Page 31 of His Enemy Duchess

“Was that so difficult?” he asked, setting her down.

She gazed up at him, her mind a soup of emotion with every ingredient thrown in haphazardly. The passion that had sent him into a frenzy before had subsided, his expression as stony as ever, his lupine eyes revealing nothing at the very moment she needed them to saysomething.

“Why did you do that?” she said, bewildered. “That was… not just a kiss.”

His eyes flickered ever so slightly as he leaned in, kissed her cheek, and replied, “Your gratitude is appreciated.” He hesitated. “And, please, put your book back where it belongs.”

Without answering her actual question, he left the library immediately, abandoning her for the second time. Only, thistime, he was leaving her with thoughts and memories that had her torn, his actions not matching pretty much every word he had ever said to her.

He had given her a taste of something sweet, only to sour it.

And yet…

Sophia flushed with heat, disturbed to discover that she wanted another bite. Perhaps that was what happened when a wife was starved of a wedding night.

CHAPTER 11

For three days, Thomas avoided his bride, sequestering himself in his study in a vain attempt to get something done. The rest of his family would be arriving in two days, and he was supposed to have the ledgers and accounts in order, to show his uncle.

But it was like Sophia had moved into his head and nudged out every bit of arithmetic, commerce, and financial acumen that he possessed. His thoughts wandered often, his body remembering the rush of holding her, kissing her, making her gasp and cry out at his touch.

This will not do,he realized on the afternoon of that third day, having caught himself daydreaming about her for the millionth time.

Pushing back his chair, he got up and went in search of her, believing that if they discussed what occurred in the library, it might be blotted out and replaced with distaste at her petulance and arrogance.

“Yes, that is perfect!”

He heard her before he saw her, her excited voice drifting out of the main drawing room.

Intrigued, he entered the room and came to an abrupt and horrified halt. The drawing room where he liked to spend his evenings with his family when they were not in the city, where he liked to find peace on a sunny afternoon, where everything was exactly as he liked it, had been transformed into a room he barely recognized.

“What have you done?” he croaked.

The two portraits of his great-great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather, respectively, had been changed for two landscapes that had been stored in the attic for years. The settees had been moved to the other end of the room, away from the fireplace, and the armchairs were now arranged in pairs and tucked at the sides of the room, leaving a wide open space in the middle. And, most astoundingly of all, someone had painted the mahogany wainscoting white. The smell lingered in the air.

“I made some changes,” Sophia replied while the two footmen she had enlisted to hang a large, rectangular mirror exchanged worried looks. “I have already transformed the rear parlor, the sunroom, the study no one is using, and the dining room. I intend to redecorate the music room tomorrow. Goodness, I can’t be stopped now that I have started.”

He noticed she wouldn’t look him in the eyes, but whether it was the audacity of what she had done or the memory of what happened in the library that pushed her to avert her gaze, he didn’t know. And, at that moment, didn’t much care.

“Who said you could do this?” he asked brusquely, chilled by the sight.

It was all so wrong.

She folded her arms across her chest. “I did. Was I supposed to sit in one place and do nothing until you deigned to emerge from your study?”

“This is… this is?—”

“Bringing your household into modernity,husband,” she interrupted. “Doesn’t it feel more welcoming already? It was so stuffy, so… archaic in here. When I first walked in, I thought I was in Henry the Eighth’s hunting lodge. Now, I feel I am in the beautiful countryside and have not journeyed back in time to an age where they relished a beheading.”

One of the footmen snorted, earning a sharp look from Thomas.

“These are not decisions for you to make, Sophia,” he rasped, feeling as if all of the familiarity had been wiped away.

She glanced at the footmen, motioning for them to leave. They bowed their heads reverently to their Duchess—bowing lower,Thomas noted, than they ever had to him—and hurried out, not needing to be told twice.

“Nor should you be alone with two men who are not family nor your husband,” Thomas added, feeling the beast inside him tear at its restraints, ready to chew through the solid chains of an entire life’s worth of discipline to get to her.

You are mine. I won’t have you laughing and cavorting with other men.

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