Page 13 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
He exhaled sharply, resting one arm behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.
"Sleeping," he said. "As one does at this hour."
"On the floor?" she asked, her voice climbing in pitch.
His jaw clenched. "Where else would I sleep?"
Oh, she could think of one place. A place she had rather assumed he would sleep. He had promised to protect her. To be a good husband. And yet, here he was, lying on the damned floor, as though even sharing a bed with her would be a fate too horrid to endure.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "Is this how it will always be, then?" she asked icily.
His gaze did not waver. "Yes."
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I see. You find the prospect of lying beside me so utterly repugnant that you would rather?—"
"Violet."
There was something in his voice—a quiet warning, a strained sort of desperation—that made her pause.
Slowly, he sat up, raking a hand through his hair. "I do not find you repugnant," he said, his voice low, rough. "Quite the opposite."
Her breath hitched. For a moment—a single, fleeting moment—she almost believed him.
But then, just as quickly, his expression hardened. "I made this marriage to protect you," he continued, his voice flat, emotionless. "Not to take advantage of you. I will not demand anything of you."
The words should have reassured her. And yet, they felt like a blow. Because if he had no intention of taking his husbandly rights, if he was so determined to keep this marriage in name only— Then it could only mean one thing. He felt nothing for her. Not truly. Not in the way a man ought to feel for his wife. It wasn’t as if she’d thought the vicar pronouncing them man and wife would suddenly render them in love with one another. But she had thought that, perhaps, the more intimate aspects of marriage might alter their general behavior and attitudes toward one another.
Of course, Violet knew she had never been the sort of woman to make men lose their wits. Barring a few exceptions, and most of them quite undesirable, men had rarely acted as though she inspired even moderate attraction much less longing or desire. But to have it confirmed so plainly—by the very man she had spent years secretly yearning for—It was unbearable.
"Of course," she said lightly, pasting a brittle smile onto her face. "I would not expect you to suffer such an imposition."
He let out a low curse, shifting to rest his elbows on his knees. "That is not—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "God, Violet, if you had any idea?—”
She folded her arms. "Any idea of what, precisely?"
His gaze flickered to hers—dark and unreadable—before he shook his head. "Never mind," he muttered. “Just go to bed and let us both attempt to get some sleep tonight.”
Her throat tightened. She wanted to push him. To demand an answer. But what good would it do? The truth was plain enough.
And so, with all the grace she could muster, she turned away, climbed into the bed, and drew the covers up to her chin.
"Good night, Your Grace," she said coolly.
There was a long silence.
Then, softly—so softly she almost did not hear it?—
"Good night, Violet."
Max lay awake for what felt like an eternity, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of her breathing.
She had been hurt. He had seen it in her eyes. And he hated it. Hated that she thought this was about her. That she believed he found her unappealing.
Christ above!
If anything, he had never wanted her more. Which was precisely the problem.Because she had not chosen him. She had chosen safety. She had chosen the protection marriage would afford her because that was what he had offered her. The idea that she would welcome into her bed out of duty and obligation—well, that made him no better than Eddington. He’d already had one wife who resented his touch and loathed every moment they were together. The last thing he wanted was to engender such feelings in Violet. Despite their surface animosity toward one another, he genuinely cared for her. He was fairly certain she genuinely cared for him. But caring about one’s friends or lifelong acquaintances was not love. It was certainly not the foundation for marriage or physical intimacy.
And he could not stand the thought of being the lesser of two evils in her eyes. So he would keep his distance. He would protect her, yes. But he would not take advantage of a marriage she had never truly wanted. Even if it damned him to this miserable floor for all eternity.
