But I see her tremble. It begins at her head and moves down, making her lips quiver, her shoulders shake, her breasts heave. Her body has spoken for her, though her lips utter not a sound.
I pick up a bun—still warm to the touch, though steam no longer rises from it—and tear off a piece. Then I offer it to her lips.
“Stop!” she hisses. “Do you mean to shame me?”
“There is no one here, my lady, no one to see.” I proffer the bread more firmly.
She purses her lips and turns her head.
“My lady, I warn you, I am tireless when I want something. Play this game if you must, but I will cancel all my meetings, put off any paperwork. If you wish to sit in this chair until evening, so be it.”
From the moment I began to speak, her body began to lean toward me, though I dare say, she is unaware. Her ear strains toward me also. When she deigns to turn her head to face me, she gives me a dour look. “Surely you have no business to attend to at all,Your Grace, or else you would not trouble yourself to do a servant’s work.”
I master my expression around her a great deal without any trouble, but I cannot help but frown at this remark. “Servant’s work? Whatever do you mean?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Looking after me, forcing me to eat. That is servant’s work.”
I shake my head. “Nay, Freya, my love. That is husband’s work, and I have made my mind up to do it. Now, obey as you promised to do.”
She scowls, but as soon as she makes her point by twisting her lips in distaste, she opens them and accepts the bread I offer.
“There, now, that isn’t so bad, is it? It smells quite lovely, actually, which isn’t surprising as our cook is very good.”
“You eat it then,” she says mulishly.
I tsk my tongue at her and wag my finger. “You must remember to temper your wit. I feel certain it is merely you are faint from hunger. Another bite, I entreat you.”
She takes a delicate taste of the piece of bread in my hand. This time, she is quicker this time, and more aimable than before.
I watch her carefully for any signs of fatigue—or rebellion. I meant what I told her the night before. I intend to make it clear from the very first that when she promised to obey, she made a binding one I shall hold her to.
Still, it does puzzle me that she refuses to acknowledge her obvious want. I do not believe it a burdensome demand, and yet, clearly, we do not share the same opinion on the matter. She obviously desires me, and even now, as she takes food from my hand, a part of her seems shamed by what is happening; there seems to be a larger part that wishes to surrender to my touch.
“Open,” I command.
She obeys, gazing up at me with eyes brimming with emotion.
I put the bread in her mouth, then smile at her when she obediently begins to chew. “Good girl.”
A shudder meets my words, though she quickly turns away, as though she can hide her body’s reaction from me.
“You have done well, my lady. Now, if you are well and truly satisfied, I have something I should like to show you.”
“Indeed? What would you like me to see?”
Her stiff formality does not trouble me. I knew before we wed it would take time for her to warm to me. Judging by herbody language each time I am in her presence, she will need to surrender soon.
Duchess Freya
I eye the arm he offers, recalling only too well how my body reacts to his by showing him a loyalty it denies me. Yet… my skin tingles whenever he approaches, and though my very bones betray me, I do nothing but spite my skin to sit here, longing.
I offer him my hand, and he steps around me to pull my chair from the table. Then the duke returns, takes my hand, and helps me to my feet. My fingers are alive with sensation at the briefest touch. I drop my eyes to the polished mahogany and try to marshal my flighty emotions.
The child must stir these mad passions! I surely will be glad to have this ordeal behind me if it means returning to my usual ease!
The duke bows over my hand and presses a kiss to the thin material. Heat sweeps through me so suddenly, I fear I might sway on my feet.
It is the child. Not him—never him! Now, do get ahold of yourself, Freya!
