Eric Charles Edmund Hargrave, sixth Duke of Readington and Earl of Baylor (among other less significant titles), watched his new bride sleeping with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. He’d suspected the journey was not going to be a pleasant one, but had he known she was going to start bawling before they’d even left the churchyard he would have demanded she travel in her own coach.

Having grown up with a manipulative mother who had constantly used her tears to bring his father to heel, he could not abide crying in any form. A fact his last mistress, a beautiful widow with a penchant for naughty antics between the sheets, had learned the hard way.

Eric felt no guilt for ending the seven-month arrangement. He had been more than generous to Melody during their time together, and he’d settled a handsome sum on her when they parted ways. Truth be told he’d quite enjoyed her. Out of all of his mistresses, she had been one of his favorites. But when she’d begun pressing for more than he was willing to give - and dissolving into tears like a petulant child when he refused her demands - he knew the relationship had run its course.

Fortunately, the Melody’s of the world were quite easy to replace. Once he’d settled a few matters at Litchfield Park he would return to London and find another mistress. Preferably one who wasn’t so bloody dramatic.

Eric’s dark brow furrowed as he continued to stare at his sleeping bride. One of the matters he needed to resolve before departing was the matter of an heir. At nine and twenty he was beginning to feel the pressure that plagued all titled men when they began to reach a certain age without having yet procured a son.

His pressure was intensified all the more by his dissolute scoundrel of a younger brother. A brother who stood to inherit - and lose - everything he had spent most of his adult life rebuilding after the late Duke of Readington bled the Hargrave fortune dry at the gambling hells. It had taken him nearly a decade to regain what his father had lost, and he’d be damned if he allowed all of his hard work to go to naught.

The money did not mean anything to him. Money could be lost and gained and lost again. But the land - the land where his ancestors had lived and died for nearly three hundred years - meant something. And he refused to let the estates, specifically Litchfield Park, go to someone who did not understand their significance. Which was where Caroline came in.

With her pink lips slightly parted and a loose tendril of white blonde hair clinging to the curve of her cheek, she looked like a sleeping angel. It was the first time he had ever seen her at peace. Whenever he’d happened to glance upon her countenance before now she’d always appeared frightened, as if she were one second away from jumping into the nearest broom closet.

She was a meek little thing he mused, rubbing his chin. Not that he minded. One of the reasons he’d selected her was because of her shyness and timidity. He certainly hadn’t picked her to be his bride because he desired her. A snort bubbled in the back of his throat at the very idea. Caroline was one of the least desirable women he had ever encountered. Which was precisely why she was going to be such an excellent wife.

When a man wanted passion, he found himself a mistress. When he wanted a rightful heir, he found himself a wife. And only a very foolish, very stupid man ever attempted to have both with the some woman.

The late Duke of Readington had been such a man and he’d paid a dear price for his stupidity. A dear, dear price. One that had made him the laughingstock of the entire ton and had ushered him into an early grave.

Having seen firsthand the pain and the heartache that unrequited love could cause, Eric had no intention of repeating his father’s mistakes. Once he was assured Caroline was carrying his child, he would be returning to London with all haste. She, of course, would remain at Litchfield. If the mood struck he would return time to time to see how she and the babe were faring. Or, at the very least, send a proxy in his place. After all, he wasn’t a complete monster. Just a very matter-of-fact one who knew precisely what he wanted.

And it wasn’t love.

Caroline began to stir as the carriage left the main road and started up the long, winding drive that led to a sprawling country house built of white washed stone. It was not the largest estate in his possession, nor even the grandest, but the thirty-seven room manor and its surrounding fields and meadows would be more than sufficient for one woman and her child.

His shy new bride would want for absolutely nothing at Litchfield Park. If she desired a pink flamingo it would be brought to her with a gold ribbon tied around its skinny neck. But his generosity did not come without certain stipulations.

“You’re awake,” he said when she lifted her head and blinked drowsily at him. “Good. Before we disembark, I should like to take the opportunity to make a few things clear.” She blinked again, and he could tell the moment she became acutely aware of her surroundings because her gaze suddenly dropped to her lap and her slender shoulders caved inwards beneath her dark gray cloak as if she were a tiny bird seeking shelter from an impending storm.

Eric gritted his teeth. He’d wanted a wife who wouldn’t dare challenge him, not one so frightened of her own shadow that she quivered with fear whenever he tried to talk to her. It wasn’t as if he had yelled at the girl or raised his hand in anger. Yet she was terrified of him just the same.

What had he called her at the church? A frightened field mouse? Yes, that was it. Although looking at her now he wasn’t reminded of a rodent, but rather of a fawn. A shy, spindly legged fawn with soft gray eyes framed by thick lashes and a full bottom lip that trembled ever-so-slightly when she peeked up at him before quickly glancing back down.

Absently he wondered what that quivering mouth would taste like. Soft and sweet, he imagined. Like the sugar sprinkled on top of a biscuit or a bit of honey drizzled into a cup of warm tea…

Eric scowled, annoyed that he’d allowed his thoughts to drift in such a fanciful direction. Kissing his wife was not something to be looked upon with great anticipation. It was a responsibility. A duty. A task he would carry out not because he wanted to, but because he had to if he wanted to keep his brother from destroying everything he’d so painstakingly rebuilt. 

“Have I done something to upset you?” Caroline whispered, her cheeks draining of what little color remained as she noted the heavy furrow in his brow. “Because I’ve stopped crying-”

“You’ve done nothing,” he said shortly. “But perhaps we should have this discussion at a later date. When you’ve had time to settle in to your new surroundings and rest.”

They drew to a halt at the end of the circular drive and the door was promptly opened by a young footman neatly attired in black livery. He stood at attention with his gaze politely averted while Eric stepped out of the carriage and then turned back to reach for Caroline’s hand.

Enclosed in white lace, her fingers were as small and delicate as the rest of her and stood out in sharp contrast against the deep black of his coat sleeve. He felt her tremble as she lifted her head and looked up at her new home with wide, unblinking eyes, taking everything in from the solarium comprised entirely of glass to the outdoor terraces that wrapped around the third and fourth stories. There was even a tower jutting up from the east wing. It had been closed off years ago, but was still an impressive sight to behold with its stained glass windows and circular roof.

“Litchfield Park was part of my mother’s dowry,” he explained in the flat, mildly disgusted monotone he always used whenever he spoke of the woman who had given birth to him. “It was completely renovated just last year. You should be very comfortable here.”

“It’s enormous,” Caroline said softly.

He shrugged. “It is not nearly as large as Readington Crossing, but I believe it will be more than suitable for raising children.” He saw no point in telling her that the real reason she was here was because of the estate’s remote location. Tucked away in the middle of the Surrey countryside, it was a four day ride to Readington and another two to London, effectively ensuring his wife would not be bothering him with any surprise visits.

“The stables are that way-” lifting his arm, he pointed off to the left where a stretch of white fence line was just visible through a row of towering shrubbery “-and the orchards and greenhouses are behind the house. There is more, of course, but Mr. Newgate will be able to give you a full tour.”

“Couldn’t you do it?” she asked, tearing her gaze away from the tower to peer up at him out of soft gray eyes brimming with uncertainty and just a touch of wistful hope. Her grip on his forearm tightened and Eric frowned when he felt his loins stir in response to such a small, innocent touch.

“Couldn’t I do what?” he said suspiciously. When had her eyes gotten a hint of green in them? And why the bloody hell was he looking at her mouth again and imagining what her lips would taste like? A trick of the light, he decided, and a touch of exhaustion. God only knew he hadn’t slept much the night before.

Thoughts of his impending marriage had kept him tossing between the sheets well into the cold, dark hours of early morning. When he’d finally risen it had been with the grim determination that no matter what came, he would not repeat the sins of his father. He would not give his wife control of his heart and stand idly by while she gleefully tore it to shreds. He would not become a broken shell of his former self, spending money like water and drinking himself into oblivion.

And he would not, under any circumstances, fall in love.    

“Give me a tour of the grounds. I - I just think,” she added hastily when his brow creased, “it would behoove us to spend more - more time together now that we are married. Don’t…don’t you agree?” 

“No,” he said flatly. “I do not agree. In fact, I could not disagree more strongly.”

The corners of her mouth tightened in distress. “But-”

“Mr. Newgate will show you to your private quarters. I have more important things to attend.” With that icy remark he turned on his heel and strode briskly away, the heels of his boots stomping the ground with so much force that small stones flew up in his wake.