Duncan stared down into the smiling face of his wife as he swept her around the dancefloor. He had been hesitant to come to the Ferndale ball. He felt emotionally raw and he didn’t really want to exhibit. But now, holding her in his arms, hearing her laugh…it made it all worthwhile.
The music faded and she curtseyed his way playfully, then took his arm. As he led her from the floor, she shifted, that bright smile fading just a fraction as she looked around the room with a darting gaze.
He frowned. Was she seeking an escape?
“It is warm,” she said, fanning herself with her hand. “Do you think we might take a turn around the terrace?”
He nodded. “Of course.” He guided her from the ballroom, out onto the terrace beyond. As he shut the door behind them, he looked around. It was a cool night and only two other couples were standing outside. They were almost alone.
He wanted to be alone with her. Always, it seemed. He wanted her to belong with him, to him. But she didn’t. She’d made that perfectly clear. And he was an idiot for letting that thought even pass his addled mind.
“Come,” she said, taking his hand and leading him away from the brighter side of the terrace where there were others. There was a dark corner farther down, and she maneuvered them there.
His heart began to pound as she turned toward him. Her smile was gone. She looked…nervous.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked. “No one has been rude about our swift marriage?”
“No,” she said with a dismissive shake of her head. “A few of the young ladies queried about how I managed to land you. You were quite the catch, Mr. Cavendish. You really could have had your pick of ladies. You likely still could.”
He pressed his lips together. Was she trying to shove him into the arms of another woman? “I’m very satisfied with the lady I chose.”
“Are you?” she asked.
He arched a brow. “Is that really a question? In the week we’ve been married, I do not think I have spent an hour outside of our bed.”
He moved forward and watched her pupils dilate with desire. At least there was that. She might not feel more from him, but she wanted him. He felt it in her stare, in the way her body arched toward him.
That was the way to keep her, it seemed. Pleasure her until she was weak.
“Duncan,” she whispered, and his name was a prayer from her lips. He loved the way her voice trembled when she said it. The way her hand lifted up and flattened against his chest as he crowded her against the terrace wall.
“Yes, Hannah?” he whispered as he bent his head to brush his lips along her throat.
“I-I wanted to t-talk to you…” She trailed off with a sharp inhalation of breath as he reached around to cup her backside, draw her flush against him.
“About what?” he asked, even though he didn’t want to know. She was so nervous—it couldn’t be something good. The best thing he could do was distract her. Hope desire would stay her words, would keep her from declaring they should stick to their original plans.
It worked. She turned her mouth to his and whispered, “Never mind,” as their lips collided.
“I want to take you home,” he murmured against her mouth.
She nodded against him, without pulling away. “Yes.” Her whisper was lost in his mouth. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He pulled back with a smile for her. She returned it, though he still saw the hesitation in her eyes. He ignored it, took her arm and led her back toward the ballroom so they could say their goodbyes and return home. At least he knew where he stood when he touched her. For now he would leverage that knowledge for all it was worth.
* * *
Duncan sat in his bed, looking over at Hannah. In the firelight, she was beautiful, the sheets half covering her body as she sprawled across the bed in exhausted sleep. She’d earned that. He’d made her come with his fingers in the carriage, then spent the next three hours making her beg for more before he finally had her shrieking his name as she shook around him.
Now more was all he could think about.
He’d never wanted more in his life. Not unless it was on the subject of pleasure. But outside of that, more had always sounded truly terrifying.
With Hannah, it was…different. He didn’t just want more. He felt more already. This woman had wheedled her way into his bed at the masquerade, his life with their bargain and his heart with just…just everything she was.
He was in love with her. He knew it. After such a short acquaintance, he was shocked by it, but when he allowed himself to admit it, he knew it was true. He was in love with Hannah. And she kept telling him that he didn’t have to worry about their future. That she didn’t want or expect anything more than what they’d already bargained for.
So what did he do with all that? How did he feel something that wasn’t returned? How did he come to terms with his love being one-sided? That one thing he had always feared was now true.
“Duncan,” she murmured, rolling over to face him. She smiled sleepily up at him and that heart that now belonged entirely to her stuttered.
“Yes, sweet?” he whispered.
She reached for him, tangling her fingers into his hair as she drew him over her, inside of her, and reminded him once more that passion was what she wanted. Passion was what he had. And everything else would have to come from there if he was ever to convince her that they could share more.
