Free The Husband Trap by Tracy Anne Warren

wrapped her hand around his upper arm, pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “Go to sleep. It is late,” she murmured.
    He raised his arm to snuggle her more tightly to him, her face pillowed against the smooth warmth of his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath her ear. She listened, finding its rhythm soothing and uniquely relaxing.
    She closed her eyes and let sleep take her.
     
    Her maid, Agnes, awakened her the next morning when she drew back the curtains. Crisp yellow sunlight streamed through the windows like a sunny pair of hands to shake Violet from her rest. She grumbled and rolled over, buried her head deeper into the nearest pillow.
    It smelled of Adrian, male and a little musky.
    Delicious.
    Her eyes opened fully this time as memories of the night past flooded into her consciousness. She was alone in the bed. She wondered how long ago Adrian had left.
    “Good morning, your Grace,” Agnes said. “I am sorry to wake you so early. But his Grace said he wants to be on the road no later than eight-o’-the-clock.”
    Violet sat up, brushed her tousled hair away from her face. “Hmm.”
    The girl gave her a look as if she half expected Violet to pitch a rebellion. Likely Jeannette would have done that very thing. She could imagine her flopping back into bed after delivering the message that the duke could be on the road any time he bloody well liked, but she was going to sleep in.
    Violet didn’t have the energy for any early-morning rebellion pitching, however. Her sister’s juvenile temper tantrums had always been a sore spot with her. Pretending to be Jeannette notwithstanding, Violet decided she would curb that particular character trait starting this morning. Let the servants believe marriage had changed her, matured her. In this one respect, Violet was certain they would feel nothing but profound relief.
    “I have your breakfast, your Grace. Would you like to take it in bed?”
    Violet would have preferred to dine at the small table near the window. But she knew Jeannette never did anything—not even get out of bed—until she had drunk her first cup of tea.
    “Here would be fine, Agnes.”
    After arranging the pillows at her mistress’s back so that Violet could sit comfortably upright, Agnes placed the tray onto her lap. The maid said not a single word about the fact that Violet wore nothing but her robe. Nor did she comment on the condition of the torn, bloodied night rail. She merely removed the soiled garment from the chair where Violet had tossed it last night, then carried it away.
    “I’ve unpacked your blue traveling dress, your Grace. Will that be satisfactory?”
    Violet looked up from the slice of toast she had been smothering with lemon curd—her favorite—to give Agnes a blank stare. She knew absolutely nothing about fashion. And even less about the contents of her twin’s wardrobe. Ask her to quote Shakespeare or debate a point of historical fact and she would have been perfectly at ease. But clothes? For a split second, panic set in. Seconds passed as she got hold of herself once more, reined the emotion back in.
    “Yes, the blue will be fine, thank you. Now, I should like to finish my morning repast, if you don’t mind.”
    “Oh, of course, your Grace.” Agnes bobbed a curtsey. “I will return in a few minutes to help you dress.”
    Violet nodded, reminding herself to behave like her sister, then lifted the teapot to pour herself a steaming cup. As soon as the door clicked shut, she set the teapot down, closed her eyes in relief.
    How was she ever going to keep up this pretense?
    One day at a time, she told herself. One moment at a time, actually.
    Nearly two hours later, Violet strolled down the main staircase, garbed in the elegant periwinkle traveling dress Agnes had selected. Matching accessories of hat, gloves and small high-heeled shoes made from the softest kid leather completed the outfit. Affecting an air of nonchalance that she in no way felt, Violet acted as