“Perhaps you will introduce His Grace to the rest of the staff?” Theo suggested. “If I may have my pelisse, Maydrop.”

“The carriage is waiting, Your Grace,” he said with another bow. “However—”

James addressed himself to the butler. “You kept a carriage waiting even though you were aware that the duchess would be seeing her husband this evening for the first time in years?” His tone was not harsh but curious.

Maydrop bowed yet again. “Her Grace’s maid informed me that her mistress would attend the theater tonight.”

“So you didn’t picture us having a cozy evening at home, renewing our vows?” James asked Theo, turning back to her as if the butler were invisible.

“No.” Theo shrugged on her pelisse, a magnificent Parisian creation of silk brocade custom designed in the severe style she preferred.

“Who escorts you to the theater?”

“A long-married woman such as I need not worry about an escort. I have a standing invitation to join Lord Geoffrey Trevelyan—you do remember him, don’t you?—in his box. He’ll be surprised to see me, given the events of this afternoon, but I’m sure he won’t mind. I am sorry that I haven’t the time to greet Sir Griffin.”

She gave James something that approached a genuine smile, though it came in response to the anger in his eyes, rather than from her heart. It seemed that her husband didn’t like the information that Geoffrey and she remained friends. “Do give Sir Griffin my best, if you please.”

She dropped a curtsy and waited a moment, thinking James would bow, but he didn’t. So she turned toward the front door, which was flanked by two footmen who were not as skilled as Maydrop at concealing their fascination at this little marital drama.

Without the slightest warning, an arm caught her about the waist and twirled her so she stumbled back against a hard chest. James’s blue eyes glared down into hers. “My wife does not curtsy to me,” he said through clenched teeth.

Theo instinctively went as still as a rabbit in sight of a fox. “Unhand me, please,” she said.

James raised his head. “Out!”

With a little scuffle, the footmen trotted around them and through the baize door.

“I said out,” James said, glaring at Maydrop. The hoarseness in his voice was particularly noticeable if he was annoyed, Theo noted.

Maydrop managed to strike a tone at once firm and deferential. “If you’ll forgive me, Your Grace, I am Her Grace’s servant, and I would be loathe to leave her in any situation in which she might be uncomfortable.”

Theo stood in James’s embrace, trying to look unaffected by the muscled heat of his body. He seemed to believe she was desperate for a man, after all those years alone. It was a revolting thought. If there was one thing that had never tempted her, it was any sort of erotic encounter.

Or did he think that she had avoided adultery merely because no man wanted her, given her reputation for ugliness?

Only years of training herself to control emotion allowed her to maintain her poise. “I would be very grateful if you would free me,” she said, her voice icy.

He stared down at her, having seemingly dismissed Maydrop from his attention. “You are my wife,” he said, his voice low and rough. “At some point I’ll have you again, Theo.”

She refused to answer, though every cell in her body shrieked no. He must have seen it in her eyes, because he dropped a quick, hard kiss on her lips and let her free.

Theo ignored the way the touch of his lips weakened her knees. “Maydrop,” she said, “please be so kind as to inform Amélie to pack my belongings, as we will be leaving the house tomorrow morning.”

“The duchess is not going anywhere,” James said, not even looking at the butler.

“Your Grace,” Maydrop said, looking directly at Theo, “there is a situation outside of the house of which I must make you aware.”

“Situation?” Theo was breathing quickly, her whole body trembling with the urge to dash for the door.

“The newspapers,” Maydrop said, his tone distinctly anguished. “I’m afraid that the news of His Grace’s return has titillated their interest. There are men surrounding the house, and even attempting to scale the garden walls. I’ve had to post grooms in the garden to keep them from peering in the windows.”

“What a pity,” James said with a wicked grin. “It looks as if you can’t go to the theater tonight, Daisy.”

Theo glared at him. “I most certainly can. Maydrop, if you would have one of the footmen escort me to the carriage, I would be grateful.”

“Don’t be foolish,” James said. “They’ll put out special editions just to discuss your cruelty in leaving me alone my first night in London. Not to mention the fact that they’ll follow you to the theater like a flock of crows descending on a dead cow.”

“A dead cow,” Theo repeated.

“I must concur with His Grace’s appraisal,” Maydrop put in. “Any glimpse of either of you would exacerbate this unfortunate state of affairs. I’ve had to post a footman in the attic to make certain that no one climbs down into the servants’ quarters from the roof.”

Theo swallowed. She suddenly felt as if it was all too much. To her intense dismay, tears welled in her eyes.

“Right,” James said brusquely. Before she knew quite what was happening, he scooped her up in his arms and started tramping up the stairs.

Theo opened her mouth and then closed it again. There was something about being carried up the steps that felt very safe. “You mustn’t think you can make a habit of this,” she said about halfway up, deciding that she ought to protest.

“I will if I wish,” James stated. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

“I’m a person, not a possession,” Theo said, her temper flaring into life again. “You will what if you want? Toss me around like a sack of flour? Stroll back into the house and act as if you left a week ago? What makes you think that you can treat me so cavalierly?”

He looked down at her with a steady, unreadable gaze.

“I’m your husband, Daisy.”

“Theo,” she snarled, feeling stupid.

He nodded. “Theo. May I just mention that I do not find it pleasurable to address my wife by a man’s name?”

“No, you may not,” she said. James pushed open the door to her bedchamber with his shoulder, and then put her on her feet.

Then he backed up and gave her an easy smile. “Will you wear that gown to dinner?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“You look ravishing.” The compliment gave her an odd twist in her stomach. How could this man, who looked like a barbarian, be so urbane?

She hated it.

But she might wear the dress to dinner.

Twenty-six

James walked downstairs, but he couldn’t make himself return to the library. He didn’t want to write letters; he wanted to throw his wife onto the bed and slide a hand under the shimmering green thing she was wearing and . . .

He shook his head and readjusted his breeches. All things considered, he’d managed a decent imitation of Trevelyan, especially considering that he felt like a ragingly possessive pirate without a shred of sophistication to his name.