Page 85 of To Ensnare a Duke

CHAPTER 38

AUGUSTA

Ilook over at the sheets next to me and wrinkle my nose. Again, a crusty puddle of Portswell's seed stains the sheets. Somehow, knowing he's been spilling himself there and not on me makes it even worse. It's as if he refuses to even sully himself by proxy.

The morning's sun struggles to peek through the gray clouds matching my mood to perfection. Even though I gave myself a release again last night, it's becoming unsatisfying. Perhaps that's the duke's plan all along. Once I grow needy enough, I'll crawl to him, begging for his touch.

Well, if he can be stubborn, so can I. With a longing sigh, I run my hand over my arm. It's still not the same. And it's not the pleasure his rough touch brings but the intimacy that goes with it. I feel so very much alone here in this house with nowhere to go and no one to talk to.

True, the girls have sent missives, but as I can tell by reading between the lines, they seem to be under house arrest as well. It hurts knowing I caused that, but I also struggle knowing they each made their own decision. I shouldn't be the only one to blame when I wasn't even the one who suggested the outing in the first place.

With a weary sigh, I allow Lydia to get me ready for breakfast. There's no use getting dressed up, seeing as there will be nowhere to go once I'm done eating. It will be yet another day of aimless wandering and having the housekeeper assist me in being a duchess.

Though I never gave much thought to life as a duchess, once I trapped Portswell, I pictured endless balls, carriage rides, visits to the theatre, and so much more. Not to be confined to such a small footprint. I long to be free, to feel the wind whipping through my clothes and hair.

Hell, I long for my trousers, for the anonymity it gave me. Instead, I'm stuck with all this finery, but no purpose. I'm less than useless.

As I descend the stairs, I look for my husband, but find him curiously absent from the base. Normally, he's there waiting for me, doing his best to play the part of a doting husband. I'm not sure if anyone actually believes this charade, but they don't speak out against it.

Every day, my maid grabs the linen, making a point to ignore the mess left behind by my husband, and carries it away as if it's a normal occurrence. Perhaps the working class is just easier to fool. I was able to slip out unawares. Portswell was able to visit me with none the wiser.

Shaking my head, I make my way into the breakfast parlor and look for my husband. He's not there either. A frown mars my face as I look at the untouched meat, breads, and jams. An odd sensation curls in my gut as I walk back out and to the front door.

Instantly, the doorman is there, blocking my path. "Forgive me Madam. You are not allowed to leave."

I scowl at the man who looks not much older than me. "You do realize I am duchess of this house. Do you not?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Madam. I am under strict orders."

"And if I order you to move?"

"Please, Madam. I have a family to help feed. I-"

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "Do not concern yourself. I will not exit the premises. Your livelihood is intact. I'm not so heartless as to cause you such distress. Despite whatever the duke may have told you."

He sags for a moment, the relief palpable in the air. "He's said nothing but kind words about you, Madam. And I see that his assessment of you is correct."

Tears burn at my eyes, but I blink them away before they can fall. "Did he say why I cannot leave?"

"He conveyed to me that you understood. That your safety is at risk."

"Yes," I laugh, touching my head. "I just assumed the threat was over. Do you happen to know where my husband is?"

"His Grace has left to gather with the others at the House of Lords, Madam," the butler intones, striding up to us. "Is there anything I can assist you with in his stead?"

"No. Thank you. He simply left with no word, and I was concerned."

"He did not want to disturb your rest, Madam. Have you broken your fast yet?"

I smile at the older man while seething on the inside. The way he manages me leaves a foul taste in my mouth. It's bad enough I'm to obey an ogre of a husband, but I must bow to the whims of his butler too? I'm not a child though he cajoles me like one.

Resisting the urge to stomp all the way back to the breakfast parlor, I load up my plate with a few things and sit by myself. Though the house is relatively small to the one back in the country, it feels so large and empty with just me here. It's hard not to feel sorry for myself as I butter the bread and take a bite.

Tears clog the back of my throat, making it difficult to eat. But I choke it down, managing to not cry in front of the servants. What would they think of me? No doubt many others married to peerage must deal with their husbands leaving to take care of government matters.

Only for me, it feels personal.

"Blast," I cry out, stabbing my finger with the needle yet again.