Page 33 of An Unwanted Virgin for the Duke
I agreed to this.
Daphne reminded herself of as much as the grinding of the wheels grated on her already fragile nerves. Her posture was rigid, and her hands clasped together in her lap as if in prayer. She idly noted that the white silk of her gloves creased with her fidgeting.
While it was cold outside, the carriage was warm. Cozy. It could be how it was built or it could be the way the Duke’s eyes were on her, heavy and probing.
Daphne wished she was as relaxed as her new husband, who reclined in his seat even as he still dominated the small space with his presence. His face, which normally looked carve from stone, created harder lines as shadows fell on it. The smirk on his face made her wonder if he could hear her heart thundering in her chest.
She wrung her hands and continued to fidget with her gloves. The Duke leaned in closer to her and stared at her odd, perturbed movements. She was embarrassed at how she could not hide what she was feeling.
“If you clutch those gloves any tighter, they’ll confess your sins for you,” the Duke teased.
His voice cut into the silence that surrounded them and startled her. She blushed furiously, realizing he was right—not about the sins but the way she was clutching her gloves.
“I have no sins to confess, Your Grace,” she said, giving him a feeble smile. She did straighten herself, not wanting the Duke to see her so ruffled.
“None at all?” he asked, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes slightly. “Not even traipsing through the forest at night searching for medicine?”
She gasped out a laugh at that, but managed to retort, “That was hardly sinful, Your Grace.”
“Ah. You may be right. I cannot tell.” He reclined against his own seat once more but returned to fixing her with a critical stare. “Until we met that night, it had been a long time since someone had lectured me in such a manner.”
“You said as much,” Daphne recollected. “You told me you had sermonized to a group of men earlier in the evening, but then…”
The Duke barked a hearty laugh. “Did I say that? Isermonized?”
Daphne shrugged. “I cannot remember your words exactly, but I do know the impression they made on me.” She twisted her fingers together once more and stared at the strained fabric of her gloves.
“And what impression was that?”
Daphne ached to lift her head and glimpse the sly smile she was sure graced his face, but she could not bring herself to meet his intense gaze.
“I was struck by your contradictory ways,” she said softly. “On that night, you seemed to be one sort of man in one breath, but then, in another, you transformed into a wholly different person.”
She paused and chanced to look at him. His expression was fixed in a curious manner. It was evident he was contemplating her observations.
“I saw the same turn in your countenance before when we were in the church. You were polite while talking to the Nicholsons, but when Lord Amberwell approached, you…”
“Amberwell knows that I mean nothing when I speak to him gruffly,” the Duke interrupted.
“But why should you treat your friend in such a way? He came to your wedding ceremony today to give his support. Did he not deserve a kind word from you in return? Could you not have bestowed a smile upon him?”
The Duke considered the matter for a long moment then said quietly, “I leave it to you to advise me in these instances going forward. A proper wife like you will certainly improve my manners and quite possibly my reputation as well.”
“Oh. It seems that you do gain something in this arrangement beyond just having a wife,” she commented lightly, hoping that he meant to compliment her by giving her words such credence.
“I gain a great deal by making you my wife,” he murmured. “Never forget that Iaskedyou to be my bride. Iofferedyou my hand.”
They were quiet for an extended time after that. Daphne could not help but wonder how her new husband’s words could be both compelling and unsettling. She waited for him to say something else, to extend their conversation further, but words never materialized. Instead, he continued staring at her as if he meant to ferret out all her secrets just by looking at her for thisprolonged period. The amber color reminded her of the name she had heard her brothers-in-law call him.
The Wolf Duke.
“You have grown rather quiet, Your Grace,” she whispered. She did not want to disturb him, but at the same time she did not like sitting across from him in the carriage and merely wondering about his nickname.
“Oh? I thought you were the one who chose silence,” he retorted, a hand rubbing idly at his well-trimmed beard.
“I suppose I prefer quiet company, but today, of all days, I should like very much to chat.”
The Duke snorted. “I am not sure what you mean by suggesting that we chat. I do not make it a point to converse lightly. I suppose you could say that I often save my voice.”
