It had been sex, she told herself. And, because it had been just that, he had enjoyed it as much as she had. And it was enough. She would make it enough. But please, please let their relationship not revert now to the way it had been every other night. Let him not be satisfied simply to have proved a point to her. She had enjoyed every night and every early morning with him too, but from now she knew they would not be enough without this at least occasionally.
It was just sex, of course. But it was surely better than love, for there was too much turmoil, too much uncertainty, too much danger of heartbreak in love. There was only enjoyment to be had from sex.
She ignored a twinge of doubt as she closed her eyes and relaxed into the delicious languor that came after the exertions of sex.
This had been better than love.
* * *
When Chloe awoke sometime later, Ralph was gone from the bed though it was still full dark. He was not gone from the room, though. He was standing by the window with the curtains pulled back, and he was half dressed again in his shirt and pantaloons. His hands were on the windowsill, his shoulders slightly hunched.
“Ralph?” she said. It was chilling to see that he was dressed when there was still no sign of dawn.
He did not turn or say anything for a few moments. Then he sighed and spoke.
“We will be going to London next week, Chloe.”
“What?” Chloe sat up abruptly and clutched the covers to her naked breasts. But she knew she had not misheard.
“Next week,” he said, choosing the most trivial detail to repeat.
“You said we were to remain here,” she told him. “You promised me . . .”
He turned, leaned back against the sill, and crossed his arms. She could see him only as a dark silhouette, but he looked both impatient and menacing.
“But they are right,” he said. “My mother, my grandmother, all the rest of them. It is necessary that we go to town.”
“But you promised—”
“Everything has changed, Chloe,” he said harshly. “Can you not see that? It was naïve of us to plan our future as though we could go to Elmwood after our wedding and live in retired rural bliss there forever after. We knew my grandfather was well into his eighties. We knew he was infirm. We knew he was bound to die soon, even if we could not have predicted that it would be quite so soon. The whole reason for our marriage—on my part, anyway, and you were fully aware of it—was to secure the succession, and the whole point of doing that was that the dukedom matters. I would not have married otherwise—you or anyone else. The dukedom is more than an impressive title to attach to my name. It is an important office and brings with it duties and responsibilities. The Duke of Worthingham may not hide away in the country the way the Earl of Berwick with his courtesy title could have done. I ought to have taken that fact into consideration when I agreed that we would live in the country and ignore society and the London Season. I ought to have reminded you that we were free to live as we wished only until my grandfather died. The Duke of Worthingham will be expected to make his bow to the king and to be ready to take his place in the House when he is summoned. And, since he is a married man, he will be expected to make his appearance in society with his duchess at his side. Unfortunately the duke and duchess are not just impersonal entities. They are us. You and me.”
“You married to secure the succession,” she cried. “I married for other reasons. I married for a life of quiet domesticity, and you agreed that it would be so. It was a mutual bargain we made. You cannot change the rules now.”
“Rules?” He leaned a little more toward her. “Have you not heard a word I said? Are you quite as naïve as you sometimes seem? When have you ever known life to follow any rules we may try to impose upon the chaos? You knew whom you were marrying. You must have known that everything would change one day.”
“Your grandparents lived here for years,” she said. “They never seemed to believe it was their duty to spend the Season in London.”
“They were old,” he reminded her, “and they were thoroughly well established in their role. I am twenty-six years old. You are twenty-seven. We are novices. We have yet to establish ourselves, to prove ourselves worthy of the role for which fate has chosen us. There are duties associated with the privilege of rank and fortune, Chloe, and one of them is to mingle with our peers. I wish to God it were not so, but it is.”
“You may break a promise you made me, then,” she said, “in order to win the approval of people who mean nothing to you. Clearly I mean nothing to you.”
Even to her own ears there seemed to be something a bit childishly petulant in her outburst.
“What promises have I made?” He pushed away from the windowsill and turned back to the window. “I made marriage vows, which I intend to keep. You made marriage vows too, Chloe.”
“To obey you?” She scrambled up onto her knees and wrapped the top sheet about herself. She glared at his back. “You are going to enforce that, are you?”
She could hear his fingernails clicking on the sill.
“You made that vow, not me.” His voice was cold. “I did not see anyone twisting your arm or otherwise coercing you.”
“But you are going to coerce me into going to London.”
He whirled about and strode toward her. He did not stop until he was up the steps and leaning across the bed, braced on his forearms. His face was a few inches from her own. She clutched the sheet tighter and held her ground.