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She was not certain she appreciated being thanked for surrendering.

Turning toward the table, Marina scooped Luna into her arms. The cat protested with an indignant meow, stretching one paw toward the abandoned pheasant.

“Oh, do not look at me like that,” Marina muttered. “You have brought this upon yourself.”

Ambrose’s mouth twitched.

She noticed, of course, and it only made matters worse.

“I am pleased you find this amusing, Your Grace.”

“Not in the least,” he replied, although the glimmer in his eyes suggested otherwise. “I am merely relieved that at least one lady in this household is prepared to listen to reason.”

Marina gave him a look that ought to have silenced him altogether.

Instead, he smiled.

It was an exceedingly handsome smile, which was deeply inconvenient when she was trying to remain annoyed with him.

“Excuse me,” she said, drawing herself up. “I shall see that Luna is made comfortable elsewhere.”

“Of course.”

With as much dignity as a woman carrying an offended cat could muster, Marina crossed the dining room and stepped into the adjoining sitting room. She set Luna upon a cushioned chair near the hearth, where the cat began washing one paw, apparently untroubled by her disgrace.

“There,” Marina whispered. “You shall have to stay here until dinner is finished.”

Luna looked at her with what could only be described as betrayal.

“I know,” Marina murmured. “I am not particularly pleased about it either.”

She gave the cat one final stroke, then stepped into the corridor and closed the door firmly behind her.

For a moment, Marina remained there with her hand resting upon the knob.

It was such a small thing. A cat on a table. A perfectly reasonable objection from a man who had already granted her far more than she had dared to request.

And yet, she could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that something had changed.

Ambrose had kissed her as though he could scarcely bear to let her go. He had looked at her with a hunger that had left her breathless, and she had begun to imagine that beneath his formidable exterior was a man she might easily come to understand.

Perhaps there was.

But there was also a duke accustomed to command, a man who knew his own mind and had no intention of being persuaded out of it merely because his new wife wished otherwise.

Marina drew a slow breath and glanced back toward the dining room.

She had wanted a husband who would respect her independence. It had not occurred to her quite so forcefully that he would expect her to respect his as well.

And she was no longer entirely certain which unsettled her more: that Ambrose had refused to indulge her, or that she still found herself longing to return to his side.

Thirteen

One thing Ambrose had not considered about married life was the possibility of a perturbed wife knocking upon his chamber door in the early hours of the morning. He was not even dressed yet when the knock came.

He had called for his visitor to enter, assuming it was Ernest, but when nobody came in, he hurried to the door, pulling on his banyan.

He had barely reached the door before another impatient knock sounded. He pulled it open, running a hand through his hair, and only then realized his mistake.