Page 8 of Courting the Duchess
The thrum of his heart slowed, his senses pricking to full attention.
He pivoted on his heel; his muscles tensed in preparation, fists clenched at his sides, mind focusing with lethal intensity. His body reacted on instinct born of years of training and the honing of his senses. It had been impressed upon him early on that danger lurked in even the prettiest of settings.
Instead, he found only Alaina standing in the double doorway of the library…and his body clenched for an entirely different reason.
She dazzled in the golden lamplight of the room. Her blue gown, the color of the hot summer sky in the country, made her skin appear dewy and set her eyes aglow. Her golden hair had been woven into a complicated coiffure of ringlets and plaits, proving an unhindered view of her delicately wrought features. An impossibly long strand of perfect pearls was wound around her swan-like neck several times before it spilled down the delicate flesh of her décolletage framed by the low, scalloped neckline of her gown. His gaze was naturally pulled to follow the alluring trail of glowing, creamy pearls…
Through the years, he had steadfastly guarded and cherished the memory of how beautiful his wife had looked on their wedding day, but the image before him proved his recollection faulty. If he’d thought his wife an angel then, the woman before him was a goddess—regal and composed, self-assured and resplendent.
Realizing perhaps a moment too late that he was staring at his wife like a randy youth eyeing his first glimpse of female flesh, Sterling wrenched his gaze back up to Alaina’s face. He had to clear his throat before he could speak.
“You look quite lovely, Alaina,” he murmured before approaching her to bring her hand to his lips. The compliment sounded weak and unworthy to even his ears, but words seemed to escape him at that moment when faced with the more mature elegance of the woman who’d waited for him all these years. The knowledge that she’d remained in his house and had continued using his name despite it all was more humbling than he cared to admit, and it was a struggle when he attempted to reclaim his practiced cool composure with a quip. “That is when you’re not disheveled from jumping on the furniture like a manic spaniel.” The corner of his mouth lifted in an attempt at a flirtatious smile, but the years appeared to have eroded Alaina’s appreciation of his humor. Once, she had laughed at his jests; now, she stiffened and wrenched her hand away as if he were a particularly disgusting insect. He strongly suspected she called him several creative unsavory names beneath her breath as she stormed off unescorted toward the dining room.
Sterling shook his head and followed in her simmering wake.
*
Alaina watched withbarely masked amusement while her husband less and less politely rejected dish after dish laid out by the footmen. It was obvious that Sterling’s patience had worn thin when yet another course smothered in green appeared on the white linen before them. She could feel his piercing eyes upon her as his suspicions grew, all while she tried not to smile as she took a bite from the mountain of peas on her plate. It was clear he still loathed the innocent little vegetable.
How utterlytragic.
Alaina should have been put off by this absurd quantity of legumes in a single meal, but it was more than worth it. In fact, she could see herself developing a passion for them.
Peering at him from the corner of her eye, she saw Sterling gesture for a second glass of wine. He had yet to place a single morsel from his plate into his mouth and, instead, feasted upon the fine vintage from the cellar.
To his credit, he steadfastly made several overtures at conversation throughout the meal. The best Alaina could force herself to do was provide monosyllabic responses. It was all she trusted herself to say without losing control of her emotions. Again. The last thing she wished to do was create a scene directly in front of the staff—her earlier confrontation with her husband had been bad enough.
Two footmen hovered around the periphery and, though she knew the men were longtime, faithful employees, she didn’t doubt any confrontation between the duke and duchess would be repeated below stairs as soon as it ended. She’d spent years garnering the loyalty and respect of her carefully selected staff, but she wasn’t blinded enough to realize a public spat would incite gossip from even the most loyal servants.
She settled for silent triumph, mentally placing a tally in her column of victories. Her wayward husband had caught her unawares when he’d arrived home so unexpectedly, but she refused to be set on her heel anymore when it came to this man. She was determined never to allow him to slip past the hard-won armor she had compiled piece by piece, tear by tear. She was a duchess now, not a frightened, shy young girl striving to be everything everyone told her she should be.
Not anymore.
“Is your planto starve me out, then?” Sterling asked suddenly in a low, flat tone as he swallowed another sip from his crystal glass. He eyed Alaina as she savored another bite of beef and creamed peas. His stomach whined in desperation. As much rich food as he’d imbibed in his travels, he’d been looking forward to experiencing an English meal.
This particular menu was not at all what he’d had in mind.
She offered him a noncommittal tilt of her head. “I think Cook has quite outdone herself.” It was the longest response he’d managed to wrench from her that evening, but it certainly did not feel like progress to him. The chill in her tone could fairly freeze off a man’s bollocks.
His hand clenched with dangerous force around the stem of his goblet.
He’d reached his limit.
Stiffly, he raised his free hand to dismiss the footmen attending them.
They didn’t move.
Brows twitching in consternation, he made a more obvious gesture for them to leave…but again, it produced no results.
It wasn’t until he fixed deadly, pointed stares at each of the young men in Morton livery that they finally, very slowly retreated from the room.
Alaina sat down her utensils and took an inordinate interest in the yellow bouquet gracing the center of the table, flanked on either side by twisted gleaming silver candelabras.
“I don’t appreciate the frigid reception, Alaina,” he ground out when they were alone, the frustration coming to a rolling boil within his chest. “The least you can do is try, as I am trying. Do you hate me so intensely that you cannot feign the least bit of civility?” Her gaze remained stubbornly fixed upon the flowers, but the rigidity of her posture told him she was listening. “I gave you a bloody apology.”
Alaina threw her linen napkin on the table and finally turned her attention to him. “It is clear you don’t appreciate the gravity of your absence if you feel as if you can stride in after all these years and have all be well between us,” she snarled. “And if you believe your earlier apology qualified as such, then you must think very little of me, indeed.”
Sterling shot to his feet, his chair teetering dangerously on its back legs. “I said I was sorry! I told you there was a reason for my absence.” He ran a rough hand through his hair. “Dammit,Iam yourhusband!”
