Page 81 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
Ach! It’s only once, and I do feel better. Perhaps I just ate something bad.
She decided to put it out of her mind and continue with her day. The Evans family had invited them for supper as they were hosting a well-known Austrian writer and were eager to introduce him to English society.
Freya was looking forward to hearing what he had to say. Perhaps she could practice her German on him. Eric had been inexplicably distant since their encounter in his study. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what was wrong, but there was something. His touch was also overly careful as if he did not want to lose control, and it was frustrating.
No matter what she tried, he kept her at arm’s length.
Perhaps he realized that my feelings have changed, and he doesn’t want that.
She pushed the thought away, but for the life of her, she could not think of another reason why he was so cold to her.
She went downstairs, stopping first at her father’s chambers, and found Isabella sitting by his bed, reading aloud to him while he snored gently. She walked quietly up to her sister and rubbed her shoulder.
Isabella looked up and smiled. “He likes it when I read to him. It helps him to sleep," she whispered, pointing at their father.
Freya gave her a strained smile. Between the two of them, the Duke was always softer with Isabella. Freya was glad of it, but it also hurt. “How long have you been here?” she asked just as quietly.
Isabella shrugged. “I think since dawn. I woke up to use the chamber pot, and so I came to check on him. He was tossing and turning, unable to settle. I asked if he wanted me to read to him, and he said yes.”
Freya nodded in understanding. “I see. Well, come; let’s go have breakfast. Your throat must be parched.”
Isabella looked at the Duke, a frown on her forehead. “Will he be all right? He seems to sleep better when I’m talking.”
Freya squeezed her hand. “He’ll be fine. You’ll come back and resume reading after breakfast.”
Isabella got to her feet. “Fine. Let’s go, but we’ll have to hurry,” she whispered.
Freya nodded in agreement. Isabella put her book down, and they left, walking hand in hand, side by side.
At the door, Freya looked back and was startled to see gleaming eyes in the dark, staring at her. She gasped inaudibly but then quickly turned away, her heart thundering in her breast.
* * *
Eric could really have done without the socializing bit of being in London. There seemed to be an endless supply of invitations from members of thetonfor this supper party or that masquerade ball…it was tiresome for him. He had gotten used to the stares and the comments about his scar, but he was never comfortable. He tried not to show it and smiled gamely through the evenings, trying to make sure that he was not a wet blanket for Freya or her sister.
Freya had spoken to him about letting Isabella attend as many functions with them as possible so that she too could know the security of marriage.
“You need not worry. I shall not abandon either of you,” he assured.
She rubbed her hands worriedly. “For all he is nearly bedridden, Father might linger for years. I do not want her to be caught up being his caretaker if that should happen. She is such a good-hearted girl; she would want to.”
Eric considered her keenly, feeling sure that there was more to this than met the eye. Perhaps she was planning on leaving him and wanted her sister securely wed before that happened. It was clear to him that the Duke was on his deathbed. Surely, she could see it too.
Tonight, they were headed for the opera— an Italian troupe was visiting London, and they would be performing a rendition ofOthello.He was looking forward to it. At the opera, there was no staring or need for small talk. He could simply be, enjoy the evening with his wife, and then come back home and make love to her as gently as possible.
She would never have to see the beast inside him again.
They arrived early and thus were thrust into the crowds of waiting patrons. Eric fetched them some drinks at the bar, handing Freya her glass with a small smile. She took a deep breath, the low décolletage of her gown drawing his eye to the twin creamy mounds just visible.
“You look lovely tonight,” he said softly.
Her face lit up, and he was glad he’d said something to please her. “Thank you,” she replied, her face stained with color. He looked his fill, enjoying her pleased embarrassment.
They walked into the theatre and prepared to sit down and enjoy the show. Eric reached out for Freya’s hand and was gratified when she let him hold it. They settled in and prepared to enjoy themselves.
* * *
Freya was quite sleepy when they got home and yawned as she stepped through the door, ready to go to bed. Suddenly, Isabella ran out of the duke’s chambers at the end of the corridor, looking distressed.
