Later that evening, Lionel stalked into Brooks’s and went directly to West’s private dining room upstairs, intent on a stiff glass of whiskey. His confrontation with Emmaline had shaken him deeply. He tried very hard to bury his anguish, and was usually successful. But today, when she’d brought up dueling, his armor had slipped.

He’d pushed back at her after her absurd request that he leave Ivy and West alone. He probably shouldn’t have, but damn it, they had to find a way to at least be cordial. He wasn’t sure how long he could endure her revulsion.

Though didn’t he deserve that? She’d cut right to the heart of things with her other request. Far from absurd, it had been more than reasonable. One might even say it didn’t need stating, but with him it did. Because he was a monster.

“I would prefer you didn’t duel again. I don’t think I could bear it if you killed—or even wounded—someone else.”

And he’d meant what he’d told her. He couldn’t bear it either.

Yes, this was penance for his sins. She could be as awful to him as she liked, and he’d give her whatever she wanted.

“Evening Ax,” West greeted him as he walked into the dining room.

Lionel flopped into a chair across from West near the fire.

West stood and rang for the footman who arrived a scant moment later. “Bring the bottle and another glass,” West instructed.

“Your mind reading skills are as well-honed as ever,” Lionel said.

“I don’t need them. You look like you’ve been run down by a coach and four. Or that you’d like to be. I can’t quite decide which.”

Lionel might’ve laughed if he wasn’t feeling so wretched.

“Marriage not agreeing with you?” West asked with an annoyingly light tone.

Lionel tossed him a smoldering glower.

“I can see not,” West said. “Ivy mentioned things seemed a bit…strained this afternoon.”

“What did my wife tell her?”

West snorted. “Ivy and I are not going to play messenger.”

The footman arrived and poured a glass of whiskey for Lionel, then deposited the bottle on a table near West’s chair. Lionel scowled before taking a drink.

“I’m sorry things aren’t going well, but take heart. It’s only the first day.”

The first of a lifetime of days.

“What were you expecting?” West asked.

Lionel stared into his glass, tilting it this way and that to watch the amber liquid rise and fall. “I’d be content if we could be cordial.” And what had she ever said or done to allow him to think that was a possibility?

West had snorted. “Cordial. Content. Sounds like a goddamned business arrangement.”

“It is.” Lionel took another drink, welcoming the heat that burned his throat.

West shook his head. “And that’s what you want?”

No, he wanted to find a wife he could cherish, as his father had done his mother. He’d wanted to have children he could dote upon. Instead, he’d become a killer who didn’t deserve any of those things, and now he was—rightfully—stuck in a marriage that would be cold and empty. And probably very, very long.

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

West scoffed. “When did you become a bloody defeatist? If you want a real marriage with her, it’s up to you to try.” He sipped his whiskey and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “You could always seduce her.”

Now Lionel laughed. “Of course the Duke of Desire would suggest that. I, however, am the Duke of Danger.”

“I’m beginning to hate that name,” West said. “You are not a bad person.”

Ha, tell that to his wife. He looked into the fire, feeling as dreadful as he had when he’d arrived.

“Perhaps we should forego our evening’s plans.”

Plans? Hell, he’d forgotten they’d had actual plans tonight. They were supposed to meet with the Duke of Kendal and some other lords to discuss some bill or other.

Lionel tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “I’d welcome the distraction. Are we meeting in Kendal’s room?”

“Indeed.” West finished his drink and set his glass on the table. “You certain you’re up for it?”

“I agreed to this union with the full knowledge of what it would entail. I will learn to navigate it.” He hoped.

West’s brows pitched together as he drew his legs in and edged to the front of his seat. “I’m aware of what you agreed to, and I have to say I don’t know how you can commit to a life of celibacy. Unless… Do you intend to be unfaithful?”

“Is it being unfaithful if your wife has no expectation of fidelity?” Just asking the question made Lionel queasy. This was not the marriage he envisioned. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

West nodded slowly. “I figured as much. A lifetime is a very long time, however. I wouldn’t fault you for being tempted.”

“Spoken like the true Duke of Desire,” Lionel said drily. He hesitated before asking a serious question, “If Ivy told you that she didn’t want you in her bed any longer, would you look elsewhere for comfort?”

West’s nostrils flared. “Hell and damnation, I don’t even want to consider such a thing. I love my wife with everything I am. Without her, without what we share…” He shuddered. “I’d rather die, I think.”

Lionel’s feelings were similar, but not the same of course. Because he wasn’t in love with his wife. And it was a damn good thing too.

* * *

Two nights gone. Emmaline stood in her bedchamber as her maid, Lark, laced her dress.

If she continued to count each day like a prison sentence, it was going to feel exactly like a…prison sentence.

But isn’t it?

No, marriage to Sir Duncan would have been far more distasteful. He would expect things she didn’t want to give. Axbridge expected nothing. Except pleasantness apparently.

Emmaline didn’t want to think about being nice to Axbridge. “How do you like it here, Lark?”

“I like it fine, my lady. The staff has been most welcoming. Mrs. Wells is a jolly sort.”

Yes, the housekeeper was very friendly. Emmaline was inclined to keep her at bay, but wasn’t sure she’d be able to. She’d befriended the staff her whole life. They’d been her playmates and her confidantes, and in many instances—when her parents were away—her family.

Emmaline turned her head so she could half see Lark. “Has anyone asked you any questions?”

The maid finished fastening the gown and stood back. “No, but I know they’re curious. I expect Mrs. Wells will work up the courage to inquire.”

Emmaline smoothed her hands over her skirt. “Then we shall tell her what we discussed—that Lord Axbridge and I are merely getting to know each other.” That would explain their separate bedrooms, if not sufficiently account for their not spending time together.

Lark, who was a few years older than Emmaline and had stood with her during her elopement, her failing marriage, and Geoffrey’s death, cocked her head at Emmaline. “It doesn’t look like that, if you’ll pardon my saying so. It’s hard to get to know someone when you don’t see them. Perhaps you ought to have a meal or two with his lordship.”

She had a valid point. Plus, it would be a step toward pleasantness. What on earth would they talk about?

“You might also consider putting his ring back on,” Lark suggested.

Emmaline glanced at her bare hand. Perhaps she should. It was just a piece of jewelry. Wearing it didn’t signify anything. “I’m going down to breakfast.”

Lark inclined her head and began to tidy the chamber as Emmaline left to go the dining room. She’d dined in her chamber yesterday morning but had informed the staff that today she would break her fast downstairs. Then she could decide which she preferred.

As she approached the stairs, she encountered Mrs. Wells carrying a tray—a breakfast tray.

“Oh!” The housekeeper came to a stop, her eyes widening briefly. “I thought you were taking breakfast in your chamber. Did I get that wrong?” Her brow furrowed beneath her cap.

“I told Tulk last night that I would come to the dining room this morning. Perhaps there was a miscommunication.”

Mrs. Wells smiled. “Well then, let’s just take this downstairs. Go on ahead, my lady.”

Emmaline started down the stairs.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying how happy we are to have you here,” Mrs. Wells said.

Emmaline smiled over her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“We’re just thrilled his lordship finally has a marchioness.” She laughed. “Soon—God willing—mayhap there will be children too.”

The last step tried to trip Emmaline, and she grabbed the railing to steady herself. Or maybe it was just the housekeeper’s words.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Mrs. Wells asked.

Turning toward the dining room, Emmaline gave the housekeeper a reassuring nod. “Fine, thank you.”

“I didn’t mean to speak out of turn,” Mrs. Wells said, wincing slightly as they made their way to the dining room. “I’m afraid I’m just so overjoyed that I can barely contain myself. Lord Axbridge had such a close, warm relationship with his father. He’s going to be an excellent parent.”

He had? Emmaline’s curiosity was piqued in spite of her intent to despise Axbridge. “How long ago did his father pass?”

“Eight years.” She shook her head.

They moved into the dining room, and Mrs. Wells placed the tray on the table. She moved the pot of chocolate and the other items from the tray.

“How did it happen?” Emmaline asked.

“A fit of apoplexy, I’m afraid.” The housekeeper averted her gaze. “It was very sad.” She brushed her hands on her apron. “Can I get you anything else?”

Emmaline sensed the woman didn’t wish to discuss the matter further and didn’t blame her. Servants weren’t supposed to gossip, and Emmaline oughtn’t encourage it. “No, thank you. And I appreciate you telling me about Lord Axbridge and his father. It helps me get to know my husband.” Suddenly, the excuse she’d discussed earlier with Lark didn’t seem like an excuse. Emmaline didn’t know Axbridge, and they couldn’t possibly have a close relationship. Certainly nothing intimate.

Mrs. Wells dipped a brief curtsey. “My pleasure. Just ring if you need anything.”

Emmaline watched her go, then poured herself a cup of chocolate. As she lifted the cup to her lips, a small ball of fur leapt onto the table, causing her to jump. Chocolate sloshed over the edge of the cup and splashed onto the front of her gown.

“Kitten!” Axbridge’s voice boomed from the doorway. He strode inside and went quickly to the table where the ball of fur—a black kitten with a white spot on its nose and white V over its chest to match—had leapt.

Emmaline set her cup down and watched as the cat dashed across the table, jumped to the floor, and bounced from the room. Axbridge glanced at her gown. “I’m terribly sorry about that.”

“I didn’t realize you had any pets.”

“I didn’t until this morning. I found her in Hyde Park on my ride. She was alone and crying.”

Emmaline’s heart pulled. He was kind to animals, damn him. “So you brought her home?”

“I couldn’t leave her there. I see cats in the park from time to time, but they typically run off. Not this one. She actually ran toward my horse, the idiot.”

“She’s not an idiot. She’s a kitten. And she clearly knew you wouldn’t trample her.” Just as Emmaline knew he wouldn’t. But why would she think that, given what she knew of him?

He blinked at her, seeming surprised. No more than she was.

“So yes, now I have a cat. Do you like cats?”

“In fact, I do. I had a few when I was younger. I miss having a pet, actually.” She suddenly wondered why she hadn’t taken one—or more—in after Geoffrey had died. That certainly would’ve assuaged her loneliness.

“Then perhaps she should be yours,” he offered.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. She chose you. Does she have a name?”

“Not yet. I’m open to suggestions.”

She took in his riding clothes—snug breeches topped with a bottle-green coat. Gleaming Hessians encased his calves. “Do you ride every morning?”

“Whenever possible. Do you ride?”

“When I had a horse, yes.” She missed that too.

“What happened to it?” he asked, gripping the top of one of the chairs at the table.

She didn’t want to think about Pearl, her horse, whom she missed desperately. “I had to sell her after Geoffrey died.” She tried to keep the sadness from her tone but failed. In this moment, she struggled to remember why she hated this man when it was Geoffrey who’d caused her pain.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he said quietly.

“That isn’t necessary.” But oh, how she wanted it.

“Nevertheless, you shall have one. You’re a skilled rider, I presume?”

“I’ve been riding since I was four years old.”

“Then I would say you’re a skilled rider.” He looked at her, his blue eyes assessing but warm. It was the longest she’d been in his company without voicing her dislike for him in some way. It was hard to do that to a man who showed compassion to a kitten.

And so she said nothing, and he simply gave her a nod before turning and quitting the room.

She exhaled, only just realizing she’d been holding her breath. Picking up a napkin from the table, she dabbed at the chocolate that had seeped into her bodice. She’d need to go up and change so Lark could work the stain out.

After finishing her breakfast, she stood. Her eye caught a black fluff skirting along the edge of the room, a long, dark tail brushing along the curtains hanging at the windows.

Emmaline crept toward the kitten while speaking to her in soft, soothing tones. “Well, good morning, kitty. Aren’t you a sweet little thing?”

The cat paused, her tail twitching slightly. She nuzzled the drapes.

Crouching down, Emmaline held her hand out for the kitten to smell her. The kitty turned, letting her pink nose lead her. After a quick sniff, she thrust her head into Emmaline’s palm. With a smile, Emmaline petted the soft fur and was immediately rewarded with loud purring. The cat butted her head harder into Emmaline’s hand, provoking her to laugh. It felt good.

Soon Emmaline was seated on the floor with the cat in her lap shedding black fur onto her chocolate-stained dress. It was the happiest moment she’d had in months.

Happy.

Could she find that again? She hoped so.

She realized in that moment she had to try. She could’ve simply left the dining room without addressing the cat, but she hadn’t. She needed to do the same with her life.

She was a marchioness who didn’t have to fret about her future. The world was before her—she only needed to decide what to do next.