The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen
Chapter Twelve
Ernest buried his face between his hands. “This cannot be,” he said.
Paul, his steward, squinted at the account book. “I assure you, Your Grace, that I am right. These are the correct numbers.”
Ernest glanced at the book. “We are spending twenty percent more on equipment for the horses than we did only six months ago. Can you explain that?”
“The smiths claim metal is more expensive to come by,” Paul said. When Ernest looked up at him, the lad met his gaze unflinchingly
Ernest sighed. Was Paul lying? If he was, he was a very good liar. But how were these numbers supposed to be the real thing? Ernest could not say.
“How much do we have left?” Ernest said.
“Not enough,” Paul said. “The price of commodities are rising at an alarming rate, Your Grace,” Paul said, his gaze on the account books.
“How long do you think the money in our coffers will last?” Ernest asked.
“For the next four months, if we go on a tight budget.”
“But money is coming in every month, is it not?” Ernest asked.
“Not enough, Your Grace,” Paul said bluntly. “Of course, we could always fix this problem by charging the tenants more in rent.”
“We are not doing that,” Ernest stated. The people were having a hard go of it. They didn’t need an uncaring duke siphoning every last penny they made.
“Be that as it may, Your Grace,” Paul said, “But we need to find other sources of income, and fast. The ball is coming up, and that is no small feat.”
“I see,” Ernest said, staring down at the books. He had gone through them at length, and he still had not found a reason as to why money appeared to be leaking out of the manor. He vowed to himself that he would go through the books again. Something was going on, he was sure of it. If only he knew what it was.
“You can leave now,” he told Paul, and the young man bowed before he walked out of Ernest’s study.
Ernest sat down on his chair, feeling worse than ever He had been duke for two years now, ever since his father died, and this year was the hardest yet. His father had done his best to put Ernest through his paces while he had been alive, but Ernest had quickly realised that there was a difference between watching his father rule a manor and ruling a manor himself.
Things were going quite bad, Ernest thought, especially this year. He did not know how to increase the manor’s profits without exploiting the tenants. Inadvertently, he thought of what his father would do. His father had been a hard man—a man who was fair and just, but who also recognised the need to raise rent when needs arose.
Ernest shook his head. For once, he did not want to do what his father had. He was going to find a way, he was sure of it. For now, he had to hope that the next planting season would be a good one.
He wondered again about Paul. Christiana had seemed to think that the lad was not being truthful, and Ernest had to admit he was not quite sure himself. He made a mental note to investigate Paul as soon as he could.
Perhaps the next time he looked at the books, he could do it with Christiana in tow.
As the thought of Christiana crossed his mind, Ernest felt an inexplicable warmth in his belly. He cast his mind back to the day before, to their walk on the castle grounds, and their kiss after. It had been the best afternoon he’d ever had in his life; he was certain of it. As he got to know more about Christiana, he found out he was more and more taken with her. She was smart, loving, caring. She was everything he could ever want in a wife.
When she had first begun to ask about the tenants, he had been slightly suspicious. He had been sure she had been pretending to care. Perhaps she wanted a new gown and she thought buttering him up like a toast would be the way to get it. But he had been wrong. She had cared, and the suggestions she had put forward were smart and insightful.
He had never thought he would be lucky enough to be one of those noblemen who had a wife that was actually smart enough to run the household alongside their husband. But, after their talk yesterday, Ernest realised he had been quite wrong in that regard. Christiana was the smartest woman he’d ever met. He had known she was smart, of course, with her sarcastic comments and snappish tongue, but she also seemed to have knowledge of other things besides insults. This was especially surprising, considering the wife he’d thought he was saddled with. The former Christiana had been none of these things.
Her change was the best thing that had happened to their marriage.
He would look over the books with her, he decided. He was certain she would find something he hadn’t. Also, he knew how pleased it would make her. Her comments the day before about duchesses doing precious little but wearing beautiful gowns and eating nice meals impressed on him how bored she must be. Of course, he had always thought his wife would get on with his sister swimmingly, and they would perhaps spend their days ensconced in their little bubble, gossiping away happily. But Ernest admitted he would much rather have a wife who would be an asset to have around the house than one who was only interested in gossiping.
He reflected on what she had said about giving the poorest people in town a little more grain. He smiled to himself. The only fault with that suggestion was that he had not thought of it himself. An action like that would be sure to boost morale, would convince the common people that he cared about his people and his responsibilies toward them. That was an important gesture, particularly in times like this.
He looked up, staring at nothing in particular. Christiana was the perfect wife, really. He had spent a month thinking he would be miserable in his marriage forever, but he had been wrong. He had a wife that was smart, pretty, and funny. He smiled now, remembering their casual banter from the day before. Except for his sister, he had never traded so many words with a woman before, and Christiana had made it fun. As he sat there alone in his study, he was suddenly seized with the urge to go to Christiana in her chambers, just to talk to her. He liked talking with her.
He wouldn’t even mind if they didn’t kiss.
At the thought of their kiss, Ernest felt a tightening in his groin. That kiss.
It was even better than the last one, he thought. It had been only a kiss, but Ernest had felt like it was much more. It had been a delight, holding her in his arms, having his tongue in her mouth. He had wanted to strip her gown off right there and then, not caring how many servants and stable boys might be watching. He had wanted to delve into her and explore her sweet, warm wetness.
But Christiana did not appear to want that. He had seen the look in her eyes when she saw the bulge in his breeches. She seemed to have enjoyed the kiss, though, but Ernest could not tell why she was not at least slightly eager to take things a step further. Ernest was beginning to suspect there was something else to the story.
A thought suddenly struck him.
What if she was not a maiden after all? Perhaps she had dallied with some lowborn man at her father’s manor, and didn’t want the truth to be revealed by sleeping with him. It was not unheard of for highborn ladies to let their passion get the better of them and end up losing their virtue to men they were not married to.
Ernest exhaled sharply. He did not know what he would do in that situation. Of course, he would not embarrass his wife by spreading the news, but he did not know what he would think of her. Perhaps she had loved the man she’d bedded, he thought, and he felt a painful prick at his heart. He did not want to think of Christiana with other men. Perhaps it had been just a momentary night of passion, and she had regretted it afterwards. That thought did not soothe him much either, though.
Ernest sighed. He was letting his imagination run wild. For all he knew, she was only shyer than the average maiden, and he had nothing to worry about.
The door to his study creaked open, interrupting his thoughts.
He looked up to see his sister. She was dressed in a frail yellow gown, her black hair unplaited and unbound, falling over her shoulders.
“Sister,” he said. “How are you?”
She shrugged as though to say she was fine. “How is the running of the estate coming along?” she asked.
“Fine,” he said shortly. He would not bore her with things she cared little of. Inexplicably, he thought of Christiana’s interest the day before, and his heart warmed.
“How is your darling wife?” Rebecca asked.
Ernest looked up, a warning on his lips, before he realised something. There was no trace of sarcasm in Rebecca’s voice.
Ernest’s brows furrowed. Did his sister really mean her question?
Rebecca appeared to read his mind. “Don’t look so shocked, brother,” she said. “She is my sister-in-law, after all.”
Ernest raised his brows. “You seem more receptive towards her than you have since we wed,” he said.
Rebecca shrugged again. “Your wife’s accident appears to have really changed her. I overheard her asking a maid if she needed any help. And for some reason, I do not think she was putting on a show.”
Ernest’s eyes widened. Had Christiana really done that? He knew she had changed a lot, but he did not think she had changed so much that she no longer overlooked servants.
“Perhaps it is time to accept her apology, Rebecca,” Ernest told his sister.
His sister gazed at him coolly. “How do I know your wife is not merely going through shock after experiencing such a traumatic event? For all I know, she could be back to her normal, unpleasant self over the next few days.”
Ernest paused. He did not want to think of that happening. Since Christiana arrived, they had made a lot of progress in their marriage. But was what Rebecca said a possibility? Could Christiana merely be suffering from the after-effects of the incident? Ernest would not know what to do if Christiana suddenly returned back to her usual cold self.
“That cannot happen,” he said, more to himself than his sister. “Christiana is turning over a new leaf. I hope you would not try to undermine her progress.”
“Please, brother,” Rebecca replied. “As if I ever would. Your wife is the main cause of our estrangement. If I watch her for a few more days and see she is quite genuine, perhaps I’ll give her a chance.”
Ernest nodded. He could settle for that. “It is my wish that you both become friends,” he said.
“I wanted that as well,” Rebecca replied. “If you remember, I reached out to your darling wife the moment she set foot in this manor. It is rather cold and lonely within these walls, especially when all a person does is embroider. But she was persistently rude.”
Ernest’s heart went out to his sister. She had really tried, he knew. “I’m sorry. And she’s better now,” he said.
“You’re right,” Rebecca said. “It would be hard to forgive all of what she has said and done, though.”
“Forgiveness does not come easily,” Ernest said. “But I think it might be easier than you think. Christiana is like a whole different person. Perhaps being in a new home frightened her.”
“And sharpened her tongue and increased her knowledge of insults?” Rebecca asked. “I don’t think so, brother. Your wife was a very unpleasant woman. Perhaps you’re just too besotted with her to see the truth.”
Ernest narrowed his eyes at his sister. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I saw you out there on the grounds, kissing for all to see,” Rebecca said, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “It was quite pleasant, if not utterly unexpected. Last I knew, she had barred you from entering her chambers.”
Ernest felt a flicker of shame. He shouldn’t have kissed her out there, he knew. But he had gotten the same urge he now always seemed to get around Christiana, this inability to control himself. The stable boys and servants would have a lot to gossip about now, he thought wryly. He looked at his sister’s face, despising the smile playing at the corner of her lips.
To hell with them, he thought suddenly. He was the duke, and his wife was the duchess. They could kiss anywhere they damn well wanted.
“I’m glad we gave you a pleasant show,” Ernest told Rebecca.
Rebecca gave a mock bow. “I suppose that very soon I shall have some little nieces and nephews playing around the manor. I’m happy for you indeed, brother.”
Ernest gave a tight smile. He didn’t know about that.
Again, Rebecca appeared to read his thoughts. “She seems to be a nicer, gentler person, brother. She will invite you to share her bed any day now.”
The last thing Ernest wanted to do was discuss bedding his wife with his sister. Turning away, he said, “I have work to do, Rebecca. Perhaps you can discuss this at length with Christiana?”
Rebecca swung back as though she had been pushed. “I’d rather not, brother,” she said with a shudder. “I’m still mulling over forgiving her.”
“Rebecca, you know as well as I do that you’re going to forgive her. The sooner you do this, the better for you, because you can have all the company you want in Christiana.”
An uncertain look flitted past Rebecca’s face. “I suppose you’re right, brother,” Rebecca said. “Still, it would be nice to make her wait. I imagine no one ever does.”
With a curtsy, she left the study.
Ernest sighed. He leaned back on his chair, listening to the retreating steps of his sister. He hoped she would listen to him. Rebecca had been lonely for so long, and getting along with his wife would ease some of that loneliness. Ernest was certain of that.
He wished he was more certain of when exactly Christiana would invite him to her bed. Time was ticking, and they needed to make heirs. But, he admitted to himself, that was not the only reason he was eager to bed her. He wanted to bed her, not just because it was his duty, but because he ached to feel her under him. Especially for the past few days. His wife had awoken whole new sensations to him.
He shook his head. Even though she was his wife, he felt more than a little strange about entertaining these thoughts, particularly about a woman who did not yet want him. He pushed the thoughts aside as his gaze fell onto the account book.
He started to browse through the book, flipping pages as his eyes focused from time to time on some of the numbers. However, he found out that he couldn’t focus. He was thinking of—
Hell,he was thinking of Christiana.
She had come to him the day before, and a part of him had been hoping she would do the same today. But, it was past midday, and she still wasn’t here. Perhaps she thought he might be busy, or thought it might be too forward if she requested his attention on two consecutive days, particularly if she had yet to let him into her bed.
He had to go to her himself.
An idea suddenly seized him, and Ernest reacted to it immediately. He reached for a spare sheet of paper and a quill, and started to write.