He chuckles softly. “Indeed?”
I nod earnestly, but my brow furrows when he laughs. “You do not believe me, my lord?”
“No, in truth, I do not, Freya. Make no mistake, I am certain you mean what you saynow, but you are a spirited imp.” He lifts his hand and cups the side of my face. “Do not fear, my dear. I love you for who you are, I am not trying to compel you to be something you are not.”
His words set free the knots in my stomach and the tension in my shoulders as though magic resides upon his tongue. But after a moment, my brow furrows once more.
The duke notices and caresses my brow. “What is it, poppet? You do not believe me?”
“I wish to,” I say, my words slow as I process my thoughts. “But if you do not wish to change me, then why…” I am growing more comfortable speaking to him by the moment, but not so much so that I wish to voice the rest of my thought aloud.
“Why did I smack you?” He does not wait for my answer before he chuckles. It is rich, and throaty, and full of abandon. I find I quite like the sound of it. “That is for behavior you yourself know is wrong. Behavior that is unbecoming. But that is not who you are, is it?”
Wordlessly, I shake my head.
“Good lass.” He moves his hand from my cheek and tugs on my loose curl.
All of the praise combined with the heat radiating beneath my dress has made me feel quite unlike myself indeed, but it does not feel unsettling. Indeed, I feel freer than I ever have. As the duke catches my gaze, his eyes tell me he sees me—truly, in a way no one in society, not even my mother and father, ever has. It gives me the courage to speak candidly.
“At the ball tonight, Your Grace…”
“Yes, my pet?” His eyes move over my face with wonderous delight that is nearly enough to cause me forget my thought entirely.
But I must not. If I do not speak my mind, my concerns will rise again, and perhaps to much more disastrous results. “I… I do not wish to anger you again,” I admit. I feel my lower lip begin to quiver, so I trap it beneath my teeth before I begin to cry anew.
My husband’s face becomes serious, and he clasps his hand in mine. His hand is un-gloved, and my breath catches as I look down and see the ivory silk of my glove in his large, strong hand.
“To me, if you please.”
I raise my head to look at him. When my swift obedience causes him to smile, my stomach swoops. Perhaps it is the vulnerability of this moment, but it would appear I like to please him.
“What is on your mind, dearest?”
He asks gently, with evident concern, and yet, I am feeling quite tongue-tied. What I had the misfortune to overhear at the ball and the fury that followed feels like many fortnights ago.
“You can tell me anything, my lady. If it concerns you, I wish to know.”
Heaven help me, I believe him. His gaze is earnest and sincere, and his eyes never leave mine. “I… I fear you will not like it,” I admit before trapping the traitorous bottom lip once more.
“Hmm. I see.” His Grace appears most solemn as he considers my words. “Is it something you have done?”
I shake my head.
“Then something you have said?”
Again, I shake my head.
“This is quite the puzzle, Wife.” He smiles, his eyes dancing despite the mystery. “It is something someone else has said or done?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Ah, I see. I hardly think something someone else said would get you into more trouble.”
My surprise must show on my face, for he chuckles again.
“Yes, I did think that might be on your mind.” He reaches for me with confident hands and pulls me into his lap. He moves me until we look into each other’s eyes once more. “Now, what is it?”
I duck my head. I fear I will not be able manage the words if I must look at him. His dark gaze is most distracting, but I force myself to speak before he chastises me. “At the ball tonight… before the, ah, waltz….”
