“You were magnificent,” he murmured into her hair.
“We all were. Even you, my reclusive beast, managed to be almost charming.”
“Almost?”
“Well, you did nearly cow Lord Timothy to death with that stare.”
“Good. A little fear keeps young men respectful.”
“Adrian...”
“I know. I shall attempt to be less terrifying.Slightlyless,” he amended at her sceptical sound.
“What do you think of him—truly?”
He toyed with a curl at her nape. “He seems genuine. Educated. Kind. He looked at Catherine as if she were interesting, not damaged.”
“That is good, is it not?”
“It is unexpected. I had prepared myself to despise anyone who paid her court.”
“And instead?”
“Instead, I find myself… cautiously hopeful.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “You are a dreadful influence, wife. You are giving me sentiments that are not rage or possessiveness.”
“How awful for you.”
“Unspeakable,” he said, but she could hear the smile in his voice.
When they returned home, Catherine bade them goodnight—clearly weary, yet alight with quiet happiness. As she ascended the stairs, she turned back.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “Both of you. For making me brave enough to try.”
After she disappeared, Adrian turned to Marianne with dark intent in his eyes.
“Now,” he said, easing her back against the panelled wall, “about that promise of the evening not being over...”
“Adrian, the servants—”
“Are asleep. And even if they were not…” His mouth found the delicate hollow at her throat, a tease that stole her breath. “I am the duke. I may kiss my wife senseless in a corridor if I so choose.”
“Kiss?” she managed, laughing, already undone.
“Thoroughly.” His fingers were already at the fastenings of her gown with alarming efficiency. “I’ve been thinking of it all evening. Every time you put someone in their place with that sharp tongue of yours, every time you smiled that little smile that means you’re about to destroy someone with words alone—”
“You have a very specific set of interests, Your Grace.”
“I have a very specific interest in you, Your Grace.” He lifted her effortlessly; her legs found his waist without thought. “My brilliant, bloodthirsty, beautiful duchess.”
What followed was indeedthorough, though they did eventually make it to their bedchamber—after he had made good on his threat against the wall, then again upon the stairs when Marianne, laughing, had challenged his stamina. By the time they collapsed into bed, dawn was brushing the sky with silver.
“We shall be exhausted when Lord Timothy calls,” Marianne murmured, her head upon his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“Worth it,” he said, tracing idle patterns along her bare shoulder.
“Adrian?”
“Mm?”
