Tamed by her Duke (Seductive Mysteries #4)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

G race gritted her teeth, thinking back to the naive version of herself that had, mere hours before, assured her friends that her marriage would not be so bad. She’d just be a few streets away, she’d told them! The duke couldn’t be so bad, she’d claimed!

Now she was in a carriage, headed to Scotland, missing her own wedding breakfast, while her husband lounged like he was a horse in need of gelding.

She smiled her very sweetest smile. She’d spent her life under the vicious scrutiny of the ton . Given her father’s work, she’d not even been exempt as a child. Then she’d survived three years of being abducted , for goodness’ sake.

If her husband thought some rudeness and innuendo was enough to break her, he was about to learn otherwise very, very swiftly.

“Oh, are we planning to prioritize comfort on this journey? I do wish you had said so earlier, Your Grace. I have changed out of my wedding gown —” She paused meaningfully. “—and into clothes more suitable for traveling.”

His languid posture didn’t shift at her words, but his gaze did dart down to her ornate frock, which, even to a gentleman’s untrained eye, looked uncomfortable for long carriage journeys. Grace wasn’t miserable yet, but she had a strong sense that she would be for many hours before they reached their destination. Rushing her out of the church like he did suggested that her husband did not intend for a languid day of easy travel.

“Of course,” she added, letting her smile grow sharp and tapping a gloved finger against your chin, “if you are merely trying to bully me, I might that using your size and your sex to do so are particularly uninspired.” She let her gaze grow fully flat. “You are a man. Bravo. No need to throw it around like a child having a temper tantrum.”

He grew increasingly taut, the lines of his body a marked contrast with his position. Good. If she was to be uncomfortable, he could be, too.

“Ye’ve a mouth on ye, eh there, lass?” he asked, that rough Scottish burr faintly menacing.

Grace, however, remained distinctly un-menaced. She’d decide to grow worried when he bound her hand and foot and threw her on the bottom of a hack. Until then, she would consider this mere masculine posturing. Boring and uninventive, to be sure, but not dangerous .

So, she just shrugged, the gesture dismissive.

It was delightful, honestly, how much this clearly irritated him.

“Ye know,” he said, sitting upright and then leaning forward until he was crowding into her space. She didn’t give him the pleasure of seeing her cringe away. “Yer father told me ye were ruined. When I saw the size of yer dowry, I wondered how that could be true. For that blunt, a man would take a proper soiled dove, eh?”

Her face was impassive, though she found that the words stung. She thought she would have been immune to insults against her virtue by now, but hearing such comments from her husband’s lips was uniquely unpleasant.

"But maybe now I see why. Maybe the rest of Society has abandoned ye and left ye with me as your only option—” He paused, as if to give her a chance to really embrace his benevolence. “—because ye’re too impulsive and careless to know yer place.”

She held his gaze for a long moment—just enough to show that she wasn’t intimidated—then looked placidly out the window.

“ You know,” she said, throwing his earlier words back at him, “that’s quite the assumption to make, considering we’d exchanged—what, five words before our vows? If you’d bothered to come meet me before skulking behind closed doors with my father like some sort of criminal, perhaps you’d have a better sense of my true character.”

If he truly knew her, he’d know that she was the opposite of impulsive or careless—not that her impertinence now was making that case in any strong way. But for all that she was being contrary, she did not feel that this necessarily indicated impulsiveness. No, she was in control. She had had the value of that control drummed into her so vehemently that she wasn’t about to let it go easily.

She simply didn’t think this duke, for all his size and bluster, was truly any danger. Perhaps other new brides might put the concept of danger at a lower register. After all, she likely was in danger of making him dislike her. She was certainly in danger of making this long carriage ride extremely awkward.

But he hadn’t grabbed her, not even when she’d hesitated to follow him out of the church. He hadn’t muttered threats, not even now that they were alone, and she was legally his to treat as he wished. He was just…annoying. And rude.

He made a dismissive noise at the back of his throat. “And why would I do that, eh? What do I care what kind of character ye’ve got? I needed a wife for heirs, not for company.”

She made her own dismissive noise. “So, what? You’re seeking a broodmare?”

His eyes flashed. They were blue, like hers, though darker, as if not even the color of his eyes dared contrast his overbearing mood. Those eyes, combined with his dark brown hair, practically black in the dim carriage, made him look like the rakish pirate from a melodrama, the one who would try to steal the fair maiden’s heart despite his dastardly ways.

Drat, Grace would really miss borrowing novels from Diana, now that she was set to live in Scotland. They probably had bookstores in Scotland, though Grace doubted they’d be any good.

A slow, creeping smile split her husband’s face into a crooked grin. “No,” he said. “I’m not seekin’ a broodmare.” He paused, the grin growing ever wider. “I’ve already got one.”

She gasped—and darn it all, maybe she was impulsive, because her hand swung up as if of its own accord, swinging forward to slap him before she’d made the decision to do so.

Not that it mattered. She never made contact. Moving as fast as a striking snake, her husband reached up to grasp her wrist, halting her strike. He used the momentum to pull her to her feet and then across to his side of the carriage. When he spoke, his voice was very low, though his face was close enough to hers that it did not impede her hearing him in the slightest.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice like gravel. “Ye wish to cut me with your sharp tongue? Fine. Be prepared to get as good as ye give, but fine. Ye wish to sulk and pout and moan? Also fine. Just don’t expect me to give a damn about whatever worthless nonsense ye’re on about.” He was still holding her hand. His grip didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t moveable, either. She was as equally shackled as if she’d been clapped in irons.

“But,” he said, deadly serious, “ye’ll not raise a hand to me. An honorable man doesnae strike a woman, and no matter what ye think of me, Grace, that’s one promise I intend to hold sacred. But ye will show me the same respect—in this, if in nothing else. Do ye understand me?”

She could feel the warmth of him, not just where his hand was clasped around her wrist, but from all of him, as if he were a brazier set to warm the room on a cool autumn morn. It was distracting.

That was why she gave in so easily, she told herself.

She nodded.

“Say it,” he urged.

Her voice, when she spoke, was low and husky. Was this growling thing of his catching, like a grippe?

“I understand.”

He nodded. “Good lass.”

Grace wasn’t sure why, but his words made her suck in another breath, this one very different from the gasp she’d given when he’d insulted her so ruthlessly just moments ago. Her eyes darted to the grip on her arm. He followed her gaze, then dropped her, as if he feared that she was the one with some sort of contagion.

She swallowed hard. That had been…strange. She could still feel the place where he’d touched her, like the after effect of grazing a too-hot teapot but withdrawing your hand before you burned.

Her husband ran a hand over his face, the gesture wiping away…whatever that had just been. When he was done, his features were arranged in their usual glower.

“Go back to yer side of the carriage,” he ordered, flicking a dismissive glance in her direction. “We’ve a long ride ahead, so don’t go yammering unless ye’ve got somethin' useful to say.”

Caleb pushed the horses as long as he dared, every mile between himself and London like another small stone being lifted from the weight on his shoulders.

The weight of his wife’s presence was another matter entirely, of course, but he was stuck with that one, so the best he could do was ignore her and hope that her irritable mood would float away like a storm cloud.

Right, he thought mirthlessly. That seems likely .

Even when she’d dozed off periodically during their long, silent day, she’d done so with a distinct air of dissatisfaction.

He mentally put a cheerful wife on the list of things he didn’t need. If he’d planned to find a wife by seeking a woman who wanted to be married to him, he would have gone to more of those awful balls and tried to be—even the thought made him wince— charming .

But that was not his path, and that was just fine. So he ignored his bride and kept them moving forward, even as her body drooped increasingly with fatigue.

All of which meant that, when they stopped for the night, it was because they had no other choice.

This, in turn, meant that the inn he chose could, at best, be described as serviceable.

Grace, so visibly exhausted that she was practically swaying on her feet, looked up at the place, doubt plainly written on her face.

“Is this where you usually stay when you’re on the road to and from Scotland?” she asked.

He chuckled sarcastically. “Lass, I did most of my travelin’ in the army. We’d’ve counted ourselves lucky if we had a tent. A solid roof over my head? That’s a luxury, ye ken.”

Solid might be overstating certain parts of the roof, Caleb admitted to himself. But the parts that looked in direst need of repair were over the stables, not the inn proper, so they’d be fine.

Grace let out a heavy breath. When she spoke, it sounded like she already knew the answer.

“So you did not make any advance plans to stay at this particularly inn?”

“I did not,” he confirmed.

“And you did not send word ahead of our arrival?”

“How would I have done that, without knowin’ where we were going to end up?” he asked.

Another heavy breath. “So, how do you know they’ll have room for us?”

“I don’t,” he said simply.

She let out one last long, heavy, resigned sigh. But she did follow him when he headed inside.

The place wasn’t crowded, though this came as no surprise. Despite being located along one of the main routes north, the inn was so far distant from any major town or city that it couldn’t see too much traffic. Most travelers would either pass by here early enough that they’d move long to the next village or would stop before they got to this long, dark stretch of road.

A middle-aged barkeep stood behind a rough-hewn counter, swiping at a glass with a rag that looked clean, if worn. Her eyes brightened with avaricious gleam when she took in the entering couple. Even if she looked highly rumpled after the long carriage ride, Grace in her wedding finery spoke clearly of money.

“How can I help ye, m’lord, my lady?” she asked. Something in Caleb unclenched at the sound of her accent. She wasn’t Scottish, of course, nor even properly Northern. They weren’t far enough along their journey for that. But her rough tones were a far cry from the plummy, rounded vowels of London aristocrats, so they felt like music to Caleb’s ears.

“Two rooms, with supper and a bath sent up to each, if ye have it,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the counter.

He felt the slight shift in Grace’s posture beside him when he requested two rooms, though he didn’t know if the movement made him want to laugh or frown. He had told her he’d married her so she could give him children, it was true, but she couldn’t expect him to chuck her down like a bag of flour on the first lumpy, straw tick mattress they came across, could he?

But perhaps she did. Perhaps she even had been amenable to the idea. That’s how highborn lasses got themselves marred reputations, wasn’t it? Showing liberality with their affections?

The barkeep’s eyes also flashed between Caleb and his wife, but she was too eager for their coin to do more than give the quickest of glances.

“Sure enough, my lord, I can do that for ye,” she said, nodding. “I’ll have my girl up to aid your lady to, then, aye?”

“Aye,” he agreed. This time he felt no conflicting emotions about Grace’s bristling. Oh, mayhap she’d carp and moan about him being high-handed, but providing was his job as her husband—the real job, not the flowery stuff about caring and comforting and all that. Also, he didn’t think she’d have luck getting out of that contraption of a dress without some assistance.

“Right then,” the woman said. She stuck her head through a doorway behind the bar and hollered, “Mary!” She quoted Caleb a frankly outlandish price, which he paid without arguing, though internally he thought this was what he got, traveling with a woman who was so clearly Quality.

“Mary will show ye upstairs, then,” she said, smiling as she quickly pocketed the coin.

Mary was young, perhaps fourteen, with a long red braid that trailed down her back. Still, she was as professional as any longstanding servant—likely the owners’ daughter who had grown up working around the inn, Caleb gathered.

She led them up a narrow, crooked hallway, with only three rooms. The first one was already occupied, judging by the thunderous snores that came from within. The next one, she opened for Caleb. It was a small, neat space. Like the barkeep’s rag below, everything was worn but clean.

“This one is for you, my lord,” she said politely, bobbing a curtsey. “I’ll bring yer meal along shortly, then m’brothers will haul up the bathwater when ye’re ready.”

Caleb thanked her and tipped her with a shilling, which made a bright, delighted smile flicker across her face.

Grace was already moving further down the hallway by the time Mary closed the door behind her with another murmured thanks. Caleb found that he was equally annoyed with and impressed by the little chit’s backbone. She was no shrinking flower, that was for sure.

Still, he thought as he stretched his back, the movement working out kinks from the long carriage ride, she would see that for all her boldness, he was the one in charge of matters between them.

Oh yes. He would make sure she saw that very clearly indeed.