Page 33 of Miss Ridley and the Duke

Over the past week, they had settled into a routine of convivial interaction during the day and honeymoon of sorts in the evening, when they adjourned to bed early. Annabel could live in this paradise for the rest of their days. It was heaven to spar with her clever, witty husband and lie in his powerful arms until he rose at dawn. Memories of her wedding day debacle had faded, and she was slipping into a new life at Avonmead that she much enjoyed.

She had just spooned up her white soup after making, in her mind, a particularly intelligent point when the door burst open. She swung her head around to find a disheveled and heavy breathing Richard dressed in his riding clothes and smelling of spirits and horse. Clinton came up behind him, sweating and panting in pursuit. Out of breath, the ruddy butler swept past him to announce, “The Earl of Saunton,” before casting a baleful eye at the offending party. The servant twirled on his heel and departed.

“Halmesbury. Annabel.” Richard sneered as he gave a drunken bow.

“What are you doing here, Saunton?”

Richard straightened as a flash of fury crossed his face. “It is beyond the pale, Halmesbury! I have been seething for days since I encountered you at Filminster’s. Your arrogant interference is beyond the pale!” he roared, making Annabel jump in her seat at the unexpected rage and volume.

“We will go to my study,” said Philip in a low, angry voice. He stood abruptly. His chair teetered for just a moment before righting.

“Does Annabel know why you married her? Does she know about our sodding imaginary love triangle? Although now it is a love quadrangle, I suppose.”

“Saunton, go to my study,” hissed the duke.

“While I think it is high time that Miss Ridley … I mean, the fine Duchess of Halmesbury be told that she is a sacrificial pawn on the chessboard of your petty rev—hic—venge. Shall I tell her, or are you going to be a man and explain why you married her?”

Philip turned to Annabel. “Get out!” he barked. It took her a moment to realize he was barking at her, not Richard. A calamity of emotions hit her, slowing her reactions so that all she could do was stare dumbstruck into Philip’s face. The dramatic change in his mood was jarring, and the coldness with which he spoke froze her chest in a painful vise-grip.

Philip raised his voice. “GET OUT, ANNABEL!”

“But …” she spluttered.

“NOW, ANNABEL!”

Her throat thickened and her eyes pricked as she clumsily pushed her chair back, accidentally crashing it onto the floor as she rose in haste. She did her best to gather her dignity, but she was afraid there was nothing graceful about her exit as she stumbled from the room, nearly tripping over her own skirts. Heavy footfalls sounded, and the door slammed hard behind her, shaking the frame and the floor with its force. She stood in the hall in shock, her thoughts unraveling. Her head felt thick, and she couldn’t think what she should do next as she pressed a hand to her stressed stomach. She raised the back of her hand against her mouth to muffle a sob, realizing she could not stand in the hall like a ninny, lest the two men exit the room and find her there.

She considered remaining to eavesdrop, but her hands were icy and her breath thready. She did not think she could cope with any revelations that she may overhear if she remained, so she took a tentative step away from the door and then another. It seemed prudent to retreat until she could compose herself, so she continued up the primary staircase, barely aware of her environ until she reached her bedchamber and lay on the bed to stare at the ceiling. Confusion and dismay coalesced into dry sobs that racked her frame. His rage had been so out of character, and she battled to make sense of why Philip had thrown her out. Was her marriage an act of revenge? Richard had implied there was more to Philip’s incentives than he had revealed—was it true? What secret was her husband hiding? What did the two men discuss downstairs?

Her hopes of aspiring affection from her husband had seemed a realistic goal over their first few romantic days together, but what did she truly know about her duke and his intentions? Perhaps he made every girl feel special with that intent manner he had of listening carefully to her, as if what she said mattered. As if she mattered. What if she was only a pitiful project, such as his foundlings, that he was treating kindly with no true investment of emotion? A pathetic woman in need of saving. Tolerated as a necessary substitute for the woman he had truly loved.

Her thoughts clouded into a storm of tears as she felt her tenuous happiness of the past few days evaporating to ashes in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Philip had not experienced such rage since he had thrown Richard out of Avonmead on his ear the night of his wife’s death. The man was a dog, and he wanted him out of his house, far away from his lovely bride.

“Annabel is mine. You have no right to enter my home, you despicable blackguard. I told you the last time you were here to never darken my doorway again.”

“Have you?”

“Have I what?” Philip demanded, fury heating his veins.

“Have you told Annabel the true reason you married her? She thinks you are a hero who rescued her from a terrible and fated union with me but, damn it, I really care about her. While you are just playing out some petty revenge as a jealous husband who can’t see the truth … the truth … for the trees.” Richard swayed drunkenly.

“You are not in a fit state, so I will not argue with you over this. Suffice it to say that I care about Annabel far more than you ever could, and you know nothing of my reasons for saving her from an arrogant reprobate like you!” Philip had felt a flash of satisfaction at his articulate retort until he noticed that his inebriated cousin had fallen into a dining chair and passed out.

Cursing, he stalked over to ring the bell. Clinton appeared in moments with two hefty footmen, clearly expecting his signal to return and throw the drunken lord out on his ear. Unfortunately, his drunken cousin would have to stay the night. If they attempted to throw Saunton out, he would simply lie in an intoxicated pile on the front drive. Blast! He wanted to rid himself of the despised man’s presence without delay.

By the time Philip had gotten the earl into a guest chamber for the night, with express instructions to throw his unwanted presence out at the crack of dawn after they had fed him a cup of coffee, his breathing was coming in shallow, infuriated bursts. He paced in his bedchamber, but he was too angry to sleep, and he had no desire for company, or to have Annabel question him on Richard’s accusation.

Blast, blast, blast!

He stalked out, banging the door as he exited. Once entrenched in his study, he poured a brandy and drank it down in quick gulps before pouring another. He froze, facing the sideboard when he heard light footsteps enter the room.

“Not tonight, Annabel.” He did not turn and continued to stare at his decanter.

He heard her take a deep inhalation as if to say something. The next moment, she exhaled and was gone. Philip was left alone, staring into the shallow depth of his brandy.