Page 42 of His Scarred Duchess
Adeline stared at the list of dishes, the French names swimming before her eyes. After three weeks as Duchess of Holbrook, such tasks still felt foreign to her.
“I’m sure whatever you’ve planned will be lovely, Mrs. Potts,” she offered, managing a small smile. “You’ve yet to disappoint.”
The cook furrowed her brow. “But Your Grace, His Grace always insists on reviewing the menu personally. He’s quite particular about?—”
“Then perhaps you should seek His Grace’s approval,” Adeline interrupted, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from her voice. “I’m sure he’d be more than happy to assist you.”
As Mrs. Potts curtsied and hurried away, Adeline sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.
Every day seemed to bring a new reminder of how ill-suited she was for this role, how short she fell of the exacting standards set by her husband.
Husband.
She still needed time to get used to the term. For their… whatever she and the Duke had was far from a proper union.
One night, a sudden crash startled Adeline from her sleep. Concerned, she rose and wrapped a thin robe over her nightgown before venturing into the corridor to investigate.
As she approached Edmund’s bedchamber, the door swung open unexpectedly. She collided with a solid, bare chest.
“Oh!” she gasped, stumbling back.
Strong hands steadied her. “Adeline?” Edmund’s voice was husky with surprise.
She looked up, her breath catching. Edmund stood before her, shirtless and glistening with sweat, clearly just returned from a late-night ride.
“I heard a noise,” Adeline explained, acutely aware of his hands still on her arms, the thin fabric of her nightgown and robe doing little to mask his touch.
Edmund’s eyes darkened as they swept over her, lingering on the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts beneath the delicate lace.
“Likely just a servant,” he murmured, his thumb absently rubbing circles on her arm.
Adeline shivered, heat pooling in her belly. “Yes, I should return to my room,” she managed.
He nodded, finally releasing her. As he stepped back, his arm brushed against hers, eliciting a soft gasp.
Their eyes met, the air crackling with unspoken desire.
For a moment, Adeline thought he might kiss her. Instead, he straightened, his face once again an impassive mask.
“Goodnight, Duchess,” he said stiffly, before disappearing into his bedchamber.
Adeline leaned against the wall, her heart racing, more awake than ever.
The word still felt strange, almost laughable. In the weeks since their wedding, Edmund had been little more than a ghost in her life. They shared meals in silence when his work didn’t keep him closeted in his study, and exchanged the barest of pleasantries when they happened to cross paths in the manor’s vast corridors. He was unfailingly polite, impeccably correct in his behavior—and utterly, maddeningly distant.
And yet, despite his coldness, Adeline couldn’t deny the effect he had on her. Each rare moment in his presence sent her heart racing and made her skin tingle with awareness.
She found her eyes drawn to the strong line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders beneath his perfectly tailored coats. More than once, she’d caught herself daydreaming about their kiss in Lady Alderton’s stables, wondering if his lips would feel as warm, as demanding, if he were to kiss her now.
But such thoughts were foolish, she reminded herself sternly. Edmund had made it clear that theirs was a marriage of convenience, nothing more. Her wayward feelings on the matter were irrelevant.
Shaking off her melancholy thoughts, Adeline made her way to the library. At least there, surrounded by the comforting smell of leather and paper, she might find some respite from the constant reminders of her inadequacy as a duchess.
As she rounded a corner, she nearly collided with two of the maids, their heads bent close together in whispered conversation.
They sprang apart at the sight of her, curtsying hastily.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” the younger of the two, Sally, said, her cheeks flushed. “We didn’t see you there.”
