Read The Duke's Disaster (R) for Free Online Page B

dignified, or she was when awake. Now, she was curled against his chest, her hair tickling his nose as her breath fanned past his neckcloth. She’d fought the lure of sleep, and he’d feigned slumber himself for a good thirty minutes before he’d felt her gradually succumb to fatigue.
    Thea wasn’t as substantial a woman as he’d thought, not physically. Her dignity was substantial, her posture militarily erect, her presence as contained as the Queen’s on a public occasion. But beneath his hands, her bones were delicate, and in his arms, she felt soft, feminine, and womanly.
    Good qualities in a new wife, but disconcerting for being unexpected.
    Noah had suggested they rest mostly because Thea had looked tired to him, and a tired female could be fractious, regardless of her species. Fractiousness did not bode well for the wedding night, which could set the tone for their intimate dealings for decades to come.
    If need be. Noah had meant what he’d said about getting heirs, and then leaving his duchess in peace. He wouldn’t keep a mistress until that time either, though absolute fidelity would likely be beyond him. He was a Winters, as much as he tried to ignore that legacy.
    Noah untangled a strand of Thea’s hair from her lips—his duchess had a lovely mouth.
    She’d appreciate discretion, were he to stray. When he strayed.
    Every husband owed his wife discretion, just as she owed the same to him, once the requisite progeny were safely thriving. The idea of another man braiding Thea’s hair did not exactly appeal, though; probably an artifact of the morning’s vows.
    The new Duchess of Anselm had lovely hair, thick, silky, fragrant, and shining, another unexpected aspect of Noah’s bride. His thoughts continued to racket about, until the coach passed through the estate village two miles from his main gates.
    “Wife?” Noah brushed his lips near Thea’s ear. “Duchess? Araminthea? ”
    That got her attention. Thea pushed up sleepily, her hand braced on Noah’s thigh in a location she might not have chosen were she more alert.
    “Hmm?”
    “We’ve almost reached Wellspring. Best get put to rights. The staff will be formed up in the hall.”
    “Gads.” She straightened, leaving a curious lack of warmth in her wake. “I slept like the dead.”
    “I rested as well. Our nuptials were a taxing performance. Here.” He adjusted one of her hair combs. “That’s better.”
    “Your neckcloth is off center.” Thea tidied Noah up as casually as one of his sisters might have.
    “Where does a lady’s companion learn to put a gentleman’s cravat to rights?” he asked.
    If he hadn’t been watching her, he might have missed the slight flaring of her eyes, the minute pause in her hands.
    “Tending to her orphaned little brother. There, you’re presentable, at least in dim light.”
    * * *

    “My thanks, Duchess.”
    Thea’s husband had the knack of making two words sound anything but grateful. Still, Thea was appreciative of Anselm’s steady arm, of his ease with his dutifully assembled staff. He said something complimentary about each of the dozen or so indoor servants lined up in the entrance hall, but didn’t tarry unnecessarily. The help was in good health, well attired, and cheerfully sincere in their welcome to her.
    A heartening contrast to the Earl of Grantley’s household.
    And then the duke excused himself, promising to see Thea again “shortly.” He bowed politely to her once she was ensconced in the chambers set aside for the lady of the house, and ordered a tray for her, as well as a bath.
    When she’d partaken of a little food, and too much wine, Thea climbed into the largest tub she’d ever seen. She sank into the steaming water, there to try to compose the words she’d use to tell her new husband what manner of bride he’d married.
    As she had finished drying herself and donned a nightgown and robe, she heard the door to her sitting room open and close, and the duke’s voice,