Page 102 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

James sounded irritated, and Cecelia didn’t understand why. She thought she’d done rather well.

“I would have appreciated an excuse to strike him,” he added.

Now she saw. “I could not provide it.”

“Of course not. You had no need for protection. Clearly you don’t need my help for anything at all. You are supremely competent.” He turned away from her and addressed the guests. “A small contretemps, which should not stop our dancing.” He signaled the musicians to resume and went to ask another woman to dance.

Cecelia stood alone as others slowly joined in, and couples began to form up around her. She felt reprimanded and did not see why she should have been. At last she was saved by Henry Deeping, who solicited her hand for the set. “That was very well done,” he said when they were dancing.

“I thought so.”

He nodded. “You were composed and reasonable. You routed your opponent. I wouldn’t be surprised if Prince Karl decided to continue his tour elsewhere.”

“James seemed annoyed though.” The words slipped out, because she was perplexed and a bit disappointed.

“He prefers to flatten his problems with his fists. Those that can’t be tipped a leveler are a challenge for him.”

“What problems can you punch?”

Mr. Deeping smiled down at her. “That is a difficulty. Beyond the boxing ring, not too many at all.”

She knew that James turned most things into a contest. He saw life as a series of battles to be waged, opponents to be vanquished. But that would not do for a marriage! “You’ve known him even longer than I have,” she said to Mr. Deeping.

“Since we were grubby schoolboys.”

“And he was always that way?”

“I think he was born combative. I’ve often imagined James as a pugnacious baby, flailing at his nursemaid.” He smiled in fond amusement.

Cecelia did not find the picture comforting. She hoped for fewer disputes, not more.

When the dance ended Mr. Deeping took her to his sister, and they were soon joined by Sarah and Harriet. Her friends were full of admiration and told Cecelia that she’d been magnificent against Prince Karl. Cecelia appreciated the praise, but she noticed that James did not dance with her for the rest of the evening. And in the carriage going home, he merely said the event had been tiring and leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed.

“Is something wrong?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“But you seem…”

“Merely tired.” His tone was flat, and he did not open his eyes.

She sat back, chilled. She knew how to argue with James. She’d won, and lost, any number of disputes with him. But this coolness was not familiar. It seemed designed to repel and silence her, and she didn’t understand why he would wish to do that. “Are you angry?” she finally asked, just before they reached the hotel.

“I am tired, Cecelia,” he replied in a voice that indeed sounded weary. “It is time for sleep. May we do that?”

She wasn’t certain whether he took his own advice. But it was a long time, lying beside him, before she found rest.

***

The next morning James rose early and took himself off to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon, where he spent a satisfying half hour pummeling the bag and then another in a sparring session with an acquaintance who was also looking for an opportunity to hit something. James was aware, as he perhaps hadn’t been in the past, that these sessions made no difference to his current perplexities. But the hard physical exertion was a relief, even taking some blows that rattled his bones. It was like the steam that jetted from a boiling kettle, reducing the pressure. He welcomed the fatigue that came after as well and, more sheepishly, the fact that he’d clearly bested his opponent in the ring.

This was far better than the muddle in his mind, a hash of all the disputes he’d had with Cecelia over the last thirteen years. He’d been accused of laziness, extravagance, selfishness, excessive complaining, being too combative, and probably of other things that he couldn’t recall at the moment. He didn’t think these criticisms were true—at least, not lately. He’d felt like a changed man in the last several weeks. But how was he to convince anyone? Rather, how was he to show Cecelia, the only one who mattered? He remembered her struggles to counter false accusations. He couldsayhe was different, but he wondered resentfully, who would believe?

And did she care? She’d faced Prince Karl without a glance at him. There hadn’t been the vestige of an appeal. She was shouldering responsibilities right and left. She was taking over everything. Exactly as he’d asked her to do in his original proposal, suggested a dry inner voice.

James grimaced in the mirror as he made a final adjustment to his neckcloth. The James who had first offered for her had been such an arrogant, paltry creature! Puffed up with his own imagined consequence. He couldn’t bear the fellow.

Nor could he blame Cecelia for doing as he’d asked. Or for being better than he was at nearly every task. Hadn’t he admitted it? Didn’t hewanther to manage the ducal affairs? He put on his hat and left Gentleman Jackson’s.

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