His Unexpected Bride by Jo Ann Ferguson Page B

your room while you are here. I will have my own chambers on the far side of the hall. That will satisfy your fear about my encroaching upon your virtue, I assume.”
    â€œYes.” She was about to add more, then saw the intensity in his eyes. He wanted to pretend now that the kisses they had enjoyed last night had never happened, although she had been certain he would kiss her again if they had remained much longer in the hallway. That did not unnerve her as much as the discovery of how much she longed for him to kiss her again … and again.
    â€œThen you must stay here. Although it may not be to your liking, you are my wife, and it behooves me to take proper care of you until the proceedings are completed.”
    Tess nodded in resignation, but she wondered if a divorce would be as easy as he expected. If not, her life would be enmeshed with Cameron Hawksmoor’s for longer than either of them wanted.

Eight
    â€œMy lord, your—”
    A lanky form pushed Harbour aside from the doorway of the small parlor as if the servant had no more feelings than one of the velvet ottomans. Tess glanced at Cameron, who had been working on a letter to the solicitor while she had been writing a note of her own. She hoped Brenda Rappaport was in London. The woman who lived in the neighboring house of Tess’s late grandmother had always made Tess feel welcome. Would Mrs. Rappaport have some advice for her now?
    She folded the half-finished note and set it on the table beside her as she watched a man stride into the room as if it belonged to him. He smiled broadly and with obvious anticipation. His tousled, rabbit-brown hair had thinned to near extinction on his high forehead. His eyes were almost lost in the deep hollows of his face, and his expression pulled his thin lips into a parody of a grin.
    Tess did not flinch as his gaze settled on her. She met it evenly, but in silence. The elegant cut of the man’s dark coat and breeches bespoke a ready acquaintance with wealth and authority, yet they could not hide his spindly limbs. Bony hands emerged from the lace at the wrists of his sleeves. It was not a natural state for him, because his skin hung loosely on him. Mayhap he had been ill.
    â€œRussell, what are you doing here?” Cameron asked as he came to his feet, closing the letter he had been penning.
    Tess stared. This gaunt man was Cameron’s brother the duke? She looked again and saw only a passing resemblance. If Cameron had not spoken his brother’s name, she would not have guessed them to be related. Only their height and blue eyes were similar.
    The balding man smiled and held out his hand toward the door. A woman appeared by his side. Tess forced herself not to stare at a carrot-topped woman, whose full curves suggested too many chocolates and too little activity. The heavy paint on her face concealed her age but hardened every feature.
    â€œAre you going to forget your customary gentlemanly manners, Cameron? Come here and greet Isabel.” The duke’s scratchy voice resembled an unoiled shutter hinge being played with by the wind. “She is a very dear friend.”
    â€œVery dear,” seconded the garish woman. Her outrageous accent exposed her low class beginnings in one of London’s decrepit streets. Holding out her pudgy hand, she pushed it directly in Cameron’s face.
    Tess clenched her hands in her lap as she waited for the explosion of fury she could see tensing the muscles across Cameron’s jaw. She had not seen his anger explode, and she feared it would be fearsome. She could imagine no other reason why he struggled to keep all his emotions in check.
    â€œMiss—” Cameron glanced at his brother.
    â€œMiss van der Falloon.”
    Cameron almost smiled at the absurdly fancy name for this bit of fluff. He forced himself not to look at Tess. If she could not overcome her country manners and giggled at this ludicrous name, he feared he would lose