I stare back at him, unspeaking, for moments that feel as though they go on forever. It takes me far too long to understand what he implies. When I do, I am quite overcome by the heat of my indignation. My cheeks prickle with the shame of it… and yet. There is something more to the heat, I fear. I set aside the traitorous lust of my body and regard my new husband with disdain.
“You want me to tell you I long for you.” It is not a question.
When his eyes flash, he confirms it without a word. “I only wish you to tell the truth.”
My shame soars, outflanked only by my pride. “I was born to this life,Your Grace. I need not say anything to you, and I certainly do not intend to offer false flattery.”
He is evidently unaffected by both my barb and my sharp tone. “I am not suggesting you tell me anything false, my dear.”
I frown—oh, how I long for his composure, but having already lost that battle, I refuse to lose this one as well. “You are the one in want of this evening,Your Grace.”
“Truly? What makes you say so?”
The flames in my face burn hotter.He denies it? He must think me a fool!“You did not go through all the trouble of going to my father and blackmailing him for my hand if you did not wish to consummate.” My fury is intensifying, made all the worse by the picture of calm he presents. My fingers itch to find something to launch at him, but as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I feel my bottom quivers, the surface tingling with a reminder of what had occurred when I had last behaved thus.
“I did not say I did not wish to lie with you, my lady. Merely that I wish for you to acknowledge your own longing.”
I grit my teeth together so that I do not shout at him. I do not wish to bring a servant running—experiencing this without anaudience is humiliating enough. “I will not.” I spit each word at him, thrown like gauntlets at his feet. I breathe hard, my nostrils flaring, incensed.
He nods, as though this is of little consequence to him.
It is maddening! I ball my hands into fists at my sides, determined he should not vex me to the point of physical violence.
“As you wish, my lady. I will leave you to rest.” But when he moves, instead of withdrawing, he steps closer.
I move back, but he matches me step for step in the strangest, most titillating dance I have ever participated in. I back away, and he approaches, the magnetism in his eyes ensnaring my gaze. Unable to look away, I retreat while he advances yet again.
His expression is a study in determination—his jaw set, his mouth a firm line.
A quiver works down my body until every inch of me trembles beneath it. In this moment, I am most grateful to still have the protection of my gown.
The nearer he moves, the more his scent reaches toward me—the masculine musk of sandalwood and cigar smoke, with the smallest hint of brandy. I have heard the occasional woman remark to Mother they find the scent of their husbands repugnant, and I have long ago accepted it as a fact of marriage.
Yet, as far as the duke is concerned, his scent enflames my senses. My heart launches itself with such violence, such haste, that I am startled he does not seem to hear it.
“Oh!” I breathe as my legs catch against a piece of sturdy furniture.
The duke reaches out a hand, and for a moment, I believe he means to steady me. Instead, he gives me a small push so that I fall back.
I land solidly in the seat of an armchair, which startles me, but far less than the way he looms over me—and the intenseauthority in his bearing causes my throat to tighten until it renders me speechless.
“I will set the course for how this union between us will be run, straight from the onset. Therefore, my dear, if you do not wish to confess the fullness of your feelings to me, we shall not consummate until you can bring yourself to follow my instruction.”
Fingers of longing and honor claw at me in equal measure as I gaze, spellbound, into his handsome, solemn face. “And if I do not long for you, as you imply? What then, Your Grace?”
“Do you truly wish to pretend?” He examines my face, and I shiver; it is as though he can peer past flesh and bone into the depths of my very soul. “That is a game you will lose, my lady.” He bends nearer until his lips brush against my ear. “We both know you are no inexperienced maid. As such… Iforbidyou to touch yourself. Youwillgive me satisfaction… or have none yourself.”
With that, he straightens, looking at me as though his words have not caused an inner quaking in my core that threatens to overtake me.
“Oh, and be assured, if you do, I shall know. Goodnight, my dear. I do hope you sleep well.”
Chapter Seven
Duke Gregor
“My lady.” I rise from the dining room chair where I have sat, waiting, for nearly half an hour, for her appearance.
The lady lacks her normal luster as she approaches. Her countenance is somber, her complexion drawn, and the dark half-moons under her eyes are quite vivid against her pale skin. She lifts her chin haughtily and pretends not to have heard me, thanking the servant that pulls back her chair.
