“I came to talk about the first night of our agreement, Your Grace,” Gerald was now openly taunting her. “Is there anything else that I should be concerning myself with?”
There was a little white and blue vase on the small table next to her, filled with peonies, and she was very inclined to throw it at his imprudent face.
Instead, she lifted her chin and looked at him square in the eye.
“I was simply wondering if your busy schedule, Your Grace, has allowed you to acclimate into your new role, but it seems that you were too busy with the Pembletons.”
“If I didn’t know better, Your Grace,” he said with a smirk, “I would say that you are being sarcastic.”
“Am I now?”
His smirk became a provocative smile. If she wasn’t sure before, that smile told her that the Duke knew exactly what he was doing.
“You also seem to be quite hostile, Your Grace,” he said in a low tone. “And I begin to wonder if there were some expectations that I was required to fulfill today.”
“And I am beginning to wonder if it was terribly inconvenient for you to marry on a day with such heavy correspondence. In the future, you should endeavor to schedule either your marriage or your correspondence accordingly.”
For a moment, the Duke said nothing. And then his face melted into amused laughter, soft and short but nonetheless stilllaughter. When he looked upon Arabella again, he had shed all the teasing demeanor, at least the infuriating part, because it seemed that the Duke was not done teasing her just yet.
“I must apologize,” he said and took one step toward the sofa that she was sitting on.
“Finally, something we agree on,” Arabella hastened to add. “Though you might want to make the apology specific, seeing that there have been many occasions that warranted one.”
“Scolded and reprimanded on my wedding night,” the Duke said with mirth and took a step even closer.
“So you do remember this is your wedding night. I believed it was a detail that had escaped your attention entirely.”
“I was merely not fully aware that attention was indeed needed.”
Arabella felt her cheeks flare at that last sentence. It was as if the Duke could see her need, could smell it, could almost feel it. Her heart raced from both indignation and anger, but also from this newfound feeling that crept closer each time that the Duke and she were alone.
One last step, and he was standing right in front of her. But he didn’t stop there. He leaned his massive body toward her, his broad back hiding the flames of the fireplace, but his body replacing the heat instantly. One hand was placed on the armchair on one side of her, and the other on the back of thecouch. She was now caged in. And somehow she hadn’t felt this alive all day.
“It appears,” he murmured, leaning closer still, “that I may have neglected certain… marital attentions.”
The air was sucked out of her in an instant.
The Duke said those shameless and blatant words with such composure, and yet it was the heat of them that reached her and nothing more.
“Tell me, Your Grace,” he was so close that his breath was caressing her loose hair, “I would be happy to oblige. What do you need?”
A warmth spread through her chest, creeping upward into her throat, downward to her core. Her pulse quickened, each beat loud enough that she was certain he was hearing it.
“I…” she hated how small and timid her voice sounded. “I have…”
“Yes?” he murmured. “Tell me, what you need.”
“I…”
Arabella had forgotten basic functions. Breathing was difficult, heartbeat irregular, speech impossible.
“I don’t… need anything,” she lied.
“Is that so, Arabella?” he insisted.
His heat, his body, his presence filling the room, her mind. And then the irritation she was still holding on to flared. She couldn’t allow him to think…
“It is so,” she said breathlessly but firmly. “I don’t need anything from you.”
