Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(50)

And she’d lain in her bed night after night wondering—wondering and yearning.

Refusing to spend another moment debating with herself when the decision was already made, she glanced about her parlor and then dropped her needlepoint by her chair and walked out to the garden. It was almost full summer now, and the scent of the flowers was quite overwhelming. Staring up at the stars, she smiled to herself. It was going to be a beautiful day tomorrow—not like her first wedding, when it had rained and rained, torrents falling from the sky just as they left the church.

And yet that had been the best of days, John and she had laughed and teased and laughed again.

Nothing had mattered but that they were together.

“Here you are, girl. You do make it difficult.”

Louisa turned, expecting Swanston, but finding Mirth.

The duke walked down the graveled path toward her. He limped slightly, favoring one leg.

“Your grace.”

“I figured I’d better come and talk to you, as you don’t have a mother to do so, and I no wife to send.”

What? “I am afraid I do not understand, your grace.”

“I’ve always understood that it is traditional for a mother to talk to her daughter the night before the wedding—to explain just how these things work. I figured that as you don’t have a mother, I’d give you the talk.”

Oh dear. Did he really mean …? She rather thought he did. Luckily it was dark, and the deep crimson that surely stained her cheeks would not show. “It is my second marriage, your grace. My mother was there the first time, and I do believe that by this point I know what to expect.” She might not have learned it from either her mother or her husband, but that was beside the point at this moment. The talk with her mother had been dreadful; she could only hope the duke did not intend to put her through that again. “I am quite sure that I will not be shocked by anything that happens tomorrow evening.”

“Oh dear, I am not explaining myself well.” Mirth hobbled across and sat down on a low bench beneath the high arbor of roses. “Forgive me. I am afraid I twisted my ankle this afternoon. The tendons are weak, and it is a recurring problem.”

She was not even going to ask. “Can I get you something to rest your foot on? Some ice or cold water to soak it in? Perhaps bandages to wrap it?” Her own worries vanished in a moment as she was given a problem to resolve. “One of the footmen is most excellent with a bandage.”

“Don’t want to be a bother. It’s my own fault. I decided to play hoops with some children in the park. Had a great time running back and forth, until I stuck my foot in some type of burrow. Geoffrey would have chided me for acting the fool, but it was such fun.” The duke stared down at his swollen ankle.

“Do let me send for—”

“No. It will be better on the morrow. It always is. I promise not to disgrace you at the wedding.”

“I’ve not been worried about that.”

“No, but Geoffrey is. I think he’d forbid me to come if he could.”

“I am quite sure that you are wrong. He has never said anything to me about not wishing you there, and surely if he was going to talk to anyone it would be me.” Louisa was far from sure about that. In the week since she’d agreed to the marriage, they’d hardly talked about anything beyond her setting up the meeting with her man of business so that all the formalities could be taken care of and Swanston could have his funds right after the wedding.

That was the core of her worries. She could accept that Swanston was marrying her in part because he needed her money; she just couldn’t bear to think it might be the only reason. And he certainly wasn’t giving her any clues as to what he might really be feeling.

“I know the boy better than you do, if you forgive me for saying so.” The duke patted the seat beside him, gesturing for her to sit down.

With some reluctance, she did. “If you persist in calling him a boy, I’ll be quite convinced that you are wrong. Swanston is a man.”

“It’s good that you think so, and I do not deny it. My son is a man, an admirable man. I think I keep him a boy in my mind because it was all so much less complicated then—before he became a man who sees each of his father’s flaws and remarks upon them. I have not always been a good father, but I do try. It is why I am here.”

Louisa had never heard the duke so serious, even when he’d spoken of his dead wife.

“I am sorry. I know it cannot be easy.”

“No. It is not.” The duke shook himself and turned to face her. “But that is not why I am here.”

She had hoped they would not get back to this, that the idea of lecturing her on marital relations had been one of the duke’s passing fancies—and that it had passed. “It’s not?”

“No. I came to warn you about Geoffrey.”

“Don’t you mean warn me about what will happen? I assure you that I know quite what to expect, and I certainly do not fear it. I even believe it to be an important part of marriage.” There, that was about as much as you could say to your groom’s father. You certainly couldn’t say that you’d been up each night that week, dreaming of it, lusting for it.

“That is what I am afraid of. You see, Geoffrey is not a normal man.”

“Your grace.” She hoped her tone said exactly what she thought of that statement.