Page 83 of Rules for Heiresses
Ravenna fought the urge to scream. It wasn’t Morgan’s fault; it was her rotten husband’s fault. She belonged at his side, not stuck here in England. He could have waited to tell her, but he’d chosen to leave, like a bloody coward. She was going to throttle the man. But first, she was going to hire the first passenger ship out of here.
“Colleen, pack our bags!” she hollered like a fishwife on the wharf. “Morgan, I need my carriage.”
“Your Grace.” The butler was begging now. “Please don’t do anything rash.”
Was murder rash?
She ignored him, but froze as her very quarry strode through the doors, followed by Waterstone and Rawley. Her husband looked…tense and angry, his hard features hard. Something had happened! Concern crept into her mind, but she shoved it aside.
Upon seeing her, Courtland stopped and stared as she crossed her arms, not even trying to disguise her wrath. “Back so soon? How was the weather on the sea?”
He opened his mouth and closed it, before scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself, Ravenna. I should have.”
She blinked. “Yes, you should have.” Frowning, she noticed the policemen who had followed before Morgan shut the door behind the others. “What’s going on?”
“Sommers happened,” he said. “He planted crates on theGloryfull of goods and claimed I stole them from him. He also put Stinson up to the piece in the scandal rags. I’m being held by Waterstone, confined to this house until my trial.”
“A trial? For what? You’re a peer and his claims are false.”
“Guilty until proven otherwise.”
“But youareinnocent.” Her mouth fell open. Of all the things she expected him to say, that was not it. She glanced at Waterstone, the earl’s solemn expression making her stomach sour. “He’ll be cleared, won’t he?”
“There’s chatter of a forthcoming petition in court by Stinson that Courtland is not the true Duke of Ashvale because of illegitimacy. It might lead to a trial, and if he’s stripped of his title, things could get ugly.”
“But heisthe duke.”
Waterstone exhaled. “We know that. Our hope rests on a man who has not awoken. Who might not awaken.”
“Bingham.” This was catastrophic. “What do we do now?”
“Sommers is wanted for questioning, but I suspect he’s gone to ground. We will find him and get a confession out of him.”
She frowned. “How?”
“I have ways and means.” At the deadly look in his eyes, Ravenna didn’t doubt that in the least. “In the meantime, I’ll avail myself of your cook’s fine talent.”
When he headed for the kitchens, she turned her attention back to her duke, and all her anger drained away. He needed her, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and there was no way in hell she was going to walk away now. In silence, she followed him up to his bedchamber, where he poured himself a liberal glass of brandy from the decanter on the mantel.
He gave her a tight smile. “Still want to be my duchess?”
“You’d have to pry my cold, dead hands away from you.”
“That sounds dirty,” he said.
“You prefer my hands warm and alive.”
Courtland stared at her, his handsome face somber. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too. I want you to know that.”
“Why are you talking as though it’s all over?”
“Because it is,” he said. “I was never meant to be duke.”
She shrugged. “And I was never meant to be a married duchess, but here we are—a reluctant duke and his hoyden bride. To tell you the truth, I’ve gotten used to us. I’ve gotten used to this. We make sense in a way that nothing ever has before. Tell me you don’t agree with that, and I will walk out that door.”
“I can’t tell you that.” He set down the glass and walked toward her. A lifetime swirled in those gorgeous dark eyes—showing glimpses of the boy he’d been and the man he’d become, and all the faces he’d worn in between. But above that, she saw raw honesty…the man she adored stripped down to his basic self. “I love you, Ravenna. I’ve loved you since I was ten and you wept over a baby bird in the woods.”
His declaration wrapped around her like the softest silk. “You love me?”
