Page 35 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

Chapter Eleven

Anthony could havekicked himself for answering Laurel the way he had. A few hours had passed and not another word had passed between them. She had stared at him a good while but he’d never turned toward her. He couldn’t. Humiliation at how his father had treated him filled him. The more miles that passed, the angrier Anthony grew at the memories. At how he’d been cast aside, while Theodore had all their father’s attention.

He was also angry at himself for treating his bride so coldly. They had been married a little more than an hour when he’d snapped at her. Put her in her place. Spoke so firmly that it was obvious he’d brook no more conversation between them. Yet he knew this St. Clair. At least parts of her. She would not let it go. She would be after him, little by little, creating chinks in the invisible armor he wore to protect himself. That was something he couldn’t allow. He didn’t know if he should lie about all the years he missed being at Linwood or ignore any future questions she had regarding his childhood. Laurel was clever, though. She would easily sniff out a lie—and she certainly wouldn’t be put off from asking him. He believed the only reason she remained silent now is that she contemplated why she had even married him. They’d had no choice, though. Despite the fact he felt she was entirely the wrong type of wife for him, he liked her. He wondered if they might even become friends.

He certainly couldn’t wait to become lovers. The kiss they’d shared had morphed from sweet to explosive. It brought a whirlwind of emotions he had never felt, not to mention stirring his blood. He might not be able to give Laurel love—which she claimed she wasn’t interested in receiving—but Anthony would make certain he satisfied her in bed.

And out?

He couldn’t say. He had no idea what they would do during their week together at Linwood. He’d written the estate’s manager and notified him he was bringing his duchess home for a brief visit. He assumed the man, if he hadn’t expired from shock, had informed the housekeeper. Since it had been so long since he’d been to the estate, he needed to explore the grounds. The house, as well. He had a vague idea what it had once looked like. The only room he clearly recalled was his bedchamber and that wouldn’t be where he and Laurel spent tonight.

The thought of lying in the same bed where his bastard of a father had caused nausea to rise within him. His fingers curled into fists and he had to force himself to relax them against his thighs. He couldn’t think like this. Linwood wasn’t his father’s estate. Or Theodore’s. It was his. He would do what he could to see his hand on it.

Turning to Laurel, he said, “Have you any talent in decorating?”

She startled at his words, turning from where she gazed out the window. “I haven’t a clue what that might involve. We three Wrights lived in a space so small that I’m sure your dressing room would be larger. Why do you ask?”

They’d gotten off on the wrong foot. He wanted to correct that now, before he made a mess of their marriage.

“I’m sure it’s been many years since anyone changed anything about the décor of any of the rooms. I want you to know you’re free to do so. If you wish for new carpets or curtains. New furniture. I want you to put your mark on the house. Make it a home.” Anthony smiled. “After all, it is where we will raise our children.”

“Will we?” she challenged.

“Yes. It is the main residence of the Duke of Linfield. While eventually, I will have us visit the other numerous properties I hold, I’d hope the children would be raised more in the country.”

“Yet you haven’t been to this home in how long? How old are you, Linfield?”

Hearing that name on her lips rattled him. “Anthony,” he prompted. “Remember?” When she didn’t reply, he said, “I am twenty-eight years of age. I completed Eton and took the commission the duke purchased for me and entered His Majesty’s army at eighteen. I remained in the army for almost a decade, fortunate enough to serve on Wellington’s staff for several years. Once Bonaparte was finally defeated at Waterloo and exiled, I came home to England and found both my father and brother had died. That I was the Duke of Linfield.”

She worried her lip, a look of pity in her eyes. He didn’t want her pity—but he most certainly wanted to sink his teeth into that full lip.

“I’m sorry you came home and were greeted with such sad news.”

“I wasn’t sad at all,” he said brusquely, watching her eyes widen in surprise. “I was never close to either of them. Their deaths meant nothing to me.”

“I see.”

He wondered if his words shocked her. She continued worrying her lip and he looked away. If he didn’t, he might scoop her up in his lap and kiss her.

After a few minutes, she asked, “You’ve been in London this whole time? I mean, after selling out?”

“Yes. Enough about me. Tell me something about you.”

A veil seemed to drop over her. Anthony wondered if Laurel had any secrets of her own.

“There’s not much to tell. I went to school, at least part-time, until I was twelve. I held a variety of positions. The last two years I waited on customers at a chandlery. When the work day ended, I stayed after to balance the ledgers.”

Anthony sat up. “You did?”

“I have an affinity for numbers. Mr. Cole was terrible at them. He was better at ordering goods for the store but even then, I would go back and check his numbers and the bills of sale.” She paused. “There’s not much else to know, other than I sewed for others at night. Mama’s eyesight grew worse and she had trouble completing orders. You’ve meet Hudson. He’s very smart and will do well at university. Mama did the best she could for us until her heart weakened. She was quite ill for some months before she passed.” She looked down at her folded hands in her lap.

He gazed at her until she raised her head and their eyes locked.

“You told me you worried about putting food on the table and how to pay your rent. Was your brother not working while you held two positions?”

Anger sparked in her eyes. “Hudson also worked long hours, during the day as a coal porter and by night as a waterman.”

“Then why did you have trouble making ends meet?” he asked, truly wondering.

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