Castle Argyle, Eastern Aglaia
Rafe Sinclair, the eighth Duke of Argyle, and known to all as the Wolf of the East, sat watching the festivities in his castle with a brooding frown. He had many causes to celebrate. His lands were prosperous and well defended. He was wealthy beyond imagining. He was devilishly handsome. It was time for the annual boar hunt, which was one of his favorite events of the year. And what should have pleased him the most, he had proposed marriage to the Lady Gwendolyn, and she had accepted his suit. The banquet to celebrate the next day's hunt and the couple's betrothal was in full swing. Nonetheless, Rafe sipped his wine morosely as he cast frequent glances around the hall. He could not overcome his roiling discontent.
He knew the source of his unhappiness. He did not really want to wed, because he had not found a woman he could love. Rafe knew that his dream of finding love was unusual among men. It was usually members of the opposite gender who strove for that ideal. However, he didn't care if his quest for love was unusual. Since he was a young man, Rafe had been looking for his one true mate without success. He had been determined not to marry until he found her.
Thus, Rafe had resisted marriage for as long as he possibly could. While he searched for the ultimate woman, he enjoyed his freedom, and he certainly enjoyed the many ladies who had shared his bed along the way. However, not one of them had ever stirred any deep emotion or held his interest for very long.
Women found Rafe irresistible, and he rarely had any difficulty coaxing them into his arms. His hair was black and close cropped. His eyes were vibrant green and deep set beneath black winged brows. His nose, mouth and cheekbones bore the sculpted lines of nobility. His body was that of a seasoned soldier, solid and strong. His various scars and battle wounds only added to his masculine appeal. He had broken many a heart with his wickedly handsome looks, but he was neither cruel nor uncaring to members of the fairer sex.
In recent years, Rafe had grown increasingly bored with the monotony and pointlessness of his various liaisons. He sometimes enjoyed the challenge of seducing a beautiful woman, but once the conquest had been completed, he felt more hollow and disappointed than before. He never liked to tarry. He preferred to move on before the woman began to make increasingly cloying demands for his affection. Their tearful declarations and pleas for his love left him weary and wary. He knew he could not offer what they wanted. No woman had ever stirred him to feel anything other than lust, and even that was felt only briefly. The last thing he wanted was to be tied to one woman for life if he did not love her.
With a self-effacing snort, Rafe wondered why he even cared about love. No other men of his acquaintance cared about such sentimental nonsense. Rafe wasn't even sure what love was supposed to feel like, other than the descriptions found in romantic fairy tales, songs and poetry. It was probably just a myth, a useless and elusive ideal that could never truly be found. He really didn't understand why the idea of a loving marriage was so appealing to him, but it was nonetheless.
Perhaps it was because Rafe had never really experienced love in his own life. He had never even witnessed love between a man and woman before. His parents had certainly not loved each other. His father had viewed his mother as little more than a broodmare. Her sole purpose was to provide him with sons. Unfortunately, giving birth to Rafe had been so difficult it had left his mother unable to conceive again. Her husband showed no further interest in her after that. Her husband's indifference had been fine with Rafe's mother. She did not love him either, and she wanted nothing from him other than the status and luxurious lifestyle that his wealth and title could provide for her.
His parents had not loved Rafe any more than they had loved one another. He was simply the heir to a dukedom, nothing more, nothing less. He was raised by nannies and tutors, and the only warmth that had ever been shown to him was by servants. He had been shuffled from one boarding school to the next, never having any real connections to anyone. He only saw his parents once or twice a year, when school was closed during the various holidays. Homecomings had never been pleasant. He had always been made to feel like he was intruding on his parents' valuable time. When his parents died, Rafe had found it impossible to mourn for them. Neither of them had ever shown him the slightest kindness or affection, and he couldn't even recall what they looked like.
The lords and ladies of his acquaintance never exhibited love either. Their marriages were all arranged, devoid of any feeling or caring, designed merely to maintain the purity of bloodlines and protect fortunes. Rafe drained his goblet and signaled a footman to refill it as he grimly realized that when he did wed, his own marriage to Lady Gwen was destined to be exactly the same.
He didn't know why he cared. Perhaps it was precisely because of the way he had been raised that he craved a loving relationship with a woman. Perhaps it was because he had heard stories of the loving relationships between the royals of Aglaia, and those stories had inspired him to want something more for himself. Although recently, even his ideals about the royals had been shattered. He had learned only weeks before that the queen had become betrothed to the Duke of Livius, Rafe's most hated and bitter enemy. Surely the queen could not love that loathsome bastard! If she did, something was seriously wrong with her, as far as Rafe was concerned.
Rafe would have gladly sought the queen's hand himself. He had seen portraits of her, and she was lovely. Her likeness stirred him in a way that no other woman ever had. Of course she was beautiful, but her face was an intriguing combination of innocence and worldly wisdom. She was enchanting. Wanting to see whether she was equally charming in person, he had petitioned her for a meeting, but the queen had refused him. His overtures had been firmly rebuffed, and with her rejection, he had finally given up on his dream of finding a woman he could love.
Rafe gave a disgusted snort as he sipped his ale. It really didn't matter. After years of looking, he had accepted that he was not going to find a woman he could truly love. Therefore, he had decided to settle for a marriage like all the others, and in less than a month, he would wed the Lady Gwen.
At twenty eight years of age, Rafe had reluctantly accepted that it was time to choose a wife and sire heirs. He could have his pick of any eligible lady he wanted, and he had decided on Lady Gwendolyn. Since he could not have love, Rafe had chosen a woman who would not expect too much from him. Lady Gwen was beautiful, demure, graceful and socially adept. However, she was also aloof. She had greeted his courtship with little more enthusiasm than she showed for selecting a hat, and it was clear that once he took her to wife, their marriage would be one of convenience. Since that was exactly what he was willing to provide her, they seemed perfectly suited. At least, he would not have to worry about breaking her heart.
Lady Gwen had accepted his invitation to attend the annual hunt ball and to stay for a few days at Castle Argyle. When he had proposed, she had accepted as if by rote. Not even a spark of excitement or a contented smile had altered her face. She was like a beautiful but lifeless doll, and Rafe had begun to wonder whether she had any emotions at all. Her aloof manner should have alarmed him, but it stirred only mild curiosity, because he honestly didn't feel any emotions toward her either. He wished that the anticipation of his nuptials would stir some feeling other than boredom and a sense of dread. He wasn't the least bit impatient for the wedding or the wedding night, and that made him uneasy. In fact, he began to worry whether his body would respond to his bride at all. It certainly hadn't so far.
Lady Gwen was seated beside him at the table, and Rafe let his eyes slide down her figure, appreciating her beauty in a detached sort of way. Try as he would to muster some lust at the sight of her, his body remained unaffected. He hoped that she would please him in his bed, at least temporarily. If she showed as little enthusiasm for her wifely duties as she did for everything else, it might be a chore to bed her, he thought grimly. However, he reminded himself that pleasure was not his primary motivation for taking her to wife. We wanted her to provide him with heirs, and then to retire to his country estate while he continued on as before. He didn't care what his wife did after she gave him a few sons, as long as she was discreet and made no further demands on him. He fully intended to look elsewhere for his own pleasure.
He did intend to be a good parent though. He would shower his children with all the love and affection that he had been denied. If Lady Gwen wanted to help raise the children, he would welcome her involvement. However, he intended to take an active role regardless of her interest or lack thereof. No child of his was going to be shipped off to some boarding school at every opportunity.
If Lady Gwen was aware of his attention or his thoughts, she gave no indication. She sat serenely beside him, placidly sipping her wine with nary a nervous twitch. If she had any maidenly qualms about a loveless marriage, she didn't show it. That was precisely why he had chosen her. In his mind, it was far better to have a wife who didn't care than to have a wife who loved him when he could not return her love. He did not want to break a woman's heart, most especially over the course of a lifetime.
Rafe grimaced as his gaze drifted lazily over the crowded hall. He was not looking forward to sealing his vows. Thoughts of his eventual wedding night made him inwardly cringe with dread. Bedding an untried virgin had never been appealing to him. Their heads were invariably full of girlish nonsense, and he found their inane prattling to be irritating in the extreme. Not to mention that once bedded, they would certainly expect marriage. Not wanting to be shackled to one of those mindless simpletons, Rafe had purposely avoided innocent maidens for that very reason. However, having a virgin for his wife was an exception. He accepted that deflowering his bride would be a necessary task that he had to perform before he could get on with the business of producing an heir. His frown deepened as he realized that he was becoming more like his father every day, and the thought did not please him in the least.
The celebration was gradually turning into a night of dissolution and debauchery. By tradition, the annual hunt ball was a masked affair. Lords and ladies donned masks that shielded much of their faces, and the anonymity that provided led to all manner of carnal excesses. Most of the women in attendance wore revealing gowns that showed indecent amounts of flesh, and the men were only too happy to take advantage of the situation. As his guests became increasingly intoxicated, the sexual overtures became more overt. Men and women kissed and caressed each other openly, while their nearby spouses carried on similarly with others. Rafe expected the ball would soon degenerate into an all-out orgy, as it had in years past. The sight of so much licentious behavior made him squirm restlessly in his chair.
During the three months he had courted Lady Gwen, Rafe had not taken any other lovers. He had hoped that a period of celibacy might lead to deeper feelings for Lady Gwen. Instead, he had been mildly surprised that his self imposed constraint had been a relief. For a brief period of time, he had not been focused on the disappointments of past relationships. Once again, he studied Lady Gwen, and he allowed himself to fantasize about their wedding night and their relationship afterward. Would his bride be open to satisfying some of his more unorthodox desires once they had dealt with her maidenhead, or could he only expect her to remain docile beneath him each time he came to her bed? Try as he might, he could not envision Lady Gwen responding with passion, and he couldn't summon the least bit of enthusiasm from his fantasies.
