Page 71 of Rules for Heiresses
“Why are you smiling?” Waterstone growled. “You were nearly drawn and quartered.”
“Stop being a milksop. I was smiling because I will look a sight tonight for the ball. Lady Embry will have conniptions.”
The earl stared at him. “You’re worried about a dowager at a ball after you just got set upon by footpads?”
“You’ll understand when you get the chance to meet my mother-in-law tonight.” He sighed, touching his fat lip and flinching. “Come, let’s get back so I can figure out what to do with this and get some ice or a poultice on it before my wife sees.”
* * *
“What in the world happened to your lip?” Ravenna demanded.
It was the first thing she noticed, descending the staircase to meet the duke before they left for her mother’s residence. Well, the second thing at least. The first was how distressingly handsome her husband looked in his elegant formal wear—from his raven-black jacket and trousers to a dark-green waistcoat and pristine white shirt and cravat. If there was one thing that could be said for him, even when she was frothingly angry, it was that he wore a suit of clothing exceptionally well.
He looks fantastic naked, too.
Ignoring that salacious inner voice, she focused on what was an obvious and recent injury. Ravenna narrowed her eyes on the cut at the corner of his mouth. His lips were full, but the lower lip had a plumpness to its curve that was out of the ordinary. The more she looked, the more she saw the purplish hue of a bruise beneath the brownish-bronze glow of his complexion.
“Sparring with Rawley earlier,” the duke said, eyes widening in appreciation as he took in her diaphanous lavender gown with its silver trim and overlay of spangled star-colored tulle. “You look ravishing.”
She preened at the compliment and the melting look in his eyes, but she kept her expression composed. No need for him to see any weakness from her. She had to stay strong. “Don’t try to change the subject. Since when does Rawley ever get the drop on you?”
“Since my minx of a wife became a distraction.”
She frowned. “I wasn’t even there…if what you say is true.”
He lifted her palm and drew his lips over her gloved knuckles. “You don’t have to be far from me to have dominion over my thoughts, Duchess.”
Ravenna drew in a clipped breath, filling her tight lungs. While his comment sounded like a compliment, she knew it wasn’t. A part of him resented that she was in any way, shape, or form on his mind. Courtland was single-minded, and he was the kind of man who hated distractions. It was the reason behind his draconian demand that she stay locked up like a naughty child. Her hurt returned in full force. She yanked her hand away and eyed him coldly.
“We will be late if we don’t leave. Let’s get this evening over with.”
She did not wait to be offered his arm, but swept past him to the waiting ducal carriage. A pair of matching horses pawed the ground restlessly, and she took a beat to admire them as well as the gleaming coach with the Duke of Ashvale’s coat of arms. For all her husband’s faults, he had style. Ravenna rolled her eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was impressed. She’d been raised the daughter of a duke and was well accustomed to pomp, circumstance, and luxury.
“Thank you, Rawley,” she said to her husband’s man who helped her into the carriage. “Is it true what my husband said about you being responsible for that bruise on his face?”
Rawley froze, and the momentary dilation of his pupils before he nodded told her all she needed to know. The injury wasn’t Rawley’s fault, which meant her husband had lied through his teeth. How had he come by it? And why did he need to hide the truth from her?
Across from her in the coach, the duke glanced at her, his dark eyes conflicted as if he had something to say but couldn’t find the words, and they stared at each other in interminable silence. Something inside clawed at her heart, and for one stupid moment, she wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to hold her. Thankfully, her bottom remained firmly planted on the seat. She arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Is something on your mind? You seem agitated.”
He opened his mouth and closed it. “I don’t like this distance between us.”
“You put it there, Your Grace, when you forbade me to leave the house like a misbehaving brat.”
Courtland flinched at the icy reply. “Ravenna, please, try to understand. I don’t want this evening to be awful for you. I’d like for us…to be friends.”
“Friends,” she echoed and then glared at him. “We arenotfriends, you thick lummox! We are two strangers playacting at being husband and wife. At best, we are enemies with a common goal of hoodwinking theton. So right now, all I am focused on is putting on a good show so that you can marry off your sisters, claim respectability, and placate God-knows-who before you divorce me and fuck off back to wherever it is you intend. Did I get that right?”
She sucked in a breath, her eyes inexplicably smarting. She wouldnotcry!
“Ravenna.”
She lifted a palm. “Just don’t, Ashvale. There’s nothing you can say that can fix this. You don’t trust me. You lie about your injuries—”
“And you haven’t lied?” he shot back.
“I wouldn’t have to if you trusted me at all! But the cold Courtland Chase trusts no one, does he?” The duke glowered, his handsome face tight in the flickering gas lamps of the coach. Ravenna throttled her emotion, knowing this wasn’t the time or the place to quarrel, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to hurt him the way she’d been hurt. “The great Duke of Ashvale is an island unto himself, and God save the soul of anyone who gets close to those rocky shores. It’s a wonder you have any friends at all.”
Tension unspooled between them, ugly and thick.
