He knew it was society’s way for married couples to live separate lives, but this seemed to drift beyond acceptable standards. Roddy gritted his teeth and gazed out the window, deciding this was yet another prime example of how the wealthy, spoiled aristocracy did not appreciate the real treasures in their lives.

“I’m for home,” Benton announced as he threw down his losing hand of cards.

Peter Dawson smiled in appreciation and raked in the substantial pile of coins. “Are you sure you won’t play one more round?”

“No. I wish to leave before my pockets are totally empty.” Benton turned to Carter. “And what of you, Atwood? Are you done for the night? Ready to go home at last to your lovely bride?”

Carter felt his jaw twitch. It was uttered in jest, but the barb struck at the heart. Though nothing directly had been said, Carter knew his friends wondered why he was not at home with his wife, but instead spending all of his evenings, and most of his days, out with them.

In fact, his life was going on exactly as it had before he had married. Actually, a bit better, since he was no longer plagued by the duke to find himself a wife. So why didn’t he feel more content with the arrangement?

“Tell me, what is your opinion of love?” Carter asked.

The viscount paused in the act of putting on his coat, his expression curious. “Love of what? Drink? A new set of prime cattle? A pair of well-fitted, perfectly polished boots?”

“A woman,” Carter snorted. Perfectly polished boots, indeed.

Benton fell silent. “Dear God, don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with your wife?” he finally asked.

Carter shook his head. “No, but I fear she might fancy herself in love with me.”

Benton’s brow lifted skeptically. “There is little to fear. She is a reasonably intelligent creature, well, for a woman. She will come to her senses soon enough and realize her mistake.”

“Don’t listen to Benton,” Dawson interrupted. He stacked the deck of cards and left it in the center of the table. “I think it’s bloody marvelous. Lady Atwood is a fine woman. You deserve the happiness her love and affection will bring you.”

Was Dawson right? Should he just accept this gift of love and be content with it? But with love came the expectation of reciprocation, and therein lay the rub, for what Carter feared most was that he was incapable of loving her. Wholly, completely, the way she deserved.

She was his wife. He respected her. Adored her, really. They could build a solid, happy life together. It was what they agreed before they married, it was what they both wanted. And in his eyes, the volatile emotion of love seemed to threaten that stability.

Didn’t love take time to develop, time to grow? How could Dorothea be so sure, when he was so conflicted?

It made him feel weak and foolish not to know his mind, not to understand his own emotions. It made him feel unsure, unsteady, inept. He reasoned by keeping his distance from Dorothea these past few days, the problem would somehow sort itself out, the solution would become clear.

Alas, he had been wrong. Just because he refused to confront the dilemma did not mean it did not exist.

The biggest irony of all was that he cared for her too much, respected her too much to declare an undying love until he was certain it was what he truly felt.

Carter jerked to his feet. He signaled for his coat to no one specifically and a servant raced off to fetch the garment. The three friends parted ways outside the gaming club, entering their respective carriages. Carter’s mood was reflective on the ride back to the duke’s mansion.

The hour was late when he arrived home. Carter dismissed his valet the moment he entered the bedchamber. Dunsford had a hovering, fussy air about him tonight that Carter found particularly annoying. The valet left in a snit, and a few moments later there was a soft knock.

Carter turned toward the door, ready to bellow at his servant to stay the hell away, when the interior door to the shared sitting room opened and Dorothea glided into the room.

She was dressed for bed in a long blue satin nightgown that dipped low in front, exposing the plump roundness of her lovely breasts. Her hair was unbound, floating around her shoulders in a shimmering golden wave.

Carter’s groin tightened at the sight of her delicate, sensual beauty. He was hard before she made it halfway into the chamber.

“Forgive my intrusion.” Her hand went to her throat and he could see the slight trembling of her hand. “I waited up to tell you that I will be leaving in the morning. I’m going to visit my sister Gwen and will most likely spend a day or two with her and Jason.”

It took a moment for Carter to wrap his brain around her words. She was leaving him? No, that wasn’t what she said. She was visiting her sister. Gwendolyn. The pretty woman with the very pregnant belly. He slowly regained his breath. “Is there any news of her child?”

Her eyes widened as though she was surprised he remembered. “The baby is due to arrive at any time. Emma writes that Gwen is very cross and weepy and Jason is nearly out of his mind trying to hide his worry and keep her distracted.”

“It sounds as if you are needed.”

“I am.” She nodded her head. “Yet I confess it will also help me to feel useful.”

Her comment rankled, for it implied she felt useless here. His fault? Probably. “I’ll take you,” he said gruffly.

“There is no need. The duke has put his carriage at my disposal. The journey takes no more than a few hours, so his coachman and equipment will return in the same day. I can send word if I need transportation back to London, though I imagine my brother-in-law will be pleased to have me use his vehicle.”

Her independent, self-sufficient attitude irritated Carter. Which was ridiculous, since he had been the one to foster it upon her by his neglect.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said impulsively, fighting to keep his smile from turning predatory.

She lowered her gaze and her cheeks reddened. “My monthly courses are just ending.”

Ah, so that question was answered. He had wondered, but didn’t want to ask if she was carrying their child. The duke would be angry, but Carter didn’t care. Dorothea wasn’t breeding and he felt a rush of relief. Pregnancy was dangerous business for a woman.

“That doesn’t matter, especially since you are at the end of your cycle. We can be inventive.” He smiled coaxingly, but then noticed the shadows of exhaustion around her eyes, the fine lines of tension etched on her lovely face. Clearly she was tired, and here he was acting like a perfect ass. “Or we could just sleep together.”

“You wouldn’t mind having me in your bed just to sleep?”

His throat suddenly felt too tight to speak. Lord, he was a bounder if his wife believed he only wanted her around to satisfy his sexual urges.

“Come to bed, Dorothea.” He held out his hand.

For an instant she didn’t move. Then she drew in a long sigh and came close, stopping in front of him. “I have missed you, Carter.”

Her simple truth cut him deep. He might not be capable of loving her with the devotion and intensity she deserved, but he could show her that he did care. He could be kinder, more considerate toward her. It was the very least she deserved.

He blew out the candles and helped her into his bed. Tossing off his shirt and breeches, he climbed naked between the sheets and cradled her in his arms. Darkness surrounded them, forming a cocoon of peace. Carter kissed her temple and she snuggled close.

And in that moment, Carter knew a deep sense of peace. No matter what the state of their relationship, she belonged to him. She was his to hold and protect, to comfort and encourage. And that pleased him mightily.

Chapter Sixteen

Dorothea had not expected calm when they arrived at Jason and Gwendolyn’s home, which lay on the outskirts of London, a four-hour drive from the center of the city. She knew from her sister Emma’s letters that it had been tense and difficult as a moody, oftentimes weepy Gwendolyn neared the end of her confinement and the birth of her child.

Children, Dorothea corrected herself silently, for it was a real possibility that her sister would birth twins, a fact that she had shared with no one except Dorothea.

No, Dorothea had not expected calm to greet them, yet she was far from prepared to face the utter chaos that seemed to grip the house, and every person within it, as she and Carter stepped over the threshold.

They stood alone in the foyer, the young, confused underfootman who had answered the door by their side. Every few minutes, a servant would thunder up or down the staircase or dash in and out of a door, their expression serious and intent.

“The family is not receiving callers today,” the underfootman said in a nervous voice. “You should probably come back another time.”

“Mrs. Barrington is my sister,” Dorothea repeated. “We have come today-”

“Dorothea!” Emma’s shout from the top of the staircase was a trembling cry of relief. Wasting no time, the young woman rushed down the stairs and caught her older sister in a hug. “Thank God you are here. Gwen is in labor!”

Dorothea dredged up an overly bright smile. “Isn’t that exciting news? Why, before too long you and I shall be aunts.”

Emma drew back, her eyes wide. “You don’t understand. It’s been so long already and still the baby hasn’t come.”

Dorothea closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Oh, Lord, this was her greatest fear. That Gwen would not survive childbirth. It was an inconceivable horror that she had forced herself to disregard, yet the reality loomed before her now, stark and real.

A solid masculine hand landed on Dorothea’s shoulder, the strong fingers stroking up and down her arm in a gesture of comfort. “When did her pains begin?” Carter asked.