He’d known she was here, with an American. He’d been prepared for the idea that they were lovers. But the visual of it was a wicked blow. “Ah,” the American drawled. “The duke arrives.” “The husband arrives,” Haven replied, unable to bank the anger in his tone. And then, to his wife, “We are yet married, Seraphina.” How was she so utterly calm? “Not in any way that matters.” In every fucking way that mattered. She added, “The silly laws of this nation may make me your chattel, Duke. But I will never play the role. I should think the last three years would have made that point well.”
