The Duke and the Accidental Bride (Duchesses of Convenience #5)

Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

I t had been three days since Isabella had learned about Duncan’s past and in those three days she had noticed two distinct changes in their relationship.

The first was that Duncan and she had started talking more. Having actual conversations. Revealing things about one another. Treating the other as one should be treated in a marriage. He would ask her about her studies, the library he had shown her. He would show real interest when she began to explain something new that she had learned or read, even if it might have bored him, he attempted interest. He even apologized for how he had behaved after revealing the tale of Andrea to her, apparently embarrassed by the way he had walked off and left her.

It was a sign of growth, she thought. An indication that perhaps Duncan was willing to try in this marriage as she also wanted to. The marriage had happened. They were together now forever. So why not at least attempt to find happiness?

That was the first thing and the next three days passed in a way that had the two growing closer and closer with each moment. To the casual observer it might have even looked like they were happy.

The second thing, however, and by far the most important, was that in those three days Isabella and Duncan did not have sex. Not once.

At first, she told herself that this was Duncan’s effort to get to know her better. To put their squabbles aside so that they could build a relationship. But as the days went on, it felt different to that. If they were to have a real relationship, why could they not have both? Why did it have to be one or the other?

“Are you excited about tonight?” Duncan asked as they broke their fast together.

“Oh yes, very much,” she said politely as she buttered a piece of cake.

“Have you given any thought to what you might be wearing?”

“Oh.” She blinked. “I confess, I have not. But I have a dozen dresses to choose from so --”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said with a genuine smile. “I took the liberty of having one made for you.”

“You... you did?”

He shrugged. “I remembered how much you appreciated it the last time. And a lady can never have too many dresses, no?”

“That is... thank you.”

It was kind. Too kind. Tonight was the Clementine Ball, an event which they had both discussed and were equally looking forward to attending. But not once had Duncan mention that he would be buying her a dress, likely enjoying the idea of surprising her.

It reminded her of the last time he had done so, but with one noticeable difference: this time, it was sincere.

“Although I confess, there was a selfish motivation behind it.” He pumped his eyebrows at her. “I rather like the idea of walking into that ball room with the most stunning woman in London on my arm. It makes me feel a whole lot better about myself.”

She cocked a derisive eyebrow at him. “Are you saying that I would not have looked as stunning wearing one of my own?”

“A man can’t be too careful,” he joked. “Although truth be told, you could wear a potato sack, and the same effect would be achieved. So, you can choose between the new dress or the potato sack. I will not mind which.”

She tried her best not to smile. An eyeroll would have been better. A sneer and a shake of the head; letting him know that such flattery would not work. But alas, the smile came, and Isabella looked away, her cheeks flushing in a way that delighted Duncan who watched her closely across the table.

Why is he being so nice! And why is that a problem?

It should not have been. If she had been anyone else, her sister for example, she would have crooned over the gesture and counted herself as lucky to have married such an amazing man as Duncan. But she wasn’t anybody else. Nor was her husband, for that matter.

This was not them. Yes, Isabella appreciated the kindness and the generosity and the efforts to grow closer in ways that they had not tried before. And yes, this was what she had thought she wanted – to better know her husband.

So what am I even complaining about?!

She missed the passion. She missed the fire. She missed being put over Duncan’s knee and spanked until she was begging him to forgive her and her smart mouth.

Mostly, it was how false it all felt to her. Yes, she missed the sex, but that wasn’t what troubled her. This version of Duncan was not the man whom she married, but one whom he seemed to think that she did. She knew that Duncan could be both, the sweet and the kind and the caring man who wished to get to know her better, while also letting the beast out of its cage from time to time. Surely that was not too much to ask?

“I should warn you,” Duncan continued. “Lady St. Vincent is likely going to be there tonight.”

“Oh...”

“But I will do what I can not to speak with her. And if she approaches me, which she may well do, I promise to do everything in my power to dismiss her. Without causing a scene, of course.”

“That is very... kind...” Isabella eyed him, sensing a chance to say something scathing, but not having the will power because dammit he was being so nice!

Something had to give.

This could not go on. She was happy that the two could speak openly now and were not constantly at one another’s throats. But she missed the heat and the intensity which that state of living had brought with it. She missed giving herself over to him utterly and completely. And if she had to choose this life right now or that... she would choose that.

Can I not have both? The compatibility and the passion? Duncan does not think so and any efforts I make to force the issue are quickly diffused.

Tonight, she decided, would be the night that she would find out once and for all where their relationship stood. With no other choice left to her, she would start a fight with Duncan and force him to become the animal that right now was trapped in a cage, living on water and scraps.

If the animal was not released, if he kept it locked away for whatever reason he was doing this, then this marriage was as good as doomed. It really was that simple.

“Can I ask you a question, Your Grace?” Richard, the Marquess of Devereux asked as he sipped on his glass of brandy.

“Something tells me that you are going to anyway,” Duncan chuckled as he took a leisurely sip of wine. “I am surprised you asked.”

“It’s the wife,” Richard sighed. “She has been at me lately to keep control of my tongue – to think before speaking, as she puts it. Apparently I have a nasty habit of saying what is on my mind without first thinking of the foreseeable consequences.”

“Do not tell me.” Duncan pretended to gasp. “Trouble in paradise? The self-described perfect marriage is on the rocks and the two of you have...” Duncan touched his chest as if struck. “Have had a fight? The horror!”

Richard’s expression was flat. “Nothing as untoward as that, I assure you. More of an animated conversation.”

“Which you lost.”

“There is no winning or losing, Your Grace. I simply agreed that she might have a point and that I would do better to watch my tongue. Or at the very least, be more diplomatic when I breech what may be a sensitive topic.”

Duncan chuckled. “How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“Being wrapped around your wife’s finger? Does it hurt?”

He scoffed. “Better that then the alternative. Tell me, can you and Her Grace stand to be in the same room as one another? The last time we spoke, you were lamenting a lifetime spent in hiding, for better that than having to force conversation with a woman who you never seemed very keen on marrying in the first place.” Richard sucked through his teeth suddenly, looking guilty. “Ah, and there goes that tongue of mine again. Sorry about that.”

Duncan shook his head but laughed at his friend’s summation. “Now that you ask, my marriage could not be better. Thank you very much.”

“Really?” Richard did not sound at all like he believed it.

“Really.” Duncan looked past Richard, attempting to catch sight of his wife among the crowd, but he could not see her. “It has taken some work but the two of us are in a good place.” Duncan resisted the urge to grimace, for he was not being entirely truthful. Not even close. “You might even be surprised to hear that we have not fought in days.”

Richard snorted. “A true measure of success.”

Duncan shrugged. “We are feeling one another out. And where we may never reach the same high standards that your own marriage has set...” Duncan rested a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “At least I do not have to ask my wife for permission to speak.”

“That is not – I do not have to ask – I was simply saying --”

“You mean your wife was saying,” Duncan cut him off with a proud smirk. “You were simply repeating.”

Duncan took pleasure in the angered glower that his friend fixed him in – as if Duncan had won some great battle. As if this little sparring of words was proof that Duncan’s marriage was on the ascendancy and Richard’s was flailing. Sadly, nothing could be further from the truth.

Again, Duncan searched the room for sight of his wife, hoping to catch her because if nothing else, she was breathtaking to look at. He had bought her a new dress, canary yellow in color, modest by her standards but still cut in a way so show off her ample curves which Duncan had grown to relish.

Alas, she was nowhere to be seen. Not that this worried Duncan as the ball room was packed with dozens of bodies; colorfully dressed ladies, smartly dressed lords, waiters moving between them with trays laden down by nibbles and drinks to share.

What did worry Duncan, more than he was willing to let Richard know, was how the happiness which he spoke about so wondrously, was utterly and hopelessly false. Or at the very least, exaggerated.

It had started the other night, when he had opened up to Isabella and told her of Andrea. It was a story that he rarely thought about, for good reason, as the outcome had very nearly destroyed him and was without a doubt one of the most consequential moments of his life.

He spent the rest of the night contemplating that relationship, one which was startingly similar to his and Isabella’s. It had been a relationship based purely on sex, which Duncan had gotten carried away with, giving himself over to the intoxication completely and utterly and hopelessly until it ripped his heart out and splayed it on the floor.

And what had happened as a result of that... Duncan was nowhere near as innocent in Andrea’s death as he had led Isabella to believe.

Comparing it to his current relationship with Isabella, Duncan was forced to admit that if he did not try and change something, then he would inevitably go down the exact same path. And as he had learned all too tragically, that would end in suffering.

So, Duncan had started being nice to Isabella. Trying to get to know her. To not let her anger him or bait him or lure him into being somebody that he wanted but knew was best to avoid.

The results of this new venture were mixed, to say the least.

On the one hand, they were getting along better than ever. They spoke openly and honestly in ways that Duncan imagined a married couple should. They also never fought anymore, as Isabella’s smart mouth and sharp tongue seemed to have left her completely. A blessing, most men would think. Most men, however, were not Duncan.

The passion was gone from their marriage. As was the fire. Oh yes, he loved that he was getting to better know his wife. More than that, he found that she was a woman whose company he enjoyed. More than he might have ever thought possible! But lately, they had become so concerned with developing their personal relationship that the other side of their marriage had been forgotten completely.

“I am happy to hear of the state of wedded bliss that you have found yourself in,” Richard said with a coy smile. “So much that I wonder if it might be worth me holding my tongue.”

“Meaning?”

He bit into his lip as he considered. “May I ask you something – and please, this is not me trying to start something.”

“Just tell me, Richard,” Duncan sighed.

“I am sure it is nothing,” he said. “Only...” Richard indicated over Duncan’s shoulder. “I cannot help but wonder who on earth your wife is speaking with? And why they are so friendly.”

“Who she is...” Duncan turned around and saw immediately to what Richard was referring. And when he did... he was not sure how he felt.

Isabella was across the ball room, engaged in a very animated conversation with a young man whom he did not recognize. He was tall and strapping and a little too handsome for his own good; square features, big, white teeth, perfectly cropped blond hair that Duncan was certain the ladies would relish.

They were only talking. It was nothing scandalous. Duncan watched the two and knew in his heart that he did not need to worry about his wife flirting – she was allowed to speak to whom ever she wanted. But a pit was opening up in his stomach as he watched them both talk, one which was filled with jealousy the likes of which he didn’t know himself capable.

“I... I do not know...” Duncan watched the two, feeling a spark of anger ignite.

“I am sure it is nobody,” Richard said. “Just a friend.”

“Yes...” Duncan continued to watch them, feeling that spark of anger grow like a fire being fed with lumber. “Just a friend, I am sure.”

Duncan wanted a companionable relationship. But he also wanted the depravity and debauchery that he knew Isabella relished – that he craved like a starved animal. And as he watched his wife speaking to another man, he could feel that starved animal rearing its head as if coming awake from a deep slumber.

She was not flirting with him… but that did not mean he could not pretend otherwise. A spark to reignite the passion that was desperately missing from this marriage.

To try and control it for the sake of the marriage? Or to let it loose... also for the sake of the marriage? That was the question that besieged Duncan and he knew that whatever ended up happening, it would come to define his marriage from this day on.