Free The Inconvenient Duchess by Christine Merrill Page B

Then, when it was through, she could have the comfort of familiarity, if such could be gained by twenty-four hours’ occupancy.
    Dressed or undressed? Undressed would be easier. There was certainly a pleasure in slow discovery, but, perhaps in this case, expediency might be better.
    Undressed, then. But how far? Not totally. To arrive naked in her room? Certainly not. If she was a virgin, there was no telling how much information she’d received on the activities of the marriage bed. Unclothed and fully aroused was no condition in which to give anatomy lessons. Perhaps even now, she was sitting primly in her bed in her best nightrail and cap, waiting for her husband.
    And the thought made him smile.
    Very well. Her room. He’d arrive in his dressing gown, and sit on the corner of her bed so as not to alarm her. They’d chat. And soon he would be sitting beside her. He would take her hand to reassure her. Then he’d take her lips.
    And soon he’d take the rest of her and the business would be done.
    He stripped without the help of his valet, and put on a brocade dressing gown. He pulled the knot of the robe tight and nodded in approval of himself. There. A plan was in place and things would continue to their successful conclusion.
    And he opened the connecting door to her room.
    They could continue, except for the absence of one important component. His wife was nowhere to be found.

    She glared in to the pantry. How did the house run on such a meagre store of food? A bit of cheese and bread was allshe wanted, but she’d expected to find more. The snack she was taking seemed hardly fit for the mice she’d startled when she came into the room.
    Such stale bread. And such dry cheese. It was as unpalatable as the lunch and the supper. She imagined writing a plea to her family.
    Dear Cici and Father,
    I have come to Devon and married a duke. And I’m more tired and hungry than I have ever been in my life. Please let me come home.
    ‘What the devil are you doing in the kitchen?’
    And why must everything you say to me be shouted? she wondered, rubbing her temples.
    The duke was standing in the doorway, his arms folded in front of him. His words rolled over her in a torrent. ‘I came to your room, expecting to find you waiting, and had to chase through the whole of the house before I found you. And here, of all places. Did you expect to sleep next to the fire, like the kitchen cat? Was I to call the servants to locate you? Wouldn’t that be rich? To have the household know that his Grace has had a wife for less than a day and already misplaced her.’
    ‘Because it is all about you, isn’t it?’ she snapped. ‘And about what people think. That is why you had to marry me. That is the only reason I’m still here and I expect you’ll have cause to mention it whenever I make a mistake for the rest of my life.’
    ‘If you wish to stay in this house, then, yes, it is all about my wishes. And if I say that what people think is important, then you’d better believe it and act accordingly.’
    ‘But that’s just it,’ she retorted. ‘I don’t wish to stay in this house. What reason would I have to stay here?’
    ‘Many would think that a great house and a duke is reason enough,’ he growled.
    And the rage and confusion broke in her and poured out. ‘Then many people have not met you. If they had, they might change their opinion. For I swear that I have never been so miserable in my life. Sir, you are foul tempered and foul mouthed.’ She sniffed the air. ‘And drunk. You do nothing but storm at me, but expect me to wait meekly in my bed for your arrival. You were eager enough to kiss me at the altar and yet show no hurry to come to my bed on our wedding night. I sat there for hours, and finally was too starved to wait longer and came to the kitchen for some food.’ She gestured around her. ‘And, lo, you keep none here. What a surprise that things should be managed more like the poorest hovel than the