Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(30)

Iris quickly took several of the clean white sheets from the standing cupboard. “We’ll need these for the duke’s bed.”

But Nicoletta shook her head again, holding out the old sheets in her hand. She said something—very vehemently—in Corsican.

Iris couldn’t understand what the problem could possibly be, but she was tired. “I’m sorry, but I’m using these sheets.”

She swept by the maidservant and the men and continued, ignoring Nicoletta’s cries behind her.

By the time her procession had reached the upper floors and the duke’s bedroom Nicoletta had grown silent, but Iris could practically feel the woman seething behind her.

Iris sighed. She felt sad for the loss of whatever goodwill she’d gained with Nicoletta in the last few days, but she couldn’t let the older woman think she could rule her. Iris was the mistress of this house, and if she had to make that point clear, it was best done early in their relationship.

So she didn’t bother with any conciliatory smile toward the servants when she paused to knock on the door to the bedroom.

Besides, she was more nervous about her reception from her new husband.

“Come,” Dyemore’s voice called from within.

Iris entered with Nicoletta as the two manservants bowed and turned away.

Dyemore was out of the bed, sitting in one of the chairs before the fireplace in a clean black banyan. The duke’s inky black hair fell to his shoulders, drying with a slight wave. With his scar and his hair worn loose he looked like a brigand. Well, an ill brigand—his cheeks were still more flushed than usual.

“You’ve finished with your bath?” Iris asked briskly. She was determined not to let him know how distressed she’d been by his rejection.

Ubertino was busy doing something with the duke’s chest of drawers.

Dyemore raised an eyebrow sardonically. “As you see.”

Damn him. She cleared her throat and said a bit stiltedly, “Yes, well. I’ll just change the sheets, shall I?”

She went to the bed and began stripping the richly embroidered coverlet off with Nicoletta’s help. Fortunately, the coverlet hadn’t been stained at all. The sheets, however, might never recover.

She frowned as she threw them to the floor.

“I thought …” She glanced quickly at the servants.

“Yes?” he asked from behind her.

“That is …” She inhaled and mentally rolled her eyes at herself. Ninny! Get on with it. “Since you’re ill I thought it best that I make up the bed in the maid’s room so that you could rest comfortably in the bed by—”

“No.”

“Yourself …” She trailed away and straightened from tucking a sheet in at the side of the bed.

She turned to look at him.

He was facing her quite calmly, but with an implacable expression on his face. “You are my duchess. You will sleep in this bed with me.”

She felt her lips part in confusion. He’d just told her that he couldn’t stand her touch. What was he thinking? Cautiously she said, “You’re still recovering. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Your presence does not disturb my sleep.”

“Don’t you think we should discuss this?”

He cocked his head. “I was under the impression, madam, that that was what we were doing.”

“No.” She realized that she’d balled her hands into fists and quickly let them relax. She couldn’t let him distress her so. “You made a decision and stated it. That hardly constitutes a discussion.”

“Bickering will not change my mind,” he said with breathtaking arrogance. He stood and Ubertino hurried over to help him. “Now, if there is nothing else, I think I shall retire.”

Oh, for goodness’ sakes! She really ought to tell the man that this was no way to conduct a marriage—and she would’ve had it not been for the drawn expression on his face.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to inform Dyemore that he was going to be in for something of a shock if he thought she was going to simply roll over and show her belly every time he stated his mind.

Tonight she pressed her lips together and turned to help Nicoletta finish spreading the coverlet.

“Thank you,” Dyemore said from very close.

He loomed behind her and she froze a moment before sidling rather awkwardly along the bed to give him room to get in.

She cleared her throat. “I’ll just change in the maid’s room.”

Behind her there was a choking sound.

She turned, puzzled.

He was half on the bed, as if caught somehow in the act of crawling in, his down-bent face obscured by his long hair.

“What—?”

Dyemore gave a whistling wheeze, and suddenly Iris knew something dire was happening.

She ran to his side to place a hand on his shoulder, and looked into his face.

His eyes were white rimmed and his lips were turning blue.

“Dyemore,” she said. “Raphael.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. He just stared fixedly and made that terrible whistling sound. His body felt like stone.

Then Nicoletta was beside her, pulling her away and shouting for Ubertino. The manservant wrapped his arms around his master and bodily lifted the taller man from the bed, half dragging him away, nearly across the room, toward the fireplace.