The Haunting of a Duke(47)

"You're not too heavy, and I don't intend to sleep. I intend to rest, momentarily, and then enjoy a morning ride."

Emme snuggled against him, enjoying the feel of the crisp hair of his chest against her own smooth skin. “It's too cold outside for a ride."

He chuckled. “That's quite all right. I won't be riding; you will."

Hours later, after he had made love to his new bride for the second time, Rhys had watched Emme retire to her own room to bathe and dress for the day. He couldn't help but compare his wedding night with Emme to the disastrous one that he had shared with Elise. Aside from the first night of their marriage, when their ill-fated union   had been consummated, Elise had never shared his chambers or invited him to her own. She had preferred another wing of the house, one where her lovers could come and go without running into her husband or mother- in-law. The rest of the time she had spent in the tower, writing in her rambling journal.

Leaving his chambers and heading for the breakfast room, he realized that it had mattered little even then. He had been content to let her entertain other men because he'd had no interest in her. As he had been led to believe that she was already pregnant with someone else's child when they'd wed, the idea of having his own child as his heir had already been denied him. But her body had never altered. Her belly had never rounded with child. When he had confronted her, she had confessed that she had lost the babe. He had demanded then that she curb her wild ways and take no other lovers until the succession of the title was secure. She'd laughed then, bitterly, and upon reflection, quite madly. She'd assured him that she knew well how to prevent pregnancy as she had no intention of ever going through it. That had been the first time he had mentioned divorce. Lady Eleanor had intervened then, telling him to give Elise time. It had been only a few short months later that she had died. The gossip had been rampant, that he had killed her for denying him his husbandly rights.

The truth had been that he had taken no joy from bedding Elise. She'd been cold and unresponsive. It had been spite, and she'd said as much. She'd vowed on that one occasion, that he would never enjoy her passions as he'd once denied her his. Elise, he realized, had always been somewhat mad. She'd been a study of extremes, even as a child. It had always been elation or agony, and never anything in between. He did not expect his marriage to Emme to be free of strife, but in only twenty-four hours, he'd enjoyed more contentment with her than in his entire marriage to Elise. He was still smiling at the thought when the door opened behind him.

"You're woolgathering."

The soft statement brought him back to the present, and to the wife he'd just been considering. “Yes, I suppose I was."

Idly, he began to fill his plate from the sideboard. When she was beside him, he kissed her. It was not a passionate kiss, but a simple gesture. He kissed her because she was his, and because he could. He eased back from the kiss, before passion consumed him again. Her hair was tamed from the wild disarray of their morning debauch. It was dressed in a neat coiffure, revealing the slender column of her neck, and the faint traces of red left by his whiskers. Some part of him, something dark and possessive within him, reveled in the knowledge that he had marked her.

They broke their fast together. It was an intimate moment, shared only by the two of them. Rhys decided that it was something he could grow used to. She didn't chatter at him, but sat in companionable silence with him as they enjoyed their meal. He read the morning papers and shared the more interesting information with her. She responded sensibly, and he was once again struck by her intelligence. If there was one thing about his wife he would have altered, it wasn't her birth or lack of fortune. It was her strange abilities. They disturbed him, shaking his comfort on levels that he didn't wish to acknowledge.

After finishing their meal, they strolled through the gardens and he gave her a more extensive tour of the estate than she'd had previously. It was nearly noon before they returned to the house and joined the others.

Upon entering the drawing room he noted that Mrs. Haverston had departed, risking night travel to London with her niece, Miss Stone. She had waited to receive word of their wedding so that she could carry the gossip back to town with her. The murdering duke and the mystic, Rhys thought somewhat bitterly. What a tale they would make for the gossips.

Eleanor was baleful and his mother appeared to be cool and collected as always. She had Emme sit beside her and began to discuss the skills required to run a household like Briarwood Hall. He stood back from the group watching them. Michael approached him and discreetly poured a measure of brandy from his flask into the teacup he held.