“Now,” he said when she was finished, “stand up and let me fix your gown. I’d be pleased to let you finish dinner that way, but the servants would be dropping dishes left and right.”
Her eyes went to the spilled wine and broken goblet. When they were situated, and she was seated primly at her place, he opened the door and the servants streamed in as if they had been waiting in a line outside the entire time. They whisked away the crystal fragments and covered the soiled part of the tablecloth with extra napkins. The dinner plates were cleared away to make room for dessert.
She stared down at the fruit tarts and assortment of cheeses and then looked back at him. He’d just bent her over the table and ravished her, and now he wanted her to take dessert?
He waved a fork at her. “Eat, Guinevere. And don’t frown so.”
“The thing is…” she said, cutting into the tart, “I don’t think it’s fair.”
“What’s not fair?”
“I must be a proper duchess at all times, but you do not behave like a proper duke.”
“I made no promises to be a proper duke, did I? Not like you.”
“You’re not a very nice person.” She narrowed her eyes as she said this, even though he might punish her for it later. “I think you play with me, and treat me like a toy, like something to bat about for your amusement.”
“I do not bat you about.”
She glanced at the napkins piled atop the stain. “Yes, you do.”
He ate for a moment, the fine Arlington silverware sparkling in his long fingers. “If you do not wish to be played with, Guinevere, then I suppose I will take my pleasure tonight without bothering to arouse you as I normally do.” He gave her a positively satanic smile.
She sucked in a breath. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean? That you do enjoy when I play with you?”
This was a perfect example of being toyed with, not that the duke cared. “You love to twist my words and make me uneasy,” she said.
“And you love to paint me as your lewd and heartless assailant. I can’t remember now what we ultimately decided. Would you prefer to have pleasure tonight, or not?”
There was only one way to answer. “I would prefer to have pleasure, Sir.”
“For your own amusement? Not only mine?”
She sighed. “Yes, Sir.”
“Please do not accuse me of being a villain in order to assuage your own disordered feelings. We’ve spoken of this before.”
His voice was light, cold, casual in its evisceration. How hateful he could be. She made no response, only took another bite of her tart so he would not see how he provoked her, and swallowed hard when the delicious morsel stuck in her throat.
Chapter Ten: Perfectly Matched
The duke’s friends visited a couple days later, since they had all arrived in town to spend the holidays: the two marquesses, Lord Townsend and Lord Barrymore, and the Earl of Warren, that ceaselessly cheerful man. This time they brought their wives, who seemed eager to meet Gwen. She endured the introductions with a sense of gloom. She was certain they would find her wanting in some way.
Lord Townsend’s wife was named Aurelia, and was the daughter of a duke. Gwen’s first thought was that Aurelia would have made Arlington a better wife, except that she was enamored of her towering, dark-haired husband. Lord Townsend seemed enamored of her too, hovering around her with loving glances. The Townsends’ daughter Felicity was back home napping, along with the Warrens’ infant son George.
The other dark-haired man, Barrymore, was married to Minette, who was apparently Warren’s sister, and Warren was married to Josephine, a countess with lavish auburn hair and the occasional spark of mischief in her eyes. The three ladies seemed to know one another quite well, and kept up a steady stream of conversation as they sat at tea on the terrace. Below them, the gentlemen romped in the chill air, playing a loosely organized game of cricket.
“Look at them,” said Aurelia, pulling her cloak closer around her. “The older they get, the more they behave like boys.”
The other ladies laughed. “I think they’re only happy to be together again,” said Minette. “My husband always worried that marriage and children would put a strain on their friendship, or end it altogether.”
“Your marriage to Barrymore nearly did end it altogether,” Josephine said with an unladylike snort. “Warren spent more than one night pacing and cursing August’s name.”
Gwen listened to all this in confusion. “I’m sorry, but who is August?”
“Barrymore was Lord Augustine before his father died,” Josephine explained. “We called him August, and Warren was bound and determined that he would not marry his sister, even though Minette had adored him for years. But now they’re Lord and Lady Barrymore, and they’re going to have their first baby in the spring, so everything worked out for the best.”
“Congratulations,” Gwen said to Minette. “You must be very excited.”
“You’re finally starting to show, dear,” said Aurelia, “even beneath all those skirts and petticoats, and winter capes and cloaks.” The honey-haired lady smiled, and again pulled her cloak closer about her.
Minette studied her friend. “Do you have something to share with us, Aurelia? Townsend’s barely left you alone all day, and you keep wrapping that cloak around you as if you’re hiding something. Not only that, but you look a little green.”
“Are you not well?” Gwen asked. “Can I get you something? A tonic?”
“She’s well enough,” said Minette with a grin. “Except that she’s expecting again.”
“Oh, are you?” Josephine clapped her hands.
“It’s very early,” said Aurelia, blushing. “But I might be. Townsend thinks so.”
The lady practically glowed with happiness. She was living the life Gwen longed for. She was in love, and obviously loved by h
er husband. She was pretty and refined, and would doubtless give birth to a steady stream of pretty, refined babies as her husband doted upon how perfect she was. Gwen hated Aurelia a little bit.
The men gave a shout, so the ladies turned to watch them tumble in the grass. Arlington came up with the ball, and the others chased after him, trying to tackle him.
“What game are they playing now?” Josephine asked.
“Some variation of beating each other up. The same game they’ve played for as long as I can remember,” said Minette. “Arlington usually wins.”
“He was always best at everything,” Aurelia agreed. “I don’t think it ever bothered my husband. They all conceded his greatness from a very young age. I imagine he makes a fine sort of husband.”
The three ladies turned to Gwen expectantly. She felt a blush steal over her cheeks. He made a fine sort of husband, if one enjoyed being tormented on a daily basis. She could not think of a word to say.
“Do you like being married?” Josephine pressed.
Gwen thought a moment. “I’m still getting used to it. I miss Wales. I miss my family, and the life I used to know.” Her eyes misted. She tightened her jaw and willed the tears away. She would not cry in front of these women. They might seem warm and friendly, but they were Arlington’s friends, not hers.
Minette reached to pat her hand. “Don’t worry, my dear. Things will get better. I was newly married this time last year, and oh, I thought I’d never survive the first few months.”
“Yes,” Aurelia agreed. “Husbands take some getting used to, especially when you meet them just before you wed. It must have been difficult for him to show up at your father’s house in Wales and take you right to the altar.”
Gwen grimaced. “There was something awfully businesslike about the whole thing. It still feels businesslike sometimes. I thought marriage would be different. I thought there would be more...love.” Her voice wobbled on the last word. She ducked her head, feeling terribly embarrassed that she had even said such a thing.
“Oh, Guinevere,” said Josephine softly. “There will be love. Don’t give up yet. It’s hardly been a couple of months.”