She smiled at him, and August found himself unreasonably annoyed by the exchange.
“Good morning, My Lady,” August called from the study threshold.
She looked up, instantly composed. “My Lord.”
Denton withdrew, barely suppressing a sigh.
August gestured her into his study. She followed, wiping her hands on the edge of the towel. She did not look ashamed or even contrite. She looked, if anything, invigorated.
He shut the door and faced her.
“You left a note,” he began.
“Yes,” she replied, as if that solved everything.
He waited for an explanation. None arrived.
He tried again. “Is it your habit to disappear before breakfast?”
“Is it your habit to interrogate your wife upon her return?” Eliza replied, voice even.
He stiffened. “I merely wished to ensure your safety.”
“Am I in danger on your estate, My Lord?” She set the towel aside, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Not from anything but the mud,” he retorted.
“I am well accustomed to mud. And to being alone.” Her voice was quiet but not defeated.
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the day unravel. “We have not been married a week, Eliza. If you plan to despise me, could you at least wait until we have hosted our first dinner?”
This got a smile out of her, albeit a small and fleeting one. “I do not despise you.”
“Then what is it?” He paced, the carpet bearing the brunt of his impatience. “You treat me as if I am the enemy when all I have done is—” he stopped short, uncertain.
“All you have done is rescue me from the jaws of scandal and bestow upon me a title I did not ask for,” Eliza supplied. “Forgive me if I require a day or two to acclimate.”
He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to dominate the room by sheer force of charm. It had always worked on others—why not on her?
She read his mind, or at least his face. “You are not required to entertain me. I prefer to entertain myself.”
“It is not about entertainment,” he said. “It is about… appearances.”
Eliza’s arms crossed, chin tilting up a fraction. “You wish for me to parade through the house at all hours, looking adoring? That is not the arrangement as I understood it.”
He laughed, a rough, unscripted sound. “No. I suppose it is not.”
They regarded one another, neither yielding.
She finally said, “Do you require my schedule, My Lord? Or should I simply leave a daily itinerary with Mrs. Finch?”
He should have seen the trap, but he fell straight into it. “A simple notice will suffice.”
“Very well,” she said. “Tomorrow, I shall walk east. Day after, north. You may draw a map if you wish.”
“Do not be absurd,” he replied, but she was already turning to the door.
She stopped with her hand on the knob. “I will not be managed, August. Not by you, not by anyone.”