The Inconvenient Duchess

rush. She would legally belong to him in twenty-four hours. It was highly unlikely that he was planning to storm into her room tonight and take her.
    She laid her hand on the doorknob. It would be locked, of course. She was being foolish. Her future husband had revealed nothing that indicated a desire for her now, or at any time in the future. He’d seemed more put out than lecherous at the thought of imminent matrimony and the accompanying sexual relations.
    The doorknob turned in her hand and she opened it a crack before shutting it swiftly and turning to lean against it.
    All right. The idea was not so outlandish after all. The door to the hall was locked against intruders and the way wasclear for a visit from the man who would be her lord and master. She was helpless to prevent it.
    And she was acting like she’d wasted her life on Minerva novels, or living some bad play with a lothario duke and a fainting virgin. If he’d been planning seduction, he’d had ample opportunity. If there were any real danger, she could call upon St John for help.
    But, just in case, she edged the delicate gold-legged chair from the vanity under the doorknob of the connecting room. Remembering the duke, the width of his shoulders, and the boundless depths of his temper, she slid the vanity table to join the chair in blocking the doorway. Then she climbed back in the bed, pulled the covers up to her chin and stared sleeplessly up towards the canopy.

    Marcus woke with a start, feeling the cold sweat rolling from his body and listening to the pounding of his heart, which slowed only slightly now that he was awake and recognised his surroundings.
    Almost ten years without nightmares, since he’d stayed so far away from the place that had been their source. He’d been convinced that they would return as soon as he passed over the threshold. He’d lain awake, waiting for them on the first night and the second. And there had been nothing.
    He’d thought, after his mother’s funeral, they would return. Night after night of feeling the dirt hitting his face and struggling for breath. Or beating against the closed coffin lid, while the earth echoed against the other side of it. Certainly, watching as they lowered his mother into the ground would bring back the dreams of smothering, the nightmares of premature burial that this house always held for him.
    But there had been nothing but peaceful sleep in the lasttwo months. And he’d lulled himself with the idea that he was free. At least as free as was possible, given the responsibilities of the title and land. Nothing to fear any more, and time to get about the business that he’d been avoiding for so long, of being a duke and steward of the land.
    And now the dreams were back as strong as ever. It had been water this time. Probably echoes of the storm outside. Waves and waves of it, crashing into his room, dragging him under. Pressing against his lungs until he was forced to take the last liquid breath that would end his life.
    He’d woken with a start. Some small sound had broken through the dream and now he lay in bed as his heart slowed, listening for a repetition.
    The communicating door opened a crack, and a beam of light shot into his room, before the door was hastily closed with a small click that echoed in the silence.
    He smothered a laugh. His betrothed, awake and creeping around the room, had brought him out of the dream that she was the probable cause of. He considered calling out to her that he was having a nightmare, and asking for comfort like a little boy. How mad would she think him then?
    Not mad, perhaps. It wasn’t fear of his madness that made her check the door. Foolish of him not to lock it himself and set her mind at rest. But it had been a long time since he’d been over that threshold, and he’d ignored it for so long that he’d almost forgotten it was there.
    He smiled towards his future bride through the darkness.
    I know you are there. Just the other side of the door. If I listen, I can hear the sound of your breathing. Come into my room, darling. Come closer. Closer. Closer still. You’re afraid, aren’t you? Afraid of the future? Well, hell, so am I. But I know a way we can pass the hours until dawn. Honour andvirtue and obligation be damned for just a night, just one night.
    Too late, he decided, as he heard the sound of something heavy being dragged across the carpet to lean in front of the unlocked door. He stared up at the canopy of his