Free The Duke's Disaster (R) by Grace Burrowes Page B

indulge in on the streets of London. “The duration of our stay here depends on when your courses start.”
    Thea fussed with her skirts, adjusted her whip, petted the mare, and glanced off toward the stables in the distance.
    “Well?” Noah prompted, for they’d soon have grooms hanging on their every word.
    “This is the tenth,” she said very softly. “Likely by the twenty-second.”
    The timing could be worse. Three weeks instead of two. Thea could have been one of those vexing women who pretended not to know, or not to be able to predict her cycles, one of those women who sought the title Duchess of Anselm and were never invited to Noah’s bed.
    “Then, yes.” Noah nudged his horse around a turn in the lane. “We will be here through haying, likely through the end of the month, and possibly longer.”
    Though when they left, they’d be man and wife in every possible sense.
    “When will Nonie join us?” Thea asked.
    “Lady Nonie will remain in Town for at least the rest of the month,” Noah said slowly, “possibly longer.”
    Gone were her soft smiles and blushes, and her expression became mulish. “The entire reason I consented to marry you was for the sake of my sister, to keep her safe, and spend—”
    Noah shortened his reins, curb and snaffle both. “The entire reason, Thea?”
    Her chin came up, predictably. He knew that for the battle flag it was, and they’d been married less than a day.
    “Entire,” she said, very pleasantly. “I was content not to marry, but Nonie’s circumstances demanded attention.”
    “You were content to be preyed on by the likes of Corbett?” Noah’s question was unkind, but Thea was being prodigiously stubborn. Every couple adjusting to married life deserved some time to themselves.
    “I’d rather have been left alone,” she muttered.
    Thea eased her mare up into a rocking canter, and Noah let her lead him over the lanes back to the stables. They still weren’t speaking as he helped her off her mare, but rather than give up the fight, he stood beside the mare, his hands on Thea’s waist, holding her immobile for long moments in the stable yard, looking down at her until she took his point.
    For better or for worse, she was not alone now.
    Thea lifted her chin and without benefit of her husband’s escort, swished off in the direction of the gardens.
    * * *

    The duke had held Thea so closely through the night.
    He’d been companionable over breakfast.
    He’d given her that gorgeous mare for her very own.
    And Thea had foolishly, foolishly hoped her taciturn, sardonic husband had been showing a well-hidden tendency toward forgiveness.
    She’d known a gathering sense of relief as Anselm had toured his land with her, acting like any new husband might. They’d conversed, they’d even laughed, and then like waking from a pleasant dream to a harsh reality, the pretense of civility had been abruptly dropped.
    Thea was hurt, but she couldn’t fault Anselm. The error had been hers, to think this gentleman who was her husband could ever be her friend. He’d told her he wasn’t nice.
    Why hadn’t she listened?
    While her heart was fracturing along a thousand old lines of pain and disappointment, Anselm was doing the pretty before his outdoor staff.
    “And this little fellow”—Noah nodded at a lanky blond man wearing wire-rimmed glasses—“is my botanist, Benjamin Erikson, whom we must commend for tearing himself away from his workbench long enough to greet you.”
    “Your Grace.” Erikson bowed over Thea’s hand. “I am charmed.” Brown eyes twinkled at her, and he held her hand a moment too long.
    “Having met Erikson,” Anselm said repressively, “we have concluded the reviewing of the troops, and a proper breakfast awaits us inside. Erikson, if you’ve some time, I’d like to meet with you later this morning.”
    “I’ll be propagating,” Erikson said. “Best not bother me until this afternoon.”
    At least somebody was propagating, for