by Burke, Darcy
Her gaze bore into his for a moment. “I do. And I believe I made that clear.”
“So you did. Forgive me for hoping we might find our way to at least a friendship of sorts.”
“I will forgive you nothing. I believe I also made that clear.”
Yes, she had, and he was a fool for thinking anything else. He pushed away from the mantel and crossed to his desk, moving to stand behind it. “How much money do you need to settle Townsend’s debts?”
“I wrote to his secretary this morning and asked him to send an accounting. It should arrive tomorrow.”
He nodded. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll also provide you with a quarterly income. However, if you need anything additional, please don’t hesitate to ask. My only requirement is that you ask me directly, in person—that is one interaction I insist upon.”
Her eyes narrowed briefly. “I see.”
“I will not be stingy.” He exhaled, hating the tension between them but seeing no way to alleviate it. At least not without her dropping her guard even the tiniest bit. “I want you to feel safe and cared for. Your peace of mind is important to me.”
“Because of your guilt.”
His gut clenched. “Yes. But also because you deserve it. I realize you were backed into a corner and chose this arrangement as your only way out. I do not want you to feel trapped in any way.”
“That’s…kind of you.” Her voice was strained, as if she spoke with great effort.
“Also, your father is an ass. I can see why you wanted to avoid any scheme he imagined.”
Her eyes widened, and she blinked. “He isn’t an ass.”
Lionel snorted. “Then he’s an insensitive cad.”
“I don’t need your sympathy or your commiseration. Nor do I want it.”
“Nevertheless, you’ll have them.” He locked his gaze with hers, intent on delivering his message. “I am not your enemy.”
She laughed, but it was hollow and made him flinch. “You are certainly not my friend.” She tipped her head to the side, and her bonnet shifted just a bit, causing her to have to tighten the bow beneath her chin. When it failed to cooperate with her efforts, she untied it completely and pulled the accessory from her head with a grimace. “May I be excused?”
“Of course. I’ll see you…” When? In passing sometime? Or would they go days without seeing each other?
Did it really matter?
He sat down behind his desk and looked up at the portrait hanging over the mantel. His father’s eyes stared out at him, and if Lionel looked hard enough, he’d see the twinkle that had nearly always been present. Eight years on, and he still missed his father every day. Especially now with his marriage, but also because of the effects of the duel.
Lionel’s hand began to shake. He shifted his attention to the appendage and laid it flat on the desk, laying his right hand over it to make it stop. He took several deep breaths and worked to clear his mind.
After several minutes, his muscles calmed and he was still once more. He wondered if he’d ever be able to escape these moments of turmoil.
No, because you deserve them.
Indeed he did.
* * *
She’d made it through the first night.
After breaking her fast, Emmaline had listened at the door to the sitting room that adjoined her and Axbridge’s chambers. She hadn’t heard a thing and had ultimately asked Lark to verify it was empty before she dared venture out of the protection of her bedchamber.
It was foolish, perhaps. She was going to see him as long as they lived together. It was a perfect argument for why she should take new lodgings. However, the allowance he’d given her wouldn’t cover an acceptable house, which meant she’d have to ask him for more money.
She didn’t think he’d refuse her. She’d been more than clear about their sham marriage. What did it matter where she lived?
It mattered because if she lived elsewhere, tongues would wag, and her reputation might be impacted. One of the reasons she’d settled for marrying Axbridge was to ensure her position.
She kept to herself all morning and took a small luncheon in the sitting room. She didn’t ask about Axbridge, nor did he seem to ask about her. As she contemplated what to do with her afternoon, Tulk arrived in the sitting room and announced the arrival of her friend Ivy, Lady Clare.
Delighted for a welcome distraction, Emmaline leapt up from the chair. She straightened and looked to the butler. “Where should I receive her?”
“Anywhere you’d like, my lady,” Tulk said deferentially. “I might suggest the drawing room downstairs.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be down directly.”
He nodded, then took himself off. Emmaline checked her appearance in the glass and, after tidying an errant lock of hair, followed behind him. When she arrived downstairs, he’d just shown Ivy into the drawing room.
Ivy handed him her hat and gloves, her gaze moving to Emmaline. “Lady Axbridge.” It wasn’t posed as a question, but her gaze was fairly burning with curiosity.
Tulk turned to Emmaline. “Shall I bring tea?”
“Certainly. Thank you, Tulk.” Emmaline waited until he departed before opening her mouth to speak. Only she didn’t get a word out.
Ivy’s jaw dropped, and she blinked at Emmaline in shock. “What the devil is going on?”
“Yes, I imagine you have questions. Shall we sit?” She stepped to a small, circular table with four chairs positioned near the front window and sat so she could look out at the street.
Ivy took a chair beside hers. “Beyond questions, I have concern. Are you in your right mind?”
“Quite. My parents intended to marry me to Sir Duncan Thayer. I…developed an alternative plan.”
Ivy stared at her. “Marrying Axbridge?”
“He owed me.”
“I don’t dispute that—and I know he’s more than eager to help you in any way possible. But marriage? You hate him. Why on earth would you shackle yourself to him?” Ivy pursed her lips. “The wedded state is to be entered into with grave consideration—if at all. It should not be taken lightly.”
Ivy had sworn never to marry after a gentleman had promised to wed her and abandoned her. That she’d fallen in love with the Duke of Clare, who was also called the Duke of Desire, and married him had galled Ivy to her core. Nevertheless, she had no regrets. “Trust me, I considered this most gravely. I gave it far more thought than when I ran off with Geoffrey.”
Indeed, the stark differences between her two marriages could not be more pronounced.
“I do not doubt that. I was with you at the time.”
That had been when they’d become friends. “And your husband ensured that our mad dash to Gretna Green did not become a scandal. You have been the best of friends to me—West’s participation in the duel that killed Geoffrey notwithstanding.”
Ivy flinched. After the duel, Emmaline had pushed her away for a few months, but Ivy had persevered in her efforts to demonstrate her support and friendship. She’d written to her almost daily, focusing on lighter subjects such as the growth and development of her baby girl. She’d invited Emmaline to visit—or Ivy would bring the baby to her—thinking it would cheer her. Emmaline had finally relented, and Ivy had been right. Allowing friendship and light back into her life had been a balm.
“I don’t blame him,” Emmaline said softly. “But neither can I forget it.”
“I know.” Ivy gave her a sad smile. “Which is why I still can’t understand why you’d wed Axbridge of all people. Surely you could have found someone else.”
“Perhaps, but I was in a corner. The banns for my marriage to Sir Duncan were to be read this Sunday. There wasn’t time to fall in love.” She scoffed. “Not that I wanted or expected that. You see where love delivered me.”
Ivy’s gaze was full of compassion. “Love can be treacherous. It led me down a dark path, as you know. It also brought me the greatest happiness I have ever known. That could’ve happened for you.
”
Her unspoken words hovered in Emmaline’s mind: but now it never will, for you are trapped with Axbridge.
Hadn’t he said he didn’t want her to feel trapped?
Tulk entered with the tea tray and set it on the table in front of them. “Would you like me to pour, my lady?”
“No, thank you,” Emmaline said. She gave Tulk a tentative smile. She realized she was holding herself apart from Axbridge’s staff, as if they were “his” people and she needed to keep everything separate. She did want to lead separate lives, but his staff had been very welcoming and kind. In fact, they’d given no indication that they were aware of any distance between her and Axbridge. And they had to be. Or at least would be rather quickly.
The butler returned her smile before taking his leave.
Ivy snatched up the pot. “I’ll pour. You talk. Why Axbridge instead of love?”
Because love hurt. “As I said, I didn’t have the luxury of time. Axbridge was convenient. He’ll settle Geoffrey’s outstanding debts, and he’ll leave me alone. I’m a marchioness, and I won’t want for anything, nor will I have to endure the attentions of a husband I find revolting—which is what would’ve happened with Sir Duncan.”
“Revolting?” Ivy finished pouring and stirred sugar into her cup. “I’m not terribly familiar with him, but doesn’t he have a daughter about your age?”
“Yes.”
“Was that the problem—his age?”
“Not entirely. He was quite eager to wed—how did he put it?—someone who wasn’t a simpering virgin. Then he went on in rather nauseating detail about his physical attributes.”
Ivy shuddered. “I see why you preferred to avoid him, but surely we could have found a better groom for you than Axbridge.” She sipped her tea.
Emmaline added sugar to her own cup and took a drink. “I’d ask you for suggestions, but it hardly matters now. As I said, I didn’t have time, and Axbridge was convenient. He agreed to my terms, so while it’s not ideal, it will be palatable.” Particularly if this first day was an indication of how things would progress.
“What sort of terms?” Ivy asked.
“Besides taking care of Geoffrey’s debt, he’ll give me independence.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“It’s entirely a marriage of convenience. There will be no intimacy. No children.”
Ivy blanched. “That doesn’t sound like a particularly happy outlook.” She set her cup down and glanced toward Emmaline’s bare left hand. “You’re not wearing a ring.”
She’d taken it off last night. Her hand felt rather naked after wearing Geoffrey’s band prior to the one Axbridge had given her yesterday.
“Did Axbridge give you one?” Ivy asked.
Emmaline nodded. “I prefer not to wear it.”
Ivy looked down for a moment. “I’m not sure you could do better than Axbridge,” she said quietly. “From everything I know of him, he’s a kind and honorable man.”
She dared defend him? “Then why did he kill my husband?”
“He called Geoffrey out with good reason.”
Emmaline couldn’t keep the anger from stealing into her tone. “And what was that?”
“I don’t know the specifics, but I trust West when he tells me that Axbridge had good reason. He wouldn’t have stood as his second if he hadn’t. Perhaps you should ask your husband why he called Geoffrey out.”
Yes, perhaps she should. While she was at it, she’d ask him why he liked to duel in the first place. “You do know that Geoffrey wasn’t the first man he killed.”
“Yes.” Ivy didn’t bother hiding her grimace. “It was actually his third duel. He wounded someone the first time.”
It occurred to Emmaline that she ought to have included “no dueling” in their marriage agreement. She decided it wasn’t too late to ask. “He’s a menace,” she whispered before taking another sip of tea.
Ivy reached over and touched Emmaline’s hand. “Oh, Emmaline, I am so worried about your happiness.”
Emmaline smiled reassuringly. “I don’t need to be happy. At least not in marriage.” She’d nearly resolved herself to that before Geoffrey had died.
“Then you’ll need to find some other pursuits.”
“I’ve given that a bit of thought actually,” Emmaline said. “I wondered if Lucy might teach me to shoot. If I’m to be the Duchess of Danger, it seems I should know how to wield a pistol.”
Ivy laughed. “Please don’t feel as though you need to take on his nickname. I certainly didn’t with West.”
The conversation turned to the latest antics of Ivy and West’s daughter, Leah, and the rest of their visit flew by. They concluded by agreeing to see each other soon—likely for a shooting lesson led by Lucy.
Ivy fetched her bonnet and gloves from a table near the doorway where Tulk had set them. As she tied the ribbon beneath her chin, the sound of the front door drew Emmaline’s attention. Axbridge strolled through the hall and into the drawing room.
“Good afternoon, Lady Clare.” His gaze drifted to Emmaline. “My lady.”
“Good afternoon,” Ivy said, pulling on her gloves. “I came to offer my felicitations on your marriage. You may recall that your new wife is a dear friend of mine.”
“Of course. She has excellent taste in friends.” He flashed a smile at both of them, and for the briefest of moments, Emmaline’s pulse sped.
Ivy laughed. “West asked if he would see you later at the club.”
“Indeed he will. Please give Leah a hug from Uncle Ax.”
Uncle Ax? Had he even met the child? Emmaline felt a burst of anger. Or possessiveness. Or both. “I didn’t realize you were close to Leah.”
“She’s adorable. How can you look at her sweet face and not feel close to her?” He winked at Ivy. Emmaline recalled that he was rather flirtatious. This grated her already strained nerves.
“You’re very kind,” Ivy said. “I’d best get home to her. See you both soon.” She waved at them and took her leave.
As soon as they were alone, Emmaline pursed her lips at Axbridge. “Would it be too much to ask you to leave Lady Clare and her family alone? She’s a dear friend of mine, and watching you charm her makes me nauseated.” She sounded like a shrew, but she didn’t care. He deserved that and worse.
“Yes, it would be too much to ask. West is my best friend. I also like Lady Clare a great deal. I’m confident we can all be friends.”
She flinched. “You and I will never be friends.”
He tensed, the muscles in his jaw and neck tightening. “Perhaps not, but can’t we at least be pleasant?”
Emmaline crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a chilly stare. “And what do you mean by that exactly?”
He offered her a charming bow. “Good afternoon, Lady Axbridge. I trust you’ve had a nice day so far. I went for a ride this morning and just concluded a meeting. Do you have plans for this evening?” He looked at her expectantly, a pleasant expression warming his face.
“I was having a perfectly nice day until you strode in here.” What did she expect? He lived here. She’d married him. Her body shook, and she sought to end this encounter as soon as possible. But she needed to say something first. “I have another requirement.”
His eyes hooded as he leaned against the doorframe. “You want something else from me.” His tone dripped with incredulity.
She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I do. I would prefer you didn’t duel again. I don’t think I could bear it if you killed—or even wounded—someone else.”
He seemed to slump, his body drooping. His eyes flashed with some dark emotion, but she wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “I have no plans to. I couldn’t bear it either.”
He pushed away from the doorframe and stalked past her, cutting a wide berth, as he went into his office. The door closed with a click that seemed to slice into her chest.
She’d been ridiculous. Awful. Awfully ridiculous. Or ridiculously awful?
Closing her eyes, she massaged her forehead. This was a disaster. That she’d created out of necessity. She’d needed his money and wanted his protection. She’d also demanded his agreement, which he’d given without pause. To some, he might be…heroic. And yet heroes didn’t do what he’d done.
She had to find a way to exist in this marriage without spiraling into anger and despair. Right now, she doubted it was even possible.
Chapter 5
Later that evening, Lionel stalked into Brooks’s and went directly to West’s private dining room upstairs, intent on a stiff glass of whiskey. His confrontation with Emmaline had shaken him deeply. He tried very hard to bury his anguish, and was usually successful. But today, when she’d brought up dueling, his armor had slipped.
He’d pushed back at her after her absurd request that he leave Ivy and West alone. He probably shouldn’t have, but damn it, they had to find a way to at least be cordial. He wasn’t sure how long he could endure her revulsion.
Though didn’t he deserve that? She’d cut right to the heart of things with her other request. Far from absurd, it had been more than reasonable. One might even say it didn’t need stating, but with him it did. Because he was a monster.
“I would prefer you didn’t duel again. I don’t think I could bear it if you killed—or even wounded—someone else.”
And he’d meant what he’d told her. He couldn’t bear it either.
Yes, this was penance for his sins. She could be as awful to him as she liked, and he’d give her whatever she wanted.
“Evening Ax,” West greeted him as he walked into the dining room.
Lionel flopped into a chair across from West near the fire.
West stood and rang for the footman who arrived a scant moment later. “Bring the bottle and another glass,” West instructed.
“Your mind reading skills are as well-honed as ever,” Lionel said.
“I don’t need them. You look like you’ve been run down by a coach and four. Or that you’d like to be. I can’t quite decide which.”
Lionel might’ve laughed if he wasn’t feeling so wretched.
“Marriage not agreeing with you?” West asked with an annoyingly light tone.
