She hesitated.
He offered no threat about newspapers, no money for silence, no reminder that Alden influence could close doors throughout Manhattan.
That, more than anything, ended the fight.
Vivian understood she had expected him to use power even while condemning how he had used it.
He did not give her that escape.
She opened the front door herself.
“Go home to your silent bride, then.”
Duke stepped onto the threshold.
Behind him Vivian added, “She’ll learn what you are eventually.”
He paused.
“I suspect she already knows.”
Then he left.
The ride back to Alden House took less than twenty minutes.
For the first time that day, Duke wished it were longer.
He had acted decisively all his adult life.
Decisions usually brought relief.
Once a contract was signed, uncertainty ended.
Once a rival was bought out, the field cleared.
This decision brought no relief at all.
Ending his affair did not erase the fact that he had entered marriage intending to continue it.
It did not transform the transaction with Raymond Whitmore into courtship.
It did not suddenly make Claire trust him.
It merely removed one wrong he had been prepared to commit tomorrow.
When Duke entered Alden House, Mrs.
Hawthorne was crossing the vestibule with a stack of household accounts.
She looked at him, then at the clock.
“Will you be dining at home, sir?”
“Yes.”
One eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly.
“Very good.”
“Mrs.
Hawthorne.”
She stopped.
“Is Mrs.
Alden awake?”
“She is in the morning room.”
Duke frowned.
“The morning room?”
“I informed her that she did not require anyone’s permission to use it.”
There was unmistakable rebuke in the sentence.
Duke accepted that too.
He found Claire beside the long windows overlooking Fifth Avenue.
Her wedding gown was gone.
She wore a simple pale gray dress and held a book closed across her lap.
She rose when he entered.
Immediately.
As though his presence required it.
“Please,” Duke said.
“Sit.”
Claire sat.
He remained standing for a moment before choosing the chair opposite her rather than the larger one at the head of the room.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
She waited.
“Why didn’t you speak at breakfast?”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the book.
“I spoke when someone asked me a question that required an answer.”
