My Husband Married Me Out Of Duty And Ignored Me — Until I Became Society’s Perfect Duchess

Part 2

Greg stepped onto the terrace, his gaze dropping to the emeralds resting against my skin, and for the first time since our wedding day, the mask of the perfect gentleman shattered.

Have you misplaced your partner? I asked, the words clipping against the night air like sharp stones.

He stepped closer, the ambient light from the ballroom casting long, severe shadows across the sharp planes of his face.

Megan is not my partner, he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble that vibrated in my chest.

How fortunate that business and pleasure can be so conveniently combined, I shot back, lifting my chin to meet his furious stare.

You understand nothing of the situation, he hissed, his composure unraveling with every breath.

Then enlighten me! I demanded, my own anger finally breaking free from the suffocating cage of propriety.

Explain why all of London whispers of your private dinners while I sleep alone in a fifty-room mausoleum!

You married me to be a dutiful ornament, Greg.

I have played the perfect hostess.

I have secured your social standing.

The only duty you have failed to collect is the one that requires your presence in my bed.

He recoiled as if I had struck him, genuine shock widening his eyes.

I didn’t stop.

I told him I accepted a marriage of convenience, but I refused to be humiliated before the entire city by his blatant affairs.

The silence that followed was agonizing, stretching out until I felt my pulse throbbing in my throat.

Greg ran a heavy hand through his perfectly styled chestnut hair, the gesture so unguarded it made my breath catch.

She is a financial agent, he finally said, the words heavy with reluctance.

I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, but he closed the distance between us, his hands hovering just inches from my bare arms.

Her late husband left her with shipping concerns that provide invaluable intelligence from the continent, he insisted, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper.

With the threat of war looming, she has been assisting me in identifying a French agent operating within our banking community.

If her involvement in such affairs were known, society would destroy her.

I stared into his eyes, searching the depths of the hazel irises I barely knew.

It was an incredible story, utterly absurd, yet the raw, unfiltered truth burning in his expression was impossible to deny.

He wasn’t having an affair.

He was running a shadow operation right under the noses of the ton.

But even as relief washed over me, a colder, deeper ache settled in my chest.

That explains Megan, I whispered, stepping back from the intoxicating heat of his proximity.

It doesn’t explain why you couldn’t trust me.

It doesn’t explain why you’ve treated me like a ghost since the day you put this ring on my finger.

Greg looked away, his jaw working as though chewing on broken glass.

The deficiency is mine, he said softly, the arrogance completely stripped from his voice.

I am returning to the estate tomorrow.

Come with me.

There are things you need to know.

He bowed and left me alone in the dark, my mind racing with a terrifying new reality.

Was Greg truly protecting our nation’s secrets, or was this elaborate espionage plot just another way to keep me at a distance?