Page 10 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
Once her turmoil quietened and once she could resign herself to her life being uprootedagain, she would be able to greet him with the composure he probably expected from his little temporary wife.
The humiliation of it all! To be released from a marriage in such a way. For the rest of time, everyone would know her as the former wife of the Duke of Halston.
It was all she could do not to burst into tears as she fled back to her chambers.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alexander extended a hand and watched the way his fingers shook in the cold light from the breakfast room windows. Such frailty and weakness; he hated that both belonged to him. Yet no matter how much he attempted to prevent it, he could not.
He craved laudanum to ease it, but knew the delirium that followed would only make things worse. He was here for his wife, to end this arrangement once and for all. He could not allow his mind to be clouded.
The door opened behind him, but instead of his wife, he found Oliver, the head footman. The other man bowed. “Your Grace…” he uttered, sounding hesitant.
“Oliver.” Instead of standing by the window, he took a chair. “Where is she?”
“Ah, I believe she is—she has been a little delayed this morning answering letters.”
“Answering letters?” Alexander’s brows furrowed. He glanced at the small writing desk in the corner of this room, where he presumed she handled most of her correspondence.
“She overslept this morning, Your Grace,” the footman quickly corrected.
“Very well.” He waved a hand. The staff had all behaved a little oddly to him since his arrival. But he had traveled overnight to arrive, and he did not have the patience to delay much longer. Already, he could feel the nausea in his stomach.
Damn this juice of the poppy!
He pinched the bridge of his nose, but when he looked up, Oliver had gone.
Very well. Willing his hands to stop shaking, he poured himself some of the cooling coffee. Evidently, his little wife was ordinarily down at this time.
Could she be avoiding him?
It seemed unlikely. The last time he’d met her, she’d been a shy, nervous little thing, and she obviously looked up to him a great deal. A rather irritating fact, but one he understood. So many people saw his title and immediately presumed he was someoneto be revered—when, as far as he was concerned, the opposite was true.
Guilt ate at him when he recalled her face as he informed her that her father had passed. Then, she had wanted more from him than he could offer her. Then, he had been a disappointment.
The coffee was black and strong, just bitter enough to cut through the worst of his cravings. For now, at least. Like a phantom, they would return in the darkness, plaguing him until he felt he would get no rest. Until, in the dark, he saw things that could not be true.
Such as Helena.
Grimacing, he banished the thought and strode to the bell pull. To his surprise, Mrs. Jones was the one who came to the door.
“Well?” he pressed impatiently. “Where is she?”
“Your wife, sir?”
He looked at her, the way her brow rose slightly, her body tensed as though preparing for a blow. Was he that much of a monster? With a sigh, he collapsed back into his seat and sipped his coffee again. “What is it you are not telling me?”
“Your Grace?”
“I take it she is usually down at this time?”
“Ordinarily, yes,” Mrs. Jones said, keys jangling at her waist as she took a few steps into the room and straightened the place setting a fraction. “But today, I believe she has been a little delayed. Her dress tore.”
“Her dress tore,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes. So, as I’m sure you understand, she must change.”
“Yes,” he agreed dryly. “I must certainly understand. Unanswered letters, sleeping in, and now, a snagging of fabric. Tell me, Mrs. Jones, is my wife avoiding me?”
