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The nearest servant bowed quickly, startled. “Yes, Your Grace,” he replied hurriedly.

Ambrose did not wait to watch the lights disappear, already turning and moving deeper into the manor. His hands were still fisted when Mrs. Dalton appeared around the corner. The moment she recognized him, her brows lifted, and the warmth that spread across her face was almost maternal.

“You are back, Your Grace,” she greeted.

“I am indeed. I see lamps have been added.”

She nodded. “Her Grace has taken to decorating. She made sure to check with Ernest and me that you could tolerate the light.”

“I told her I could.”

“Of course, but she wished to be sure.” The woman paused. “She has also taken to adding plants. I will admit I purchased them. And… Well, she has started decorating. For the holiday.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I see,” he murmured, carefully composing his expression. He glanced around the landing and saw holly had been hung from various posts, along with ivy and other greenery.

Mrs. Dalton studied him for another moment. “It is quite pretty.”

He did not respond to this. “Has Her Grace settled in well? And Emma? Is she tending to her?”

“Constantly,” Mrs. Dalton replied. “She dotes on the girl. She takes her out for walks several times a day, changes her, feeds her, and she even reads to her. I must say, the servants admire her already.”

He could not deny that he was pleased to hear it, for he knew admiration was not something his wife knew well.

“Do they? Because of the greenery?”

“Because of her skill,” she said, and what followed was a lengthy report on Marina’s stillroom activities and the ailments she’d managed to ease in just a few days.

“She assured me she could do more, if she had her books. But that has been seen to now.”

He nodded. The truth was, some of the books had been ruined by snow that had blown into the greenhouse and melted, but he would not tell her that. He’d try to replace them. Somehow.

“You should retire for the evening,” he advised, though she had not asked. “You have worked enough for one day.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied, though the amusement in her voice made it clear she had noticed far more than he wished.

Without another word, he walked past her. He had taken only a few steps when he heard the unmistakable sound of a suppressed giggle behind him. Ambrose’s jaw tightened, and he refused to turn around.

Soon, he found himself standing before the doors of the drawing room. He had returned intending to spend a quiet evening, and now he stood outside a room simply because his wife was inside.

His wife. The thought alone was heavy. He had only been away for two days but she had never left his mind. At breakfast. While examining the damaged glasshouse. While riding through the countryside. Even while attempting to sleep. He had wondered whether she had noticed his absence, whether she had been angry that he had not returned sooner or if she had even thought of him at all.

His fingers curled at his sides, and admitting that he missed her was deeply uncomfortable. All she ever did was argue with him, and strangely, he found nothing more intriguing.

He drew a deep breath. He reached slowly for the handle, then stopped. Light. He could see the narrow golden glow slipping beneath the door. He stared at it. Wherever Marina was, there was light. Whatever foolish notions he had about their life together were wiped away in that moment. Marina was of the light. He was of the dark. They might be able to live side-by-side but they would never be able to live together.

And Marina had somehow become more dangerous to him in darkness than sunlight ever could be.

“I should leave,” he murmured with resolve, turning away and taking one step.

But before he could take another step, the doors opened behind him. The duke froze, listening to the hurried footsteps that followed, and then to a gentle feminine voice.

“Your Grace?”

Every muscle in his body tightened.

He turned, and there she was, standing in the doorway. The warm light behind her framed her figure in the most exquisite way. Her loosened dark hair fell behind her, a few strands brushing her face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from hurrying after him, and her oceanic eyes were fixed upon him.