The Inconvenient Duchess

changing out of that dress you’re wearing, into something more appropriate for luncheon.’
    ‘No.’ She wrapped her arms around her body, as though afraid that Polly would snatch the hated dress off her body.
    Polly was looking at her as though she were mad.
    ‘I mean, I don’t want to change until we have a chance to unpack.’ And until I can figure out to whom these clothes belong , she thought miserably. The tags on the trunks were clearly marked for her. The directions were plain enough. Of course, they were marked with her title and her married name. Perhaps Marcus had found some woman’s unlabelled luggage and assumed that it must belong to her.
    Unlikely, she thought, examining the contents. The clothing was new; some of the dresses still had the basting stitches in the hems. It was a rushed job that the seamstresses could barely finish.
    She picked up a gold silk slipper with diamanté clips and tried it on her foot. It was very comfortable. She held the gown that matched it against her body and felt the hem brushing correctly at her feet.
    ‘Do you like them?’ Her husband was lounging against the doorframe between their rooms, and she noticed, for the first time, the resemblance between the brothers. His eyes followed her, hungry, and his smile was pure devilment. As though he’d entered the room without crossing the threshold and laid a hand against her skin.
    She stared at him without answering and Polly piped up, ‘Oh really, your Grace, they are the most splendid things. You’ll have every eye in the county on you when you walk out in this.’ She was swishing an apple-green day dress in front of her and listening to the crisp ruffles scrape against each other.
    ‘Glad they meet your approval, Polly. Run along now, and let me have a word with my wife.’
    The maid dropped a curtsy and disappeared with a giggle.
    Her husband crossed the threshold and moved towards her, sitting on her bed, looking even more masculine when surrounded by frills. ‘I trust you’ll be more comfortable,’ he said cryptically, ‘now that your things have arrived.’
    She spun to face him. ‘They’re not my things, and you know it full well.’
    He replied, ‘Of course they are yours. The trunks are labelled, and, if you notice, the tags in the gowns bear your name. Madame Souette in Bond Street. A very fine dressmaker and milliner.’ He touched the silk of a bodice. ‘You have exquisite taste.’
    ‘Is this what you’ve been doing for the last two weeks?’ she snapped. ‘Playing dolls at a dressmaker?’
    ‘Of course not. I left general instructions and she filled the order. It is hardly necessary for me to oversee every aspect of your wardrobe.’
    ‘I did not ask you to oversee any part of it.’
    ‘But clearly someone must. I notice, although you ran up considerable expenditures for household items and furnishings, and have insisted that I compensate even the lowliest scullery maid, you are wearing the same tired frock that you wore on the day we married.’ He walked around her in close scrutiny. ‘Although your hair is a vast improvement, and you no longer look as pinched and haggard. I could almost say that there are roses in your cheeks this morning. Country air must be agreeing with you.’
    She could feel the guilty flush on her face grow even more pronounced. ‘So you took your purse to London andbrought me back a wardrobe. And now what do you expect of me?’
    He leaned close and, as she pulled away her hand, brushed a collection of dainty lingerie. And she knew what he expected, what he would demand, what it would be his right to take when he chose.
    He leaned closer and he whispered into her ear, ‘I expect you to say, “Thank you for the lovely clothing”.’
    ‘Thank you, your Grace,’ she parroted back.
    He sighed. ‘Your gratitude overwhelms me. Try again. And this time, and in future, when you address me, I expect to hear my Christian name. I will have no more curtsying, no scraping and bowing like a servant before me. It pleases me to be able to look into your eyes when you speak to me.’ He twisted a curl between his fingers and she pulled away from him and glared into his eyes.
    ‘Thank you, Marcus, for the lovely dresses. And now, if you’ll excuse me?’ She gestured towards the door.
    ‘I’m dismissed, am I? Madam, I’m accustomed to my gifts being greeted with more enthusiasm. To win such mean thanks and a dismissal for a room full of presents? I’ve had