Page 27 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
But what else could she have done? He was dangerous. To her peace of mind, to her carefully constructed defenses, to everything she’d built to protect herself from further heartbreak.
She would not be made a fool of again. No matter how much her traitorous body seemed to want otherwise.
CHAPTER 7
“Good God, Valemont, you look like hell.”
Ewan glanced up from his untouched brandy to find Ralph sliding into the seat across from him at the dimly lit inn. The Boar’s Head was hardly the sort of establishment a duke typically frequented, but it was discreet, and discretion was precisely what Ewan required tonight.
“Charming as always, Tenwick.” Ewan gestured to the serving girl. “Another brandy for my friend.”
“I’m serious.” Ralph settled back in his chair, his keen eyes studying Ewan’s face. “You’ve been married all of ten days, and you look positively haggard. Should I be concerned about the state of your health? Or perhaps your sanity?”
“Neither. I merely required a change of scenery.”
“Ah.” His friend’s lips twitched. “And how precisely does one require a change of scenery from one’s new bride? Unless, of course, she’s particularly… demanding.”
Ewan shot him a warning look. “Careful.”
“Forgive me.” Ralph raised his hands in mock surrender. “I never thought you’d become protective of your duchess. Tell me, how is married life treating you?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” Ralph laughed. “Good Lord, man, you’ve been wed less than a fortnight. How complicated can it possibly be?”
Ewan took a long sip of his brandy, considering his words carefully. How could he explain that his wife affected him in ways that terrified him? That every moment in her presence was a battle between desire and self-preservation? That he’d fled to London like a coward because he could no longer trust himself around her?
“She’s not what I expected,” he said finally.
“Better or worse?”
“Both.”
Ralph studied him for a long moment. “You know, I’ve never seen you quite so… unsettled. It’s rather fascinating.”
“I’m not unsettled.”
“Of course not.” Ralph’s tone was thoroughly unconvinced. “You merely abandoned your new bride to drink alone in a tavern. Perfectly normal behavior for a newly married duke.”
Before Ewan could respond, the Marquess’ expression shifted to one of poorly concealed amusement. “Speaking of family matters, I trust you’ve heard about your dear nephew’s recent high jinks?”
Ewan’s jaw tightened. “What has he done now?”
“Oh, where do I begin?” Ralph leaned forward, clearly relishing the opportunity to recount Percy’s latest escapades. “Well, there was the incident at Lady Rothwell’s soiree last week. Your nephew, in his infinite wisdom, decided to entertain the ladies with a magic trick.”
“A magic trick?”
“Indeed. He somehow procured a rabbit—God knows where—and attempted to make it disappear from a hat. Unfortunately, the poor creature had other ideas. It relieved itself all over Miss Cavendish’s new silk gown.”
Ewan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Christ.”
“Oh, but there’s more.” Ralph was clearly enjoying himself now. “The very next day, he appeared at White’s with a fencing sword, challenging young Lord Dowding to a fencing duel over some perceived slight. Naturally, he lost spectacularly and spent the remainder of the evening sulking in a corner.”
“Please tell me that is all.”
“I’m afraid not.” Ralph’s grin widened. “The pièce de résistance was the Weatherby ball. Percy arrived wearing a theatrical mask and proceeded to perform what I can only assume was a soliloquy from Hamlet. All the roles, mind you. He played Hamlet, Ophelia,andthe ghost of Hamlet’s father. The poor boy was practically foaming at the mouth by the end.”
Ewan stared at his friend in horror. “How bad was it?”
