Page 27 of My Cruel Duke
When his uncle informed Rhysand about the little changes in Thornbury Hall, Rhysand thought it was a silly prank his uncle was playing on him. He did not expect the home he grew up in to feel so… unfamiliar when he walked in. Or perhaps it was familiar from a distant memory, one he had sworn to lock away forever.
That was what angered him. The memory was supposed to stay buried at the back of his mind, but Penelope had resurrected it; the image of his mother smiling sweetly at him while she picked flowers from the garden, and decorated every corner of the house with them.
“Rhysand please,” Penelope huffed. He bit his lower lip in a sly smile and leaned on the slab with a nod.
“I think we are all fine with having dinner in our various rooms,” Lydia announced. Her voice echoed, and for a short moment, no one moved.
“Well?” A simple cock of his brows sent everyone scurrying away, leaving the couple alone.
“Rhysand, son–”
“I said, everyone out.”
Rhysand turned and helped himself to more whiskey from the bar. He lifted the drink to his mouth but he did not drink from it as a thought crossed his mind. The last time they had been in this situation, it was for the same reason. Rhysand had thought he made himself clear when he told her he did not want her to play duchess in his house, and all it took was his absence for her to do exactly that.
Long fingers tapped the glass in an unusual rhythm, then he tipped his head back, ingesting the liquid.
“I surmise you understand English perfectly well, do you not?”
Penny detected a condescension in his tone and she did not like it one bit, although she could not stop her cheeks from heating up. She watched her husband slowly make his way to the table in tired movements, and sat at the head of the table with his long fingers under his chin as he watched her.
She bit the insides of her mouth. She was in the wrong, and she would apologize for her wrongdoings, but she would rather be caught dead before she let Rhysand talk down to her for something as unimportant as a renovation.
“I do.”
“Tell me then, why are there flowers in my home?” He arched his brow. Penny licked her lips and let out a breath.
Looking up as she approached him, he quite openly studied her. She looked bright like the past few days had been nothing but kind to her. If it was possible, her skin seemed fairer, her lips redder, and she somehow rekindled the light in her eyes that seemed to give out at some point in time.
What exactly had she been doing in my absence?
Rhysand knew exactly what he had been doing. For the past week, he subjected himself to work, as it was the only thing capable of keeping his thoughts at bay since morning riding did not help anymore. When he was old enough to take over his late father’s estates and businesses, Rhysand made sure to bury himself in his work and made it into the successful business it was. He used his work as an outlet for his emotions and it never failed him. This time was no different. Crude thoughts had slipped into his mind ever since he had a taste of his wife, and he would not have it.
Penelope pulled the oak chair closest to him and sat, her eyes never leaving his.
“I am aware this was not what you expected to return home to,” her voice was calm. At least she knew she was in the wrong. “I tried to ignore the black walls, but for the life of me, I found it impossible to live in such gross darkness.”
“You had no right to make changes in my house after I repeatedly told you not to,” his voice was a few octaves higher, deeper. He told himself he did not care whether he hurt her or not. Only he did.
“Tell me then,” she replied in a voice to match his. Rhysand cocked his head a little to the left in question. “Tell me why you detest flowers and decorations so much.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If you make rules that all must follow, Rhysand, you should also be willing to give an explanation as to why the rules were made and why they should be followed.”
“I will not indulge this insolence. Do you forget this ismyhouse?”
“No, Your Grace,” she had started with that again. Referring to him by his title whenever she wanted to draw a line between them. It was as though she knew it annoyed him. “You have made it quite difficult to forget that this isyourhouse. What you have forgotten, Your Grace, is that we are married. You are duke and I am duchess.”
A bitter smile decorated his face. Rhysand hit his hands on the table and stood up. “I shall skip dinner tonight,” there was an edge of bitter cynicism in his voice, and his blue eyes became flat and as unreadable as a rock as he stared down at her.
Just as he took a step away from her and the table, Penelope reached out and clutched his left arm, forcing his eyes back on her tiny frame. Then her brown orbs stared up at him, and Rhysand fought for control of his divided mind. He found he could never agree on a thing where she was involved, there was always a push and pull with his subconscious in whatever concerned her.
“Tell me, please. I want to understand you better, and I fear if you withhold this information from me any longer, it will only breed more miscommunications between us.” Her grip on his arm tightened and all the muscles in his body reacted to that one simple touch. Rhysand shut his eyes.
“Can you not act as I have instructed without asking questions?” His voice was resigned.
“What is so horrible about flowers that you dislike them so much?” She replied with a question of her own. Rhysand looked at her for what felt like ages, then a sigh escaped his lips.