He has been wronged in the past.
Do not give up on him, my dear. He needs you.
Yes, he did. Bridget knew it just as surely as she knew she needed him in return.
“I require you,” she announced boldly.
Something flared in his eyes, but she could not be certain of what it was. Interest? Irritation? Anger? Oh, how she wanted to believe it was the former rather than either of the latter.
“I beg your pardon, madam?” He raised a brow, his face a study in cold, dismissive hauteur.
He may be the duke, but she was the duchess.
She tipped up her chin, warming to her cause. It occurred to her there may be another way back into his heart. Or at least back into his bed. From there, she could make the rest work. All she needed was a path. A glimmer of light.
“I want you naked.”
It was a mimicry of the words he had spoken to her not long ago. A daring move on her part, but this was her battle plan. She needed to be bold or risk losing everything that was important to her. Risk losing Leo.
And she would never lose him, she vowed.
They stared at each other. She did not flinch.
“Naked,” she repeated in a voice that lashed through the room, echoing off the walls. “Now.”
Molten-brown eyes seethed into hers. His entire bearing was rigid, from his broad shoulders to his tight, chiseled jaw. He could have been a statue. But she would not retreat. Would not back down. “Now, Duke.”
A small flicker of movement caught her attention. His fingers, long and tapered and strong, fingers she loved on her skin, inside her, shifted. Found the knot on his dressing gown. Pulled. The knot came undone. The belt went slack, twin ends falling apart to dangle at his sides. His robe gaped.
One shrug of his shoulders, and it was on the floor.
He stood before her, magnificent. Nude. Oh, how she had missed the mouthwatering sight of that well-defined chest, the slabs of muscle on his abdomen, the quiet strength of his upper arms, those broad shoulders, capable of holding so much upon them. And then her gaze tracked downward, lingering on his lean waist, the grooves at his hipbones, his firm horseman’s thighs, long legs, his cock, which was impossibly large, hard and thick. Yes, she had missed that too.
But most of all, she had simply missedhim. Her beloved, enigmatic, harsh and dominating, yet tenderly soft Leo. Had missed being able to be near to him. Had missed his dark eyes, his full lips, his wit, his kindness, his embrace, his kiss. Every little part of him. She had missed it all.
Do not get maudlin now, Bridget, she admonished herself.Stay the course.
“Here I am,” he said roughly. “Naked before you, madam.”
How she loved him. Would always love him, even if he could not find forgiveness in his heart for her. But she had to believe he could. That he would.
“On the bed,” she ordered.
Over the course of the time she had known him, she had learned him well. She knew his past helplessness with his mother had shaped him into the man he was. From governing the League, to the manner in which he ruled his life and everyone in it with ordered precision—even within the bedchamber—he craved control. He relinquished it for nothing and no one. And so, she understood she was taking a risk, not only in trespassing in his chamber, but in attempting to shake him in such a fundamental way.
He would either tell her to go to the devil, or it would work.
She held her breath and waited.
“Has no one ever taught you the virtue of good manners, wife?” he asked silkily. “If there is something you want, you must ask prettily. You must say please. Or get on your knees.”
She recognized his attempt to regain control of the situation, but she was not going to allow it. They were doing this her way or no way. Ever since the rift between them had turned into a yawning chasm, she had been attempting to do things his way. To remain at Harlton Hall and do penance, to give him his space, his distance from her, time. Whatever he needed.
She had wronged him, and she knew it.
But she was growing impatient. She loved him, and she wanted a true marriage with him. Not only did she deserve it, but their babe did as well. She wanted all of him. His heart. His soul. His body. His absolution.
“On the bed,” she prompted him again, maintaining her determination and her strength. She could do this. Shewoulddo this.
