Ice Cold Duke (Frigid Dukes #2)

Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

“ S urely there has been a mistake.”

Lucien had been anticipating these words all evening, ever since he’d retired early after dinner and gone up to his bedchamber to await his wife. He’d even anticipated the look of horror and anger on Emery’s face. But it didn’t make it any easier when, at last, the knock came on the door of his bedchamber, and it swung open to reveal his wife, staring at him with a strange mixture of puzzlement and even fear.

“This has to be a mistake,” she repeated, moving slowly into the room. The footman who had brought her bowed to Lucien and then closed the door with a click. Before it was all the way closed, however, Lucien was sure he saw a look of intrigue on the boy’s face.

Good. The rumors will begin to spread, then.

Emery, meanwhile, was speaking, and he turned his attention back to her. “I asked the footman to bring me to the Duchess’s bedchamber, but he brought me…” Emery glanced around the room. “...here.”

Lucien licked his lips. He’d been sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room, trying to read, but mostly watching the grandfather clock and wondering when Emery would be appearing. Now, he stood, and set the book on the end table where the candle was flickering.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said, clearing his throat. “But there has been no mistake. This is where you will be sleeping during the duration of our visit to London.”

“Why?” she demanded. “Is there no separate Duchess chamber in the townhouse?”

“No, there is.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Then why am I here?”

Lucien tried to speak, but no words came out. For a moment, Emery continued to stare at him, then her expression clouded, and she crossed her arms across her chest.

“We discussed this,” she said in a low, angry voice. “We agreed that we would not have a traditional marriage. I told you that I was unwilling to--”

“I know,” Lucien interrupted. “You have made your opinion on this subject very clear.”

Was it just his imagination, or did she flinch when he said that? And was it his imagination, or had there been a touch of hurt and bitterness in his voice? He swallowed and tried again, trying to imbue it with more reassurance and tenderness.

“Nothing has changed,” he said. “You and I are still not to live as man and wife. The reason for this is entirely strategic. When I spoke to Henry earlier today he said that the rumors he tried to spread our marital felicitousness have not taken root. Part of that is because of his own mistake. He mentioned an attachment to another lady and now the ton believes he may have proposed to, or even tried to elope with, someone other than you, thus violating your engagement contract.”

Emery’s face had gone from angry to confused at these words.

“What lady could Henry possibly have formed an--”

But he interrupted her, determined to get this out. “However, another reason the ton does not buy our story is because rumors have reached them that we do not share a bedchamber. And while that might be normal practice for dukes and duchesses who have been married for many years, it is certainly not normal behavior for newlyweds on their honeymoon who are supposed to be very much in love.”

Emery, he was unsurprised to see, looked as embarrassed as if he’d walked in on her in her undergarments. Her face turned pink, and she had to look away for a moment and take a deep breath, as if collecting herself. When she looked back at him, the corners of her mouth were twitching upward, as if trying to force herself not to laugh.

She’s right to laugh. It really is an absurd situation in which we find ourselves.

“How is it possible that such a rumor reached the ton ?” she whispered, her voice choked. “How would anyone know about that?”

“I don’t know,” Lucien said, shaking his head. “It’s possible that one of our servants told someone. In fact, that seems the only way that it would have spread so quickly.”

“But… you trust your servants, do you not?”

“Of course I do,” Lucien said quickly. “But they are human. And everything about our marriage was so sudden and unusual that it wouldn’t surprise me--or even anger me--if one or two of them let something slip while at the local tavern or in a letter to family or friends in London. People are by nature very curious and nosey, and I cannot blame my servants if they whispered about this.”

“Well I can!” Emery cried hotly, indignantly. “This is my life, and I am so sick of everyone trying to control it! Even our servants now are forcing me into situations in which I do not want. It is galling to say the least to have so little control over my own life!”

“I know,” Lucien said, in what he hoped was a calming voice. “And I am angry as well. But the truth is, the damage is done. There is nothing we can do but move forward.”

“You always say that,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “How is that you are so accepting of situations?”

Lucien shrugged. “Well, I’ve had a lot of disappointment in my life. And I’ve found that it’s easier if you don’t try to fight it, but merely forge the best path forward.”

She swallowed and nodded. “And this is the path forward? To show the servants--and thus the ton --that we are happily married by sharing a bedchamber?”

“Yes. But it will be a bedchamber only for sleeping. Nothing else. You have my word on that.”

“I wasn’t truly worried about that,” she said, relenting slightly. “I was just frustrated and perhaps nervous. But I trust you.”

It was funny how much three little words could make Lucien’s heart soar the way it currently was. I trust you. In all his life, he wasn’t sure he had ever heard such sweet, perfect words. No one had ever said them to him before. And they were like music to his ears.

“What?” she asked, smiling slightly. “Why are you smiling?”

“No reason,” he said, turning away and moving toward the door that would take them to the inner chamber and the bed. “You will find your things in here,” he said, gesturing inside. “The servants brought them in earlier. You may change first. I will wait out here, of course.”

“Of course.”

She moved past him into the room and, closing the door behind her, he heard her ring for her lady’s maid. A minute passed, then the maid entered the antechamber, her eyes widening slightly as she took in Lucien.

“Your Grace,” she murmured, dropping into a curtsy.

“The Duchess is through there,” Lucien said, pointing at the inner chamber.

With a stunned expression, the maid entered the bedchamber, and in her surprise at the situation, she forgot to close the door all the way. Lucien turned away. He wanted to give his wife privacy, and watching through the crack in the door as she undressed would be paramount to breaking his word to her that they would be man and wife only on paper.

But he couldn’t stop himself from hearing.

And as he paced around the antechamber, he could hear, unmistakably, the low murmur of voices as his wife spoke to the maid, then the silky sound of clothes coming off and on. His heart was pounding uncomfortably loudly in his chest, and his throat was very dry. Even worse, his hands were sweating.

Why should these perfectly ordinary sounds make me feel anything other than calm indifference?

Spotting the sideboard where he always kept a handy bottle of scotch, he went to it and poured himself two fingers. The sound of his wife laughing gently came from the room next door, and he looked up at once, heart straining in his chest.

As he did, he caught a glimpse of her through the doorway. She was dressed in her night rail, a long white gown of silk and lace. Her hair was down, the black tresses falling to her waist, while the maid brushed out the ends.

Lucien swallowed. He had never seen anything so beautiful, ethereal, and angelic. It reminded him of how she had looked the night before, when he’d found her dancing in the ballroom at Dredford Castle.

He must have moved suddenly, because all at once, Emery looked up and stared right at him, her eyes meeting his. For several seconds, they stared at each other. There was a hard, blazing look in her eyes that he could not interpret, and he felt his cheeks redden absurdly.

I am a duke! Not a blushing bride!

Forcing himself to remain calm, he looked away, and didn’t look over at the door again until the maid came out of it and curtsied to him.

“Goodnight, Your Grace.”

After she left, Lucien moved slowly toward the room. The door was still open ajar, and he pushed it all the way open and stepped inside. Emery was already in the bed, under the covers, her hands folded over her stomach and her long black hair spread around her on the pillow like a crown.

“Good evening,” he said, stopping in the doorway and looking at her. She frowned at him.

“I didn’t purposefully put my hair like this,” she said. “The maid recommended it. She said it made me look like a Greek goddess and that…” she blushed. “And that you wouldn’t be able to resist it.”

“I see.” Her hair did look otherworldly spread over the pillow like that, but he was more reminded of a nymph.

Turning, he went to the screens, behind which his manservant had laid out his shirt and breeches for sleeping. From behind the curtain, he could no longer see Emery, just a vague silhouette on the bed. Hopefully she also couldn’t see him. He began to pull off his jacket, then his cravat, moving more quickly than he normally would now that he was being watched.

“Do you think it will be successful, then?” Emery asked from the bed. “Our attempt to trick the servants into believing we are happily and traditionally married?”

“From your maid’s reaction, I would say yes.”

“Good.” Emery sighed, and he could imagine her shaking her head. “We certainly have had to jump through many hoops in order to make this season successful for Leah--and to save our own reputations.”

“I’m sorry about this,” Lucien said. He was working on taking off his boots now, and when he got them off, he slipped off the rest of his clothes and pulled on the breeches. His hands were more clumsy than usual, and he had trouble doing up the laces, but at last, he managed to get them laced up.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, held his chin up high, and emerged from behind the screen.

Emery had thought she was prepared for how it would look--and feel--for the Duke to appear from behind the screen in his undergarments. But as he came out from behind the screen and looked down at her on the bed, his green eyes blazing with a secret intensity she couldn’t name, his long hair falling roguishly around him, and his broad, strong shoulders barely concealed by his nightshirt--which was unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest--she realized that nothing on earth could have prepared her for this.

He is every bit as handsome as he was the night before, when he came across me dancing in the ballroom . Last night, he had appeared like a vision, in formal attire, ready and willing to sweep her off her feet. In all her fantasies of gentlemen coming to her rescue at dances, she had never imagined it could feel as awe-inspiring as it had then. Nor had she ever imagined a gentleman who was as good a dancer as the Duke. Yes, she had little to compare him to, but she couldn’t imagine anyone else who could make her feel as light and graceful on her feet.

And now, he stood in front of her again, equally as handsome, but dressed for bed, and it made her head swim with a dizziness she couldn’t fully understand.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He was still staring at her, his whole body tense, and she realized that she, also, was letting her eyes linger too long upon him.

“There is no need to apologize,” she said, averting her eyes quickly and looking back down at her hands, which were folded tightly in her lap. Her knuckles, she noticed, were turning white. “It is what it is. But I have never shared a bed before with a man, so I would ask you to be patient with me if I am distressed or embarrassed.”

“There is no reason to be embarrassed.”

She heard the sound of his footsteps and looked up to see that he’d crossed to the basin. As she watched, he splashed water on his face, then dried it with a towel, glancing briefly in the mirror on the vanity before turning back to her.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice suddenly soft, all gruffness and coldness gone. It made her heart speed up, although she wasn’t sure why. “You have no reason to be embarrassed and nothing to fear from me. We are a team. Co-conspirators. Soldiers fighting a battle against the ton together. This is a strange situation we find ourselves in, yes, but we need not feel awkward because of it when we remember that we are uniting for the common good of helping Leah make the best possible marriage possible.”

She liked this, and she smiled up at him as he approached the bed. “It’s nice to think of you as my co-conspirator,” she said. “It helps to put a word on this unusual partnership that we have. It isn’t exactly a marriage--at least, in the traditional sense. But I like the idea of being a team.”

The right side of the Duke’s mouth quirked up, and he came to a halt at the edge of the bed. His eyes gleamed in the dim light.

“Perhaps… Perhaps we could be friends,” he said slowly. He tilted his head to one side as if in thoughtful consideration.

“Friends,” she tested the word on her lips. It was a good compromise, she knew, from where they had started--enemies--to what she had wished for from her marriage--true loves. Of course, she still felt a deep disappointment when she thought too much about how she would never love a husband and be loved by him, but it was certainly better to be her husband’s friend than to hate him.

And she didn’t hate him. Not anymore.

She looked up at him to see him watching her intently. “Friends,” she repeated. “Yes, we can and shall be friends.”

“Friends,” he said, smiling. “I like that.”

Turning back the covers of the bed, he slid into the spot next to her, and Emery felt her whole body go rigid. He was so large. Occasionally, she and Georgina had shared a bed, but Georgina had barely taken up any space, whereas the Duke was of such a height and broadness that she had to move slightly in order not to let their arms touch.

He turned over on his side to face her, and she turned as well, so that their faces were so close together they were almost touching.

“I was thinking…” he sounded a little nervous, and he paused and cleared his throat before continuing. “If we really are to be friends, then you ought to call me by my Christian name.”

Her eyes went wide, and she was too surprised to respond. He smiled gently.

“What would you think about calling me Lucien?”

Somehow, she found her words, and unstuck her throat. “I would like that very much.”

“You would like that very much, Lucien .”

She laughed and shook her head. “I would like that very much, Lucien.”

At the sound of her saying his name, his lips curled up. The smile extended all the way to his eyes, and a warmth shone from him that made her pulse quicken and her stomach flip over. They looked at each other for a long time, just smiling. Then the Duke--Lucien--rolled back over onto his back and looked up at the canopy above them.

“Well then,” he murmured. “Goodnight, Emery.”

“Goodnight, Lucien.” And even though they had decided to be friends, Emery found, as she turned over onto her side and sleep settled itself over her, that friendship actually didn’t feel quite right. Yes, they were close, but she didn’t think of him the way she thought of Henry. He wasn’t just her friend, he was something else to her. But she couldn’t think what. The word eluded her, and she was too tired to try and think of it.

And before she could think of anything else, sleep had taken her.

She woke the next morning to find herself wrapped in her husband’s arms, his strong body flush with hers and the gentle sound of his deep breathing filling her ears. For a long time, she lay perfectly still, unsure of what had happened. She had no memory of him snuggling close to her, and considering he seemed fast asleep, she was left to conclude that it had been an unconscious act in the night.

At last, she moved a little bit, trying to wriggle away from him. She didn’t want to wake him and risk the awkwardness of having to acknowledge that he had wrapped his arms around her, but she also desperately wanted to get out of them. Not because the feeling of being held by him was unpleasant, but because it was confusing.

We are supposed to be friends! Friends do not sleep this way together!

The door to the room opened, and Emery froze.

“Your Grace, it is time to--” a man’s voice came from the doorway, but then it cut off, as if he were just noticing that the Duke of Dredford was cuddling with his wife. “Excuse me, sir,” the man said, his voice suddenly tinged with embarrassment. “I did not realize--I will return later.”

There was the sound of footsteps shuffling, then the door closed again. Emery turned all the way over to face the Duke. His eyes were open, and he looked a bit like someone who had been caught in a lurid situation.

They stared at each other a moment, and then, to Emery’s surprise and delight, they both burst into laughter.

“Well,” Lucien said, smiling at her sagely, “that ought to make sure the entire ton thinks we are deeply in love!”

And even as Emery laughed, both in embarrassment and the pleasure of being in on a deception with her husband, she wondered if the footman who had seen them cuddled up might be reporting something of the truth.