him and that he belonged nowhere.
‘Tomorrow? But you can’t. I mean, will you come back soon?’
‘No.’
‘But the tenants need you.’
‘Then they will have to make do without.’
He watched her frown, pursing her lips and straightening her shoulders, an expression of familiar obstinacy flickering across her features.
‘The tenants look to the big house for support at times like this. They need to know that they will be all right. That there is a continuity of leadership that transcends the individual. If they are too worried, they can’t grieve properly.’
‘A continuity—heavens, you sound like a vicar or a politician. Is there a subject on which you don’t have an opinion?’
‘Icebergs,’ she said with a faint half-smile.
‘Pardon?’
‘I don’t have an opinion on icebergs.’
For a brief moment, he felt his lips twist into a grin, the feeling both pleasant and unfamiliar. ‘We don’t even get icebergs in Britain.’
‘Probably why I don’t have an opinion on them,’ she said.
For a moment, he longed to pull her to him, to bury his face into the soft gold of her hair and feel that he was not a solitary creature.
Except he was a solitary creature, a bastard. Moreover, even if his birth hadn’t made him unworthy of her, his more recent behaviour had.
He stepped away, squaring his shoulders. ‘My life is in London. The tenants will have to grieve as best they can without me. Therefore, if you need to speak to me, I suggest you do so now.’
She inhaled, brows drawing together. ‘But...’ She paused. ‘Very well, this is not really the best time, but we are alone and I do not know when I will next have the opportunity.’
‘Yes?’ he prompted.
‘It is just that, as Lord Graham, it is important for you to have a suitable wife and heir. When—when you married me, this was not the case. We thought Edmund and Mirabelle—Anyway, Allington is prosperous, our debts paid. The Duke is seldom here. And I...um...I thank you so much for your protection, but...but you must wish for your freedom. Likely that would be the best course of...of action, given the circumstances.’ She finished in a hurried garbled, stammering rush.
‘An annulment? You’re asking for an annulment?’ The effort to remain without expression was greater than that exerted in a thousand poker games.
‘Yes—an annulment—I suppose.’
The pain was physical. The word slammed into him, so that he felt himself winded. Annulment... It was a battering ram, beating into his eardrums, punching at his stomach. Fury, anger, hurt twisted and exploded. He clenched his fists so tightly the muscles hurt.
‘You choose to mention this now?’ he said when he could trust his voice.
Her face flushed. ‘I did not want to, but you gave me little option. Besides, I have never beaten about the bush. You have a new role and you need a proper wife. Anyway, it is not as though we have a real marriage. I mean, we have hardly spoken in eighteen months. You have not visited—’
‘I have no need of either wife or heir,’ he snapped, cutting through her words.
‘As Lord Graham, it is your duty—’
‘Stop!’ he shouted, losing any semblance of his hard-won self-control. ‘Stop calling me that ludicrous name.’
‘It is your name.’
‘A name I do not merit and do not wish to assume.’
‘You don’t have a choice.’
‘I may have to assume the title,’ he ground out. ‘But I can certainly choose to dispose of the estate, thus alleviating your unreasonable worry that I might require an heir.’
‘Dispose of?’ She twisted, angling herself to face him as though sighted and able to discern his expression. ‘How?’
‘The Duke of Ayrebourne will have the estate.’
He did not know why he felt compelled to speak the words. It was as though everything was hurting and he was driven to hurt also. Or perhaps he needed to voice his intent to make his decision real.
There was a pause. An expression of disbelief flickered across her features. ‘The Duke? How? Why?’
‘I intend to give it to him.’
‘What?’ Her hands reached for his face, her fingers skimming across his skin to discern expression. He startled as she traced his jaw and cheek.
‘You are serious,’ she whispered. ‘I thought it was a foul joke.’
‘I am serious.’
‘But why?’ Her hands dropped from his face, reaching for him and clutching the cloth of his sleeve. ‘The Duke of Ayrebourne? Your cousin? He is despicable. You always said so. That is the reason we married. You can’t—do that.’
‘I believe I can. I have confirmed it with the solicitor,’ he said.
‘Your solicitor? It isn’t entailed?’
‘No.’
She shifted, her grip still tight. ‘If you are in straitened circumstances, we can help. Jamie has made Allington prosperous. He will help you with Graham Hill. He is surprisingly clever with agriculture.’
‘I am not in straitened circumstances.’
‘He is blackmailing you?’
Ren laughed. ‘One has to care about the opinion of others to be susceptible to blackmail.’
‘Then why sell?’
‘Give.’
‘Give?’ Her face had flushed, a mottled mix of red and white marking her neck. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? Your family has owned this land for generations. Ayrebourne cares nothing for the people or the animals or the land.’
‘Then we have much in common,’ Ren said.
‘But you are not cruel.’
He shrugged. ‘People change.’
She shook her head, the movement so violent that her black bonnet slid to one side, giving her a peculiar appearance and making him want to straighten it. The odd impulse cut through his anger. His eyes stung. He wished—
‘Not like this,’ she said. ‘Something has happened. Something has changed you.’
‘My bro—’ He stopped himself. ‘Edmund died, if you recall.
