her blankets, and sighed, remembering his mother’s words. Slowly, he shuffled out of bed, reaching for his robe to keep away the early morning cold.
Deciding that a ride would be the best way to begin his day, he changed into his riding clothes and stepped out of the room. The house was barely stirring, and he padded down the quiet hallway before turning down the stairs without meeting a soul.
He slipped out the back door, making his way to the stables he had glimpsed the day before. He found the grooms busy rubbing down the horses, having already taken them for a run.
One of the grooms caught sight of him, put down his brush, and came towards Eric. He bowed low. “What can I do for you, my lord?” he asked.
Eric was tempted to correct the title but then shrugged inwardly.
