Somehow, the sight of her gives me the courage that stiffens my resolve. I must do this—for myself, the child I carry, and ifthat were not enough, for my entire household. It all depends on me. On this night.
I lift my head and give His Grace my most inviting smile. I have never looked at him so, and realization glimmers upon his features followed swiftly by a gleaming hunger in his dark eyes that causes a flutter low in my stomach.
“Come to me, my lord,” I murmur, before turning and leaving the drawing room, my gown rustling along the floor. I enter my bedchamber and though the tightening in my stomach would normally demand I pause, I ignore it and move with soft, measured steps, to the grand four-poster bed.
There is light from sconces on the dressing table, and when at last I turn to see my husband, the whimsical glow upon his face steals my breath. He is a fiercely handsome man, so much so, I cannot imagine how I paid him so little heed prior to his coming to my father.
“You are… quite well, my lady?”
“Yes,” I reply, my throat so tight, my thoughts so scattered, I cannot manage more.
He steps nearer, the definitive thud of shoe echoing the pounding of my heart.
I am no longer able to control my countenance. I can scarcely think on it. The air seems much too thin, and all I can manage is to recall is how to breathe. That, too, comes with difficulty as I gaze upon his face.
His dark eyes do not miss a single movement, and his lips curve in a smile that threatens my balance.
I am most grateful to stand with my back against the bed which steadies me somewhat. I reach behind me and grip the coverlet for much-needed support.
“You have never invited me into your bedchamber, Duchess.” His voice is a soft whisper that seems to be a song to my ears—a most dangerous lullaby that is a menace to my very ability to reason.
“I… I have not.” I speak with great difficulty through lips that feel frozen and useless.
Another step closer. Then another, and the duke is directly in front of me. “Why have you issued an invitation this evening, my lady?”
How is it possible that I can answer such a question when I feel as incapable of thought as I do of speech?
His smile broadens—if His Grace is troubled by my lack of response, no trace of it appears on his face. “Do you have something to ask me, my lady?”
My throat tightens most painfully, for the flicker of candlelight has just revealed a dimple in his chin I have not yet seen before. My gaze is fastened to it, and I find myself spellbound. Yet, my knees tremble, and I grip the coverlet with all my might. My jumbled thoughts scarcely untangle enough for me to comprehend his words.
“To… to ask you, my lord?”
His smile brightens once more, and it takes all my remaining strength not to yield to the floor that seems to call me. He reaches for me, his gloved finger trailing along my cheek, leaving a warmth that only serves to intensify the ache inside me. “Or something to confess, perhaps? I assure you, I shall be most eager to hear anything you wish to say, Duchess.”
Suddenly, it’s as though I have been doused in water drawn from a stream at the height of winter. The light-headedness is gone, replaced with something just as potent. “Do you desire me, Your Grace?”
My lord husband cannot hide his surprise at the sudden sharpness in my voice. “This is not the question at present.”
“But it is, my lord.” My voice has returned, and with it, a frustration I find most difficult to manage. “It is the inquiry I putto you. Do you desire me?” My gaze latches onto his, and I force myself to hold it, refusing to melt.
“I would have you make your feelings known, my?—”
“Why?” It is a bold inquiry, particularly since I have interrupted him. “Why must it be I who speaks first?”
His gaze moves to and fro, and his brow wrinkles. He is surely wondering how this evening has gone awry.
I am merely thankful I recalled myself in time—if I had yielded to him, I do not trust I would have ever been able to forgive myself.
“My lady?—”
Shaking my head, I stop whatever protest he might make, or the entries he might hold aloft to ensnare me once more. “I confess,Your Grace.”
His expression hardens, as my tone has. It is clear he knows I do not intend to reveal the feelings he would desire.
“I confess I do not understand you. If I am being forthright, you seem to me a most cruel man indeed.”
Surprise flickers across his features. “My lady, I assure you, this is not the case.”
