Page 32 of Rules for Heiresses
“Are you well, milady?” Colleen asked shyly.
Ravenna glanced over her shoulder, throttling her resentment. “Yes, though I am quite ready to get off of this ship.”
“I’ve never been to London,” the maid said, looking up from her packing. “What’s it like?”
“It’s big and busy.”
And fake and exhausting and suffocating.
Though in truth, she’d take town over her current circumstance in a heartbeat. Her husband resented her. Sommers stalked her at every opportunity. Lady Holding held her in silent contempt, criticizing everything from her short hair to her clothing choices to her impolite, unladylike views. God forbid that she dared have an opinion about anything that wasn’t needlepoint. On top of that, Lord and Lady Waterstone were acting like a pair of besotted lovers every time she saw them.
Heaven help her, she wasthisclose to murdering someone!
Thankfully, the end was in sight.
Rawley had informed her that they’d make landfall in less than an hour. And then the lies would begin in earnest, whereupon she would emulate the Dowager Duchess of Embry, exemplifying the impeccable hauteur of her mother. Ravenna had married a duke and they had come to London to put on a show.
At the sound of the stateroom door closing, Ravenna turned to find her husband staring at her. Her heart caught in her throat and she fought the instant physical reaction to him. She wondered if he felt the same elemental spark that made her acutely aware of him whenever he entered a room. Probably not. Since the altercation in the corridor what seemed like an eternity ago, he’d avoided her like the plague. She’d done the same with him, distracting herself with the pleasures to be found onboard the luxurious ship: entertaining musicales, games, extravagant dinners, dancing…anything to avoid seeing or thinking of him.
It had worked during the day.
At night, however, her efforts failed her miserably. Her dreams left her hot, bothered, drenched between the legs, and utterly deprived of sleep.
The duke cleared his throat. “We’ll be arriving soon.”
Even the deep tenor of his voice tormented her, giving her starved senses a hollow thrill. Ravenna wished she was immune to him. Wished he wasn’t so absurdly appealing, impeccably dressed as he was in rich, dove-gray trousers and a navy waistcoat shot through with silver thread. The colors brought out a light sheen in the darkness of his eyes—a warmth that had been subdued since they’d left Antigua.
Because of her.
Ravenna bit her lip. It was done now; this was their fate. For better or worse, they were the Duke and Duchess of Ashvale.
Ravenna inclined her head. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You look well,” he said stiffly.
Colleen had dressed her in one of her new traveling dresses—a pale-blue ensemble with floral embroidery. Ravenna wondered whether the maid had planned for their clothing to match so splendidly, or maybe it was wishful thinking on her part. She smoothed the front of her skirts with a self-conscious palm. “Thank you, so do you,” she said.
“We’ll continue to London via my private rail car,” he said, retrieving his pocket watch. “I’ve sent some staff ahead to make sure everything is ready for our arrival.”
Ravenna eyed him, knowing full well that Stinson and his mother would be at the London residence. She couldn’t remember the exact ages of his sisters, Bronwyn and Florence, but she had a feeling one of them would be of age. Both girls were more than a handful of years younger, though Stinson had come one year and nine months to the day his father had finished mourning his late wife and remarried. Lady Borne had wasted no time producing a son of her own.
“Where are we staying, may I ask?”
Unfathomable dark-brown eyes met hers. “I own several properties in London. One of those, I presume. Rawley handled the details.”
“Naturally.”
Silence spun like a web between them, thick and uncomfortable until he cleared his throat again. Uncertainty flashed over him. “Ravenna.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
He flinched at the formal address, his mouth flattening, but then he wiped all expression from his face and drew himself upright. His voice was quiet. “I never intended to marry, but here we are. I intend to honor those vows for your sake, and for the sake of my sisters.”
His matter-of-fact tone gutted her, but this was their reality. “I am aware of your reasons for this marriage, Your Grace.”
“In town, I trust you will conduct yourself as befits the Duchess of Ashvale, no matter your personal feelings toward me. It has come to my attention that it will be Bronwyn’s first season. You will smile and charm, and pretend to be pleased with your new position as my wife. Evidence of a strong, caring union will put gossip to rest and ensure suitable offers.”
Swallowing hard, Ravenna nodded, keeping her spine locked. The ache in her stomach rippled and grew, the urge to weep stinging the backs of her eyes.A strong, caring union. What a sodding joke.Herewas the ruthless indifference he was known for.
