“Due to no fault of your own, of course,” he said politely.
She wished they would just abandon artifice. No one would look at her, uncomfortable in this fashionable dress, with her spectacles and plain bun, and think that she had the potential to be anything but a dowd. She would not have been offendedif he’d said so; she’d never found offense in the truth, if it was delivered without malice.
Yet here they were, skirting around their true feelings with polite observations that meant nothing.
What else did you expect?a small voice demanded in the back of her head.This was never anything but a marriage of convenience.
Perhaps she only disliked it so much because her father had never been polite to her.
Discomfited, she turned to the window and watched as the countryside passed by. Every so often, the duke hissed a breath that sounded very much like pain, but out of politeness—how much she detested the word—she drew no attention to it.
They did not speak for the remainder of the journey.
Chapter Six
Christiana was notsurprised to see that when they arrived at the posting inn, the duke had reserved a private parlor. The room was small but comfortable, with a table with refreshments in the center and an unnecessary fire crackling merrily in the hearth. The air was stifling.
Christiana removed her gloves as she walked to the window, hoping to open it for some fresh air, only to find it painted shut. “Well,” she said. “I suppose we now know what a visit to the tropics might be like.”
The duke observed her for a moment before lowering himself into a chair. “I’ve heard the tropics are a trifle damper.”
“Is anywhere damper than England?”
“Perhaps not in terms of rainfall.” He sighed as he rested his hands across his stomach, still gloved despite the proximity of the fire. A reflection of the flames danced across the painted wood of his mask, now once again in place.
“You know, there is no need to wear your mask and gloves when there are merely the two of us here,” she said.
“I wouldn’t want to upset the staff.”
“So you will put your own comfort behind that of theirs?”
The visible side of his jaw clenched, and although his brown eyes had seemed remarkably mild thus far, a hard light entered them. “It brings me no comfort to see their disgust, Christiana.”
She gritted her teeth to prevent herself from saying anything else that might offend him. After a moment, she nodded tightly. “Of course, Your Grace.” Partially to distract herself, she poured herself wine from a carafe, and sipped it, wincing at its vinegary flavor.
“I ought to have warned you,” the duke said, drawing a hand over his eyes. “The wine here is very poor. I recommend the ale, if you have anything.”
She placed the glass back on the table. “I doubt a lady ought to have ale.”
“Do you put so much stock in being a lady?” He raised his brows in challenge. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon told me about your proclivity for gambling.”
She flushed, though more in anger than in shame. “If you think I am about to step into my father’s shoes and—”
He held up a hand. “If I thought that, I would not have consented to the wedding.” He examined her for another long minute, and she disliked the way he made her feel as though someone had put her in a display case. As though she were nothing more but a fancy brooch or snuffbox. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon also told me you frequently won.”
Christiana lowered herself into a chair and picked up the wine again, mostly for something to do. “She was correct.”
“Why did you take such steps to visit the Lyon’s Den when you were a mere girl?” He frowned, and she knew he was wondering at the doormen for having let them in. But they had been wearing veils, and although Christiana knewnowthat Mrs. Dove-Lyon had been aware of everything that had gone on in her establishment, at the time she had been wildly overconfident.
“I enjoyed the thrill of it,” she said at last. “Laura—that is, Miss Crawford—used to watch me play.” While Laura flirted with any enterprising gentleman who caught her attention, which was most of them. When it came to flirtation, Laura was not choosy.
Which is what made her fixation with this groom so odd. Marrying a stableboy when she had flirted with half of London?
Then again, what could Christiana judge when she had agreed to sell herself into marriage—all to save her father from destitution?
Her stomach turned.
“I’m not hungry, Your Grace,” she said, standing. “I would like to retire and—”