The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(39)

“If I stole your life, what did you do to mine? You disappeared, leaving all the world wondering where you’d gone. Imagining that I might have driven you away.”

She turned away again. “You did drive me away.” It was a lie, but she said it anyway, hoping it would hurt him.

Silence fell, and she ignored it, refusing to look at him, even when he said, “I worried you were dead. The doctors told me you might die. Do you have any idea how it felt to know you might have died?”

She did not hesitate. “I can only imagine you met the possibility with hope, considering you already had such a clear plan to replace me.”

She expected many responses to the smart retort—anger, sarcasm, dismissal. She received pure, unfettered honesty. “I never wished you dead.”

The words sent a wash of embarrassment through her before she could stop it. Even as she resisted the idea of allowing him to embarrass her. “No,” she said. “Only gone. So, let them come. And I shall give you what you wish. With pleasure.”

Only then did she realize that a small part of her wished he would acknowledge it, the fact that he’d breathed a sigh of relief on the day she’d disappeared. He did not.

“After you left, I—” He stopped, then began again. “That last day, when—” He stopped the moment Sera closed her eyes against the words and the memory that came with them. The keen sense of loss. The child she could not forget. The future she had lost. The love. She should have thanked him for stopping, but he did not give her time, instead changing tack. Repeating himself. “I never wished you dead.”

She knew that, of course. “You made me angry.” It was the closest she would come to apologizing for lashing out at him.

Malcolm laughed then, the sound low and full of charm, just as she remembered. “I’ve always done that rather well.”

She couldn’t help her answering smile. “That much is true.”

“Come riding with me,” he repeated himself. “Before the others arrive.”

He said “the others” as though it were perfectly normal that a passel of young women was about to descend to vie for the role of duchess—the role she currently held. She shook her head once more. He was too tempting, even now. Even when she knew the way this ended.

“I could insist,” he said. “Make it a condition of the divorce.”

“You could,” she replied. “But you shan’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I don’t want to. And you won’t force it.”

“I forced you to come here and find your replacement.”

“Which benefits us both. But spending time with you is a fool’s errand. We’ve always liked each other too much in the moments, Malcolm. And they were never enough to make up for how we hurt each other.”

He looked away, out the window, and she silently begged him to leave her. He didn’t. Instead, he said, all calm, “We cannot ride, anyway.”

She followed the direction of his gaze to the spot in the distance where a carriage appeared, massive and black like a summer beetle, pulled by four matching horses and a pair of matched outriders. Her heart began to pound. “The first arrives.”

The words were barely out when a second carriage turned into the long drive. “And the second.”

Seven more vehicles trundled down the drive, black and serious, like mourners at a burial plot, and Sera turned to her husband. “Do they all know each other? Or are they exceedingly punctual?”

He cut her a look. “I assure you, I had no intention of the day beginning at seven o’clock in the morning.”

“Then they’ve consulted each other on arrival time.”

He harrumphed at the words. When she raised an inquisitive brow, he added, “More likely, the mothers knew that the early bird gets the worm.”

Sera couldn’t help her smile. “Well, Your Grace, you must admit, you are a terribly plump worm.”

He ignored her. “But why eight carriages? I only invited four.” His confusion turned nearly instantly to horror. “Dear God. You don’t think they brought sisters as well, do you?”

“They wouldn’t dare. Sisters are my weapon. These girls shall need to find their own.”

“Is that what this is? Battle?”

She cut him a look. “It’s marriage, Duke. Of course it’s a battle.”

One side of his mouth kicked up. “It always was with us.”

She turned away at the soft words. “From the very start.” She watched the line of coaches approach. “The second carriages come with assorted necessities. Our belongings should arrive today, as well.”

His brows knitted together. “It’s the largest and best appointed home in Britain. Are they afraid I shan’t feed them?”

“No. They’re afraid you won’t have ladies’ maids who are expert coiffeuses. And that you shan’t have dozens of perfectly tailored evening gowns. And shoes. And underthings.”

“They’re correct about that.”

“Of course they are. You’re a bachelor. This home requires . . . feminization. Which is one of my tests for your . . . let’s settle on suitesses for the time being.”

“It most certainly does not require feminization.” She’d never heard him so affronted. “And you have tests?”