Under A Duke's Hand (24 page)

He did not remember it that way at all. He
remembered bright sun, charming kisses, and her dark hair blowing
in the breeze. “I wouldn’t say I toyed with you.”

“I felt toyed with, afterward. You lied to me
in that meadow, and played me for a fool.”

“You lied to me too. You said your name was
Rose, that you had a beau named Tommy. You made up any number of
falsehoods.”

“Between the two of us, you were more
false.”

The depth of her hurt surprised him. “I made
you feel good that day,” he said. “There was nothing I did to you
that you didn’t heartily enjoy.”

“You believed you had a right to flirt with
me, and kiss me, even spank me on my bare bottom. Because you are a
duke, you believe you can do anything that suits your fancy, no
matter who’s harmed.”

“I didn’t harm you.” He let out a sharp
breath and threw up his hands. “No matter how I come to you, we end
up in an argument. No matter how pleasant I intend to be, you make
me want to snap off your head. I loved our time in that meadow,” he
said with injured passion. “I’m sorry you don’t agree.”

“You will not understand,” she said, curling
her body away from his. “You’ll never understand. You don’t even
hear me when I say things. You only hear what you believe is
true.”

“What do you want? An apology?” He rolled his
eyes. “I’m sorry I flirted with you that day, and kissed you. I’m
sorry I spanked you, no matter if it made you excited.”

“I wish you would not talk about that time in
the meadow ever again,” she said. “I wish we could forget it.”

“Why would I want to forget it? It’s the only
damned time in our godforsaken history that we ever got along.” He
stood with a grunt of irritation. “Very well. I will leave you to
your solitude. Perhaps, with the way things go, it would be better
if we never tried to talk.”

“Perhaps it would be.”

He went to the ladder and climbed down,
trying to convince himself the tears in her eyes hadn’t mattered.
She cried all the time, about everything, him most of all. He was
damned tired of being painted as her tormentor, the evil duke, when
all he ever wished in life was a happy and respectable marriage. He
wouldn’t talk to her
or
go to her bed, if that’s what she
wanted. There were plenty of other women who would be ecstatic to
accommodate him. Once his friends left, he’d send Gwen to the
country for the rest of the winter, and go on about his life
however he intended.

As long as she had her damned horse for
company, he doubted she’d even care.

Chapter
Fourteen: Christmas Dinner

Gwen went downstairs at the appointed hour,
in the festive red gown and matching jewels the ladies and Pascale
had advised her to wear. She stood at her husband’s side with the
appropriate smile and greeted the guests for the dinner party, two
dozen or more persons, not counting his friends and their
wives.

Arlington had no kind words for her, but he
was all smiles for the guests, and she understood that she was to
be all smiles too. This world was their stage, and she had to play
her part, or he might punish her again in some horribly painful and
sexually depraved way.

Minette, Aurelia, and Josephine had certainly
done a laudable job with the planning. The ballroom and dining hall
were festooned in greenery, ribbons, and hundreds of candles, and
holly decorated each place setting. The company was jovial and the
musicians were splendid, playing carol after carol in honor of the
season. Even the cold and ice outside couldn’t dampen the
celebratory atmosphere.

Christmas was but a week away. If she was
home in Wales, she would be relaxing before the fire with her
family, enjoying merriment and conversation. She’d be chattering
with Tilda and playing with her young nieces and nephews, and
looking forward to the cook’s special Christmas pudding. She would
not be in this stiff velvet gown pretending to be a happy duchess.
She felt so alone.

The duke, on the other hand, was surrounded
by friends and admirers. He looked striking as ever, and was so
good at his role. Why couldn’t she be shining and confident like
him? What if all the discord between them was her failing?
If
you were prettier, wealthier, with better breeding...
It was
the same thing she had said to herself in Wales, when no one would
offer her marriage. Now she was married and wished nothing more
than to go back to Wales.

“Come, Gwen,” said Minette, as Josephine and
Aurelia flanked her on either side. “You cannot hide here in the
corner. You must walk about and speak to your guests.”

“But I’ve already forgotten their names,” she
said, pushing down panic.

“Stick with us,” said Aurelia. “We know all
their names. And half of them are active gossips, so once you
impress upon them that things are lovely in the Arlington
household, it will put all the whispers to rest.”

“You look beautiful tonight,” Josephine
murmured, “so lift up your chin and smile.”

Gwen tried to smile, she really did, but she
felt so scrutinized. Ladies and gentlemen nodded to her and asked
her questions, all of which were a variation on “Aren’t you so very
lucky to have married the duke?” She wondered if those couples had
love in their marriages. The duke told her that society disdained
love, that it was a common pursuit reserved for the lower classes.
She watched Arlington, tall and strong and handsome, as he
conversed with some of the guests.

I love you
, she thought, looking hard
at him.
I love you, I love you.
She wanted to love him, even
if it was common or coarse. If she could go back to the meadow and
pray again to the vague heavens, that was what she would beg for.
Accord. Understanding.

Love.

They went in to dinner and Gwen tried to be
merry. She sat near Minette, who was cheerful all hours of the day.
She and Aurelia were both going to have babies in the new year.
Gwen wondered if she would too. Her appetite fled at the thought of
bearing the duke’s child. Then he wouldn’t only criticize her as a
wife, but as a mother. She wouldn’t be able to bear it. She glanced
up to the head of the table and caught his eye.

He stared back at her with an inscrutable
gaze. He was not thinking that he loved her, that was for sure.

“Gwen,” said Minette, leaning close to her.
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you having fun?”

“Oh, yes, I am,” Gwen replied, forcing a
smile. But she wasn’t. She was thinking how horribly lonely it was,
to be looked at in that distant, detached way. Maybe love didn’t
matter to the upper crust, but it mattered to her. Arlington’s
physical attentions weren’t enough. His title and his protection
weren’t enough either. Her heart cried out for something deeper.
Please love me.

Stupid girl. He would love you by now if you
were good enough.

Lonely, so lonely, while all around her,
animated couples laughed and chattered about the holidays. Their
easy voices rose and fell, but she didn’t know what to say. She
hated the woman seated beside Arlington, because she spoke so
easily to him and made him smile.

Gwen tried to eat, but she couldn’t swallow
past the tension in her throat, and the food on her plate began to
blur. Oh, no. She could not cry, not after all their work to plan
this party and show how happily married they were. Minette watched
her, so sincere, so troubled that Gwen might be troubled.

“What is it, dear?” asked Minette, taking her
hand.

“I wonder if I’m not feeling quite well. My
head’s begun to hurt.”

The first tears fell. She wiped them away as
quickly and furtively as she was able, but more rose in their
place. The loud-mouthed gentleman across the table stopped talking
and stared at her. She heard two ladies whispering as she swiped at
her cheeks.

“I think I...”

Minette gazed at her with such tenderness.
“Perhaps the music is too loud.”

“Perhaps.”

“Let’s go and find you a quiet place to
rest.” Minette hustled her up and out of the room, assuring the
others it was only a bit of headache. Arlington followed after, his
expression one of dark concern.

* * * * *

Aidan had reached the limits of his patience.
Who cried at a holiday party in one’s own house? In front of
thirty-odd dinner guests? He burst into her chambers. Minette was
comforting his weeping wife, murmuring to her and patting her
arm.

“Minette, please,” he said. “Don’t make a
fuss. Go downstairs and rejoin the guests, and assure them
everything is all right. We’ll be down in a moment.”

She looked sideways at his wife. “Gwen is
very upset.”

“My wife and I are going to talk about
things,” he said in as steady a voice as he could muster. “If you
would allow us some privacy.”

“Of course,” said Minette. “I’ll tell
everyone you’ll be back shortly.”

“Thank you.”

She cast one last concerned glance at her
friend and let herself out, shutting the door.

Aidan crossed to sit beside Gwen. “Whatever’s
the matter?” he asked gruffly as she sniffled into her
handkerchief. “You realize you’re making a muck of this party. If
you want to cry, you can do it later, for as long as you want.”

“Don’t you even care why I’m sad?”

“I know why you’re sad,” he snapped. “Because
you’re unhappy, because you don’t like it here, because you can’t
hear the rain on the roof or some such nonsense. There are children
starving in London, you know. Men and women dying in the streets of
violence and disease. There are families freezing in this
unseasonable weather. What a spoiled, sniveling piece of work you
are.”

This only made her cry harder. She ought to
cry. She had stolen his peace of mind this past few weeks, made him
a miserable man in his own house.

“That’s enough,” he said. “You will dry your
tears, go back downstairs among our guests, and do your goddamned
duty.”

“I can’t,” she said, covering her face with
the handkerchief.

He took it from her and mopped the tears from
her cheeks. “You will. You’re the Duchess of Arlington and you owe
it to me. You’re wearing the gown I bought you, the shoes, the
damned rubies around your neck. You have responsibilities which I
will not allow you to shirk. You will go downstairs and pretend
that you are eminently happy.”

She pushed away from him and took to her
feet. “No, I will not! I am not happy. I am miserable here. You can
give me a thousand gowns and a million jewels and I’d still be
miserable because you have no heart.”

She was shouting at him. He knew how to shout
too. “I have no heart? What about you? You antagonize me in every
way possible, and delight in making me look like a villain. You
delight in humiliating me.”

“I most certainly do not.”

“You’ve embarrassed me repeatedly before my
friends, before the king, before those guests downstairs. I can’t
guess why, except that you hate me.”

“No.” She shook her head, pacing to the
window. “You are the one who humiliates me. You have no care for me
unless I’m in a bed, or your perverse Greek temple.”

“That is not true.”

“You do what you must to keep up the
appearance of a happy marriage. But you have never thought me
proper, or worthy of your vaunted hand.”

“You don’t act worthy,” he retorted. “You act
like a petty brat the majority of the time. You say I keep up
appearances...what did you think marriage was about?”

“Love!” She burst into tears again. “Marriage
is supposed to be about love.”

“Oh, now we’re going to go on about love
again. I suppose you wish you had married some bloody farmhand back
in Cairwyn.”

“I do wish it, if he would have loved me,”
she cried.

“And you could have cooked and cleaned all
day, and dropped his brats, and swept the hearth in his shambling
cottage, wearing threadbare rags. Of course, all women dream of
such a life.”

“They do, if they are loved.”

He crossed to her and took her arms. “You say
you want love, but you offer me no respect. You have crossed me
from the beginning, from the inn the night after we wed.
Oh, he
wants me to eat this duck. But I won’t, because that’s what he
wants.
Never mind that it’s just a piece of fucking duck that
any normal person would eat without thinking. Everything has to be
a fight with you.” He gave her a little shake. “If you want me to
love you, Guinevere, stop being so hateful. Our marriage was not my
fault.”

“But you blame me,” she said. “You blame me
for not being up to snuff. That night at the inn, you looked at me
as if I were something you’d found on the bottom of your boot.”

“I looked at you like a wife whom I did not
know, and did not understand. I still don’t understand you. I don’t
know how to make you happy. I don’t know how to make you smiling
and content. I don’t know how to convince you that I mean you no
harm.”

“Meaning no harm is not the same as loving
someone. And I know you’ll never love me.”

“So you’ll live a whole life unfulfilled, is
that it?”

“Yes.” She swiped a hand across her damp
cheeks. “It makes me desperately sad.”

“Your nonsense makes me sad,” he said,
walking away from her. “Please collect your wits so we can return
to the party and salvage what we can of this debacle.”

She stood where she was, her hands clasped in
front of her skirts. “I’m not going back to that party with
you.”

He glared at her, feeling helpless
frustration and rage. “What if I say I love you? What if I really,
really pretend I mean it?”

“Kind of the way you want me to go to that
party and pretend I’m your happy wife?”

“Yes. Why don’t we do that? I’ll pretend I
love you, and you pretend you’re happy. Will that do well
enough?”