“You’re going to wear a groove into the floor, my lord,” Tulk said from near the front door where he stood sentinel.

Lionel paused in his pacing to blink at his butler. “Your wit astounds me.”

“As it should.” He fell silent for a moment, but Lionel expected he would say more and wasn’t disappointed. “You’re quite nervous.”

Agitated was a better description. “Have I ever been married before?”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

If not now, when? Today seemed a perfect day for cynicism. He’d just married a woman who despised him, consigning them both to a lifetime of mutual disregard and acute discomfort. Lionel tossed his butler an irritated glance. He’d revealed the nature of his marriage to Tulk and to his valet, Hennings. The rest of the staff were simply told that Lionel had found a wife and married her immediately.

Lionel stopped pacing in the center of the hall. “How did the meeting with the staff go? No one raised any eyebrows?”

Tulk suppressed a laugh. “Of course they raised eyebrows. You’re suddenly married, and they will shortly have a new mistress to serve.” He studied Lionel intently for a moment. “They support you wholeheartedly and want you to be happy. Mrs. Wells is thrilled you took a wife. She found it rather romantic that you wed by special license.”

Romantic? Yes, Mrs. Wells, who’d overseen Axbridge House for the past twenty-five years, often pressed him about having a family and this…arrangement would upset her. She’d learn the truth at some point, of course, but for now, Lionel wanted to see how this arrangement would proceed.

The sound of a coach in the street caused Lionel’s pulse to gain speed.

“Your bride, I believe,” Tulk said, moving to the door. He opened it wide, and Lionel moved outside onto the top step.

One of her father’s footmen opened the door to the coach, and Lionel wondered if she was alone inside. Perhaps her mother or her father—or both—had insisted on coming with her. He could see her father doing so. He’d been disgustingly pleased with having a marquess as a son-in-law. It was clear he possessed no regard for his daughter’s feelings. Unless she’d told them she was happy with the union. He somehow doubted that. She’d made it sound like a business arrangement, which he supposed it was. Nevertheless, he’d found her father’s behavior insulting to her, and whatever their marriage was based upon, he wouldn’t allow anyone to denigrate his marchioness.

She stepped from the coach, and tipped her face up to the lightly clouded sky. She was exceptionally pretty with soft, feminine features in an alluring heart-shaped face framed by a few blonde curls. Pale, slender brows arched over her sky blue eyes, a small, unassuming nose sloped toward pink bow lips. Her cool gaze did nothing to detract from her beauty. In fact, it might have made her even more attractive—a woman he needed to woo. And those were the best kind.

Too bad she was likely unwooable.

He moved forward, intending to meet her, but she hesitated. He stopped and waited for her to approach. She walked slowly up the stairs.

“Welcome to Axbridge House.”

She looked up at the façade, but her features were impassive. Her gaze met his with ample frost.

He stepped to the side and gestured for her to precede him into the house.

Tulk bowed. “Good afternoon, my lady. We are delighted to welcome you.”

Lionel moved in behind her. “This is Tulk. You’ll find he’s an excellent butler. Do not hesitate to ask him for whatever you need.”

She blinked up at him, clearly amazed by his height. “Thank you.” She flicked a glance back toward the coach, where another woman had disembarked. “This is my maid, Lark. I assume you have a suitable room prepared for her.”

Tulk inclined his head. “Of course, my lady. The housekeeper, Mrs. Wells, will be along shortly to show her up.” He looked toward the back of the hall. “Here she comes now.”

Lionel introduced the housekeeper to the new lady of the house. Mrs. Wells greeted her with charming enthusiasm, but Lady Townsend didn’t so much as smile.

No, not Lady Townsend. Lady Axbridge. But was he really planning on referring to his wife as Lady Axbridge?

Emmaline.

Emma.

Em.

A selection of endearments rose in his mind. His father had called his mother “my heart.” Her death when Lionel had been nine had driven father and son even closer together as they’d shared their overwhelming grief. When Lionel thought of his childhood, warmth filled his chest. However, it was quickly chased away when he realized he wouldn’t have the same kind of family. Not with…Emmaline.

“Come, Lark,” Mrs. Wells said. “I’ll show you Lady Axbridge’s chamber and then your own.”

Lark, a pert-nosed woman with bright blue eyes, perhaps a few years older than Emmaline, shot an inquisitive glance toward her mistress who answered with a nod. The two retainers started up the stairs.

Lionel pivoted toward his new wife. “Shall I give you a tour?”

She avoided his gaze. “I’d prefer Tulk or Mrs. Wells provide it, thank you.”

He hadn’t really expected her to thaw, but he’d hoped for maybe just the semblance of congeniality. At least she wasn’t being hostile. “Might we speak for a moment in my office?”

Her eyes, flickering briefly with surprise, found his. She nodded infinitesimally.

It would be natural to offer her his arm, and indeed, he started to, but he stopped himself. “If you’ll just follow me,” he said instead.

He led her to the left, through the drawing room and into his office, which occupied the back corner of the ground floor. It wasn’t overly large, but it offered a decent-sized library in addition to his desk. A seating area provided a cozy place to read in front of the hearth. He gestured to the settee. “Would you care to sit?”

Her gaze roved the chamber, but again he had no idea of her impression. “No, thank you. What do you wish to discuss?”

Lionel went to the hearth and leaned against the mantel, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought we should communicate our expectations.”

She went to one of the bookshelves and perused the spines. “I expect our interactions to be minimal.”

“Does that include meals? I take breakfast in my sitting room and other meals in the dining room.”

“Do I have a sitting room?”

“Not at present. My parents shared a chamber and a sitting room.”

She turned, her brows arched. “I will not be sharing anything with you.”

He tried not to let her disdain—which was wholly expected—bother him. “I didn’t think you would. There is a second bedchamber on the first floor—my mother used it as a painting studio. I’ve had it refurnished as your bedchamber.” That had been no mean feat considering the brevity of their engagement. “The sitting room is between the bedrooms—you are welcome to use it when I am not. I generally only take breakfast there.”

“That will be sufficient, thank you. I suppose I could take breakfast in my chamber or the dining room and other meals in the sitting room.”

He still didn’t have an answer to his earlier question. “So our minimal interactions will not include meals?”

“I would prefer that, yes.”

“You really intend to spend our entire lives separately?”

Her gaze bore into his for a moment. “I do. And I believe I made that clear.”

“So you did. Forgive me for hoping we might find our way to at least a friendship of sorts.”

“I will forgive you nothing. I believe I also made that clear.”

Yes, she had, and he was a fool for thinking anything else. He pushed away from the mantel and crossed to his desk, moving to stand behind it. “How much money do you need to settle Townsend’s debts?”

“I wrote to his secretary this morning and asked him to send an accounting. It should arrive tomorrow.”

He nodded. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll also provide you with a quarterly income. However, if you need anything additional, please don’t hesitate to ask. My only requirement is that you ask me directly, in person—that is one interaction I insist upon.”

Her eyes narrowed briefly. “I see.”

“I will not be stingy.” He exhaled, hating the tension between them but seeing no way to alleviate it. At least not without her dropping her guard even the tiniest bit. “I want you to feel safe and cared for. Your peace of mind is important to me.”

“Because of your guilt.”

His gut clenched. “Yes. But also because you deserve it. I realize you were backed into a corner and chose this arrangement as your only way out. I do not want you to feel trapped in any way.”

“That’s…kind of you.” Her voice was strained, as if she spoke with great effort.

“Also, your father is an ass. I can see why you wanted to avoid any scheme he imagined.”

Her eyes widened, and she blinked. “He isn’t an ass.”

Lionel snorted. “Then he’s an insensitive cad.”

“I don’t need your sympathy or your commiseration. Nor do I want it.”

“Nevertheless, you’ll have them.” He locked his gaze with hers, intent on delivering his message. “I am not your enemy.”

She laughed, but it was hollow and made him flinch. “You are certainly not my friend.” She tipped her head to the side, and her bonnet shifted just a bit, causing her to have to tighten the bow beneath her chin. When it failed to cooperate with her efforts, she untied it completely and pulled the accessory from her head with a grimace. “May I be excused?”

“Of course. I’ll see you…” When? In passing sometime? Or would they go days without seeing each other?

Did it really matter?

He sat down behind his desk and looked up at the portrait hanging over the mantel. His father’s eyes stared out at him, and if Lionel looked hard enough, he’d see the twinkle that had nearly always been present. Eight years on, and he still missed his father every day. Especially now with his marriage, but also because of the effects of the duel.

Lionel’s hand began to shake. He shifted his attention to the appendage and laid it flat on the desk, laying his right hand over it to make it stop. He took several deep breaths and worked to clear his mind.

After several minutes, his muscles calmed and he was still once more. He wondered if he’d ever be able to escape these moments of turmoil.

No, because you deserve them.

Indeed he did.

* * *

She’d made it through the first night.

After breaking her fast, Emmaline had listened at the door to the sitting room that adjoined her and Axbridge’s chambers. She hadn’t heard a thing and had ultimately asked Lark to verify it was empty before she dared venture out of the protection of her bedchamber.

It was foolish, perhaps. She was going to see him as long as they lived together. It was a perfect argument for why she should take new lodgings. However, the allowance he’d given her wouldn’t cover an acceptable house, which meant she’d have to ask him for more money.

She didn’t think he’d refuse her. She’d been more than clear about their sham marriage. What did it matter where she lived?

It mattered because if she lived elsewhere, tongues would wag, and her reputation might be impacted. One of the reasons she’d settled for marrying Axbridge was to ensure her position.

She kept to herself all morning and took a small luncheon in the sitting room. She didn’t ask about Axbridge, nor did he seem to ask about her. As she contemplated what to do with her afternoon, Tulk arrived in the sitting room and announced the arrival of her friend Ivy, Lady Clare.

Delighted for a welcome distraction, Emmaline leapt up from the chair. She straightened and looked to the butler. “Where should I receive her?”

“Anywhere you’d like, my lady,” Tulk said deferentially. “I might suggest the drawing room downstairs.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be down directly.”

He nodded, then took himself off. Emmaline checked her appearance in the glass and, after tidying an errant lock of hair, followed behind him. When she arrived downstairs, he’d just shown Ivy into the drawing room.

Ivy handed him her hat and gloves, her gaze moving to Emmaline. “Lady Axbridge.” It wasn’t posed as a question, but her gaze was fairly burning with curiosity.

Tulk turned to Emmaline. “Shall I bring tea?”

“Certainly. Thank you, Tulk.” Emmaline waited until he departed before opening her mouth to speak. Only she didn’t get a word out.

Ivy’s jaw dropped, and she blinked at Emmaline in shock. “What the devil is going on?”

“Yes, I imagine you have questions. Shall we sit?” She stepped to a small, circular table with four chairs positioned near the front window and sat so she could look out at the street.

Ivy took a chair beside hers. “Beyond questions, I have concern. Are you in your right mind?”

“Quite. My parents intended to marry me to Sir Duncan Thayer. I…developed an alternative plan.”

Ivy stared at her. “Marrying Axbridge?”

“He owed me.”

“I don’t dispute that—and I know he’s more than eager to help you in any way possible. But marriage? You hate him. Why on earth would you shackle yourself to him?” Ivy pursed her lips. “The wedded state is to be entered into with grave consideration—if at all. It should not be taken lightly.”

Ivy had sworn never to marry after a gentleman had promised to wed her and abandoned her. That she’d fallen in love with the Duke of Clare, who was also called the Duke of Desire, and married him had galled Ivy to her core. Nevertheless, she had no regrets. “Trust me, I considered this most gravely. I gave it far more thought than when I ran off with Geoffrey.”

Indeed, the stark differences between her two marriages could not be more pronounced.

“I do not doubt that. I was with you at the time.”

That had been when they’d become friends. “And your husband ensured that our mad dash to Gretna Green did not become a scandal. You have been the best of friends to me—West’s participation in the duel that killed Geoffrey notwithstanding.”

Ivy flinched. After the duel, Emmaline had pushed her away for a few months, but Ivy had persevered in her efforts to demonstrate her support and friendship. She’d written to her almost daily, focusing on lighter subjects such as the growth and development of her baby girl. She’d invited Emmaline to visit—or Ivy would bring the baby to her—thinking it would cheer her. Emmaline had finally relented, and Ivy had been right. Allowing friendship and light back into her life had been a balm.

“I don’t blame him,” Emmaline said softly. “But neither can I forget it.”

“I know.” Ivy gave her a sad smile. “Which is why I still can’t understand why you’d wed Axbridge of all people. Surely you could have found someone else.”

“Perhaps, but I was in a corner. The banns for my marriage to Sir Duncan were to be read this Sunday. There wasn’t time to fall in love.” She scoffed. “Not that I wanted or expected that. You see where love delivered me.”

Ivy’s gaze was full of compassion. “Love can be treacherous. It led me down a dark path, as you know. It also brought me the greatest happiness I have ever known. That could’ve happened for you.”

Her unspoken words hovered in Emmaline’s mind: but now it never will, for you are trapped with Axbridge.

Hadn’t he said he didn’t want her to feel trapped?

Tulk entered with the tea tray and set it on the table in front of them. “Would you like me to pour, my lady?”

“No, thank you,” Emmaline said. She gave Tulk a tentative smile. She realized she was holding herself apart from Axbridge’s staff, as if they were “his” people and she needed to keep everything separate. She did want to lead separate lives, but his staff had been very welcoming and kind. In fact, they’d given no indication that they were aware of any distance between her and Axbridge. And they had to be. Or at least would be rather quickly.

The butler returned her smile before taking his leave.

Ivy snatched up the pot. “I’ll pour. You talk. Why Axbridge instead of love?”

Because love hurt. “As I said, I didn’t have the luxury of time. Axbridge was convenient. He’ll settle Geoffrey’s outstanding debts, and he’ll leave me alone. I’m a marchioness, and I won’t want for anything, nor will I have to endure the attentions of a husband I find revolting—which is what would’ve happened with Sir Duncan.”

“Revolting?” Ivy finished pouring and stirred sugar into her cup. “I’m not terribly familiar with him, but doesn’t he have a daughter about your age?”

“Yes.”

“Was that the problem—his age?”

“Not entirely. He was quite eager to wed—how did he put it?—someone who wasn’t a simpering virgin. Then he went on in rather nauseating detail about his physical attributes.”

Ivy shuddered. “I see why you preferred to avoid him, but surely we could have found a better groom for you than Axbridge.” She sipped her tea.

Emmaline added sugar to her own cup and took a drink. “I’d ask you for suggestions, but it hardly matters now. As I said, I didn’t have time, and Axbridge was convenient. He agreed to my terms, so while it’s not ideal, it will be palatable.” Particularly if this first day was an indication of how things would progress.

“What sort of terms?” Ivy asked.

“Besides taking care of Geoffrey’s debt, he’ll give me independence.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“It’s entirely a marriage of convenience. There will be no intimacy. No children.”

Ivy blanched. “That doesn’t sound like a particularly happy outlook.” She set her cup down and glanced toward Emmaline’s bare left hand. “You’re not wearing a ring.”

She’d taken it off last night. Her hand felt rather naked after wearing Geoffrey’s band prior to the one Axbridge had given her yesterday.

“Did Axbridge give you one?” Ivy asked.

Emmaline nodded. “I prefer not to wear it.”

Ivy looked down for a moment. “I’m not sure you could do better than Axbridge,” she said quietly. “From everything I know of him, he’s a kind and honorable man.”

She dared defend him? “Then why did he kill my husband?”

“He called Geoffrey out with good reason.”

Emmaline couldn’t keep the anger from stealing into her tone. “And what was that?”

“I don’t know the specifics, but I trust West when he tells me that Axbridge had good reason. He wouldn’t have stood as his second if he hadn’t. Perhaps you should ask your husband why he called Geoffrey out.”

Yes, perhaps she should. While she was at it, she’d ask him why he liked to duel in the first place. “You do know that Geoffrey wasn’t the first man he killed.”

“Yes.” Ivy didn’t bother hiding her grimace. “It was actually his third duel. He wounded someone the first time.”

It occurred to Emmaline that she ought to have included “no dueling” in their marriage agreement. She decided it wasn’t too late to ask. “He’s a menace,” she whispered before taking another sip of tea.

Ivy reached over and touched Emmaline’s hand. “Oh, Emmaline, I am so worried about your happiness.”

Emmaline smiled reassuringly. “I don’t need to be happy. At least not in marriage.” She’d nearly resolved herself to that before Geoffrey had died.

“Then you’ll need to find some other pursuits.”

“I’ve given that a bit of thought actually,” Emmaline said. “I wondered if Lucy might teach me to shoot. If I’m to be the Duchess of Danger, it seems I should know how to wield a pistol.”

Ivy laughed. “Please don’t feel as though you need to take on his nickname. I certainly didn’t with West.”

The conversation turned to the latest antics of Ivy and West’s daughter, Leah, and the rest of their visit flew by. They concluded by agreeing to see each other soon—likely for a shooting lesson led by Lucy.

Ivy fetched her bonnet and gloves from a table near the doorway where Tulk had set them. As she tied the ribbon beneath her chin, the sound of the front door drew Emmaline’s attention. Axbridge strolled through the hall and into the drawing room.

“Good afternoon, Lady Clare.” His gaze drifted to Emmaline. “My lady.”

“Good afternoon,” Ivy said, pulling on her gloves. “I came to offer my felicitations on your marriage. You may recall that your new wife is a dear friend of mine.”

“Of course. She has excellent taste in friends.” He flashed a smile at both of them, and for the briefest of moments, Emmaline’s pulse sped.

Ivy laughed. “West asked if he would see you later at the club.”

“Indeed he will. Please give Leah a hug from Uncle Ax.”

Uncle Ax? Had he even met the child? Emmaline felt a burst of anger. Or possessiveness. Or both. “I didn’t realize you were close to Leah.”

“She’s adorable. How can you look at her sweet face and not feel close to her?” He winked at Ivy. Emmaline recalled that he was rather flirtatious. This grated her already strained nerves.

“You’re very kind,” Ivy said. “I’d best get home to her. See you both soon.” She waved at them and took her leave.

As soon as they were alone, Emmaline pursed her lips at Axbridge. “Would it be too much to ask you to leave Lady Clare and her family alone? She’s a dear friend of mine, and watching you charm her makes me nauseated.” She sounded like a shrew, but she didn’t care. He deserved that and worse.

“Yes, it would be too much to ask. West is my best friend. I also like Lady Clare a great deal. I’m confident we can all be friends.”

She flinched. “You and I will never be friends.”

He tensed, the muscles in his jaw and neck tightening. “Perhaps not, but can’t we at least be pleasant?”

Emmaline crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a chilly stare. “And what do you mean by that exactly?”

He offered her a charming bow. “Good afternoon, Lady Axbridge. I trust you’ve had a nice day so far. I went for a ride this morning and just concluded a meeting. Do you have plans for this evening?” He looked at her expectantly, a pleasant expression warming his face.

“I was having a perfectly nice day until you strode in here.” What did she expect? He lived here. She’d married him. Her body shook, and she sought to end this encounter as soon as possible. But she needed to say something first. “I have another requirement.”

His eyes hooded as he leaned against the doorframe. “You want something else from me.” His tone dripped with incredulity.

She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I do. I would prefer you didn’t duel again. I don’t think I could bear it if you killed—or even wounded—someone else.”

He seemed to slump, his body drooping. His eyes flashed with some dark emotion, but she wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “I have no plans to. I couldn’t bear it either.”

He pushed away from the doorframe and stalked past her, cutting a wide berth, as he went into his office. The door closed with a click that seemed to slice into her chest.

She’d been ridiculous. Awful. Awfully ridiculous. Or ridiculously awful?

Closing her eyes, she massaged her forehead. This was a disaster. That she’d created out of necessity. She’d needed his money and wanted his protection. She’d also demanded his agreement, which he’d given without pause. To some, he might be…heroic. And yet heroes didn’t do what he’d done.

She had to find a way to exist in this marriage without spiraling into anger and despair. Right now, she doubted it was even possible.