She shrugged. “You have always seemed as if you care more about what people think in public than how people behave—how they treat each other—behind closed doors.”
Lucian rubbed his jaw as he contemplated her astute words. “A more perfect description of my father I’m certain I’ll never hear.”
“Your father?” she prodded. “But not you?”
Lucian blinked. He hadn’t ever questioned why he’d always been so preoccupied with his family’s reputation. It had simply been drilled into his head since birth. A man protects his family. A family is nothing without their name. A duke’s name is his reputation. It was the duty of a ducal family to be preoccupied by how they were perceived by others.
Or so he’d thought.
Lucian found Gemma’s hand beside his thigh. He twined his fingers through hers and lifted them to kiss the back of her hand. In addition to being gorgeous, his wife was also funny, clever, and wise. But the best part of Gemma was her warmth. It shined from her skin and made him want to bask in its glow. To be away from her was to be left in the cold. Ever since they’d married, he’d been trying to get her to fit intohismold. Now he realized that hers was so much better. “If I did want to be like my father, I don’t anymore,” he breathed.
She eyed him carefully, biting her lower lip. “May I be honest with you?”
“Please do.” He held his breath.
“Every time you say things like that, Iwantto believe you, but I can’t help but think you’re only saying it because you want something from me.”
This time, Lucian reached out and cupped her cheek. He rubbed his thumb softly against her jawline and pressed his forehead to hers, meeting her eyes. “I do want something from you, Gemma. I wantyou. I want you to come to me willingly and give our marriage a chance.”
O
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A Fortnight Later, The Duke of Grovemont’s Town House
Gemma already knew she was in trouble. Each night in bed, Lucian didn’t stop pleasuring her until she called out his name. Until tears ran from her eyes. Until she was begging him for release, and then he gave her the most intense orgasm, making her forget the one from the night before.
He was a selfless lover, a master in bed. He touched her in the right spot every time. He knew what to do to make her body sing with pleasure. What to say to make her ache with wanting. Within the first fortnight of their arrangement, she was a slave to him in bed, body and soul. She couldn’t get enough of him. How would she ever be able to leave his bed when the time came? The thought preoccupied her more and more of late.
But it was outside of bed that had her even more concerned. It had been a fortnight.Two entire weeksand Lucian was still solicitous and caring. He talked to her each morning, made love to her each night. They’d gone for walks in the park, picnics by the lake. They’d spent lazy afternoons lying in the grass,watching Oliver hop through the gardens behind the house. And they’d danced countless waltzes while staring into each other’s eyes, the entire ballroom fading away around them. It was no longer easy for Gemma to remind herself that Lucian was trying to keep her by his side. In fact, he’d all but convinced her that hewantedher there.
Which made the notion of being with child even more poignant.
Because after all of their lovemaking, she might well already be with child. And if she wasn’t, it was highly likely she would be by the time the two months were over, given the amount of time they spent in bed.
Gemma made her way down the corridor to the nursery with Oliver trotting at her feet. Mrs. Howard had briefly pointed out this room when she’d given Gemma the tour of the house last year. At the time, Gemma hadn’t paid much attention, but now she sought it out.
She placed her cold, shaking hand on the door handle and gently pushed it open. The door creaked wide, and Gemma and Oliver stepped into the large room. There was a wooden cradle, a rocking horse, and a cushioned rocking chair. She made her way to the wardrobe and opened it. All the tiny clothes were still there, lined up. She touched them gently, running her fingers over the aged cloth. Had Lucian worn these once? It was difficult to imagine he’d ever been so small.
Oliver made his way to the window, where he curled into a ball in a spot of sunlight and promptly fell asleep.
Gemma stepped back from the wardrobe and wrapped her arms around herself. Could she do it? Could she give birth to a child and leave him here to live with his father? What if Lucian raised her son the way his own father had raisedhim? To be preoccupied with reputation at the cost of relationships.
The man who made love to her at night was loving and warm. The man who’d treated her so solicitously the past fortnight was too. But the man who’d been raised in this room to an indifferent father was someone else entirely. A cold, heartless person who only cared about status, not people.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Gemma turned to see Mrs. Howard step through the doorway.
The housekeeper stopped short when she saw Gemma. “Oh, Your Grace. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in here. I thought perhaps the door came ajar.”
Gemma nodded. “It’s all right, Mrs. Howard. I wanted to see this room again.”
A tender smile came to Mrs. Howard’s lips. “It’s been empty since His Grace was a lad.”
Gemma cocked her head to the side and forced herself to ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue. “What sort of a boy was His Grace?”
The tender smile turned into a bright one that lit the entirety of the older woman’s face. “Oh, he was a handsome one,” Mrs. Howard said, the skin around her eyes crinkling.
“I bet he was,” Gemma replied, laughing.
