“That is fact.” He lowered his head until they were nearly nose to nose. “Where have you been going, Eliza?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“Everything about you is my concern. You are my wife.”
“In name only.”
The words hit harder than he expected. He drew back just enough to see her face properly. “Is that what you think? After what happened in the garden?”
“I do not know what to think.” Her voice had gone quiet, almost fragile. “You kissed me, and then I ran, and now ,you are interrogating me about ledgers and seamstresses and—” She broke off, shaking her head. “I do not understand what you want from me.”
“The truth.” He shifted closer again, drawn by something he could not name. “That is all I have ever wanted from you.”
“The truth about what? The money? The walks? The kiss?”
“All of it.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there. “Every secret you have been keeping from me since the day we married.”
Her breath came faster now, her chest rising and falling in a way that made it very difficult to remember what they had been discussing. “August, I?—”
He leaned in, watching the way her eyes went dark, the way her lips parted. He could smell the lavender soap she used, could feel the warmth of her body through the layers of fabric between them. It would be so easy to close the remaining distance. To kiss her again and damn the consequences.
“Tell me,” he murmured, his mouth hovering just above hers. “Or I shall be forced to extract the information by other means.”
“What other means?”
“I am certain I can think of something.”
He hovered there for another heartbeat, close enough that their breath mingled, close enough that all she had to do was lean forward.
Eliza’s heart threatened to beat straight through her ribs. August was going to kiss her again. She was certain of it. Could see the intent in his eyes, in the way his gaze kept dropping to her mouth, in the way his body angled toward hers.
She wanted him to. Wanted it with a ferocity that terrified her.
But then he pulled back, just a fraction, and the moment shattered.
“I need the truth, Eliza.” His voice had lost its teasing edge. “Please.”
The please undid her completely.
She closed her eyes and took a breath, trying to order her thoughts. He deserved the truth. Had deserved it from thebeginning, perhaps. But she had been so afraid he would think her foolish, or worse, that he would try to stop her.
“The orphanage,” she said finally, opening her eyes to find him watching her with an intensity that made her shiver. “I have been visiting the orphanage in the village. For years, even before we married.”
His brows drew together. “The orphanage.”
“I donate what I can from my pin money. Help with the children when they need extra hands. Read to them, teach the older ones their letters.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “When I became duchess, I wanted to do more. The building needed repairs, the roof was leaking, and the children had no proper blankets for winter. So I borrowed from the household accounts. Just until my allowance came through.”
August straightened, his expression unreadable. “You used the money for blankets.”
“And repairs. And food. They were running desperately low, and I could not bear to—” She stopped, her throat going tight. “The children have nothing, August. No parents, no prospects, no hope of anything better. The least I could do was ensure they did not freeze to death in their beds.”
He stared at her for a long moment, and she could not tell what he was thinking. Was he angry? Disappointed? Did he think her foolish for caring about children who had no connection to the Wildmoore family?
“Why did you not tell me?” he asked finally.
“Because it was mine. My project, my responsibility. I did not want you to feel obligated to help or to think I was asking for your charity.”
“You borrowed household funds without permission. That rather suggests you expected I would say no.”