Page 22 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
He noticed she had a small dollop of sauce on her chin. Slowly, he reached down, cleaning it off with his finger. She jumped again, looking alarmed.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
“You spilled some sauce,” he whispered, reaching down and taking her hands, slowly pulling her to her feet so that they were mere inches apart. “I was just helping you.”
She blushed fiercely, and his loins stirred again.
“You sounded surprised I should be respectful of you,” he whispered, noticing a small vein throbbing in her temple. “Were you expecting something else?”
She bit her lip in that delightful way that he had already noticed was a habit of hers.
“Well, youdohave a certain reputation,” she whispered, her green eyes flickering. “You are not always respectful towards women, Your Grace.”
“I am your husband now,” he breathed. “You should call me Thomas.” He smiled slowly. “‘Your Grace’ is a bit formal between husband and wife, do you not agree?”
“Of course. Shall I call you by your Christian name, then?”
“Yes. And you are wrong,” he said, taking another step closer, so he could see that the tips of her long eyelashes were fair, as if they had been dipped in a pot of gold. “I am always respectful of women… unless, of course, they do not wish me to act in a respectful manner towards them.”
She frowned slightly. “I do not understand.”
He smiled devilishly. “Shall we retire to our chambers, and I can show you what I mean? It is probably far easier than speaking about it.”
They were so close now that he could have leaned down and taken her lips in a searing kiss. Still, he lingered, torturing himself, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her perfume, watching goosebumps spread across her skin as he spoke to her.
She wasn’t indifferent to him. Very far from it. There were many telltale signs, from the sudden dilation of her pupils to her sharp intake of breath. She was gazing up at him, her emerald-green eyes luminous, looking as if she were falling into a trance.
He took her hand. “Come along, Catherine.”
But suddenly, she balked, pulling away her hand as if she were scalded. He frowned.
“What is it?” He reached out for her hand again, but she took a step back, staring at him, her eyes wide. “What is wrong?”
She shook her head. “We agreed that this would be a marriage of convenience. Remember?”
His frown deepened. “Yes, I remember.” He hesitated. “But that does not mean we cannot dally now and again…”
“I do not dally,” she stated in a fierce voice. “It is for the best if we do not… share a bed. It will make things far less complicated between us. Unless you wish for an heir.”
“No, I do not wish for an heir,” he responded and gulped hard.
His heart hit the ground. The disappointment tasted sour in his mouth. He knew she was right. But his body didn’t liking this at all.
“Very well then. I shall leave you to it.”
He composed himself, and before she could reply, he rushed out of the room.
Thomas swore beneath his breath. What was he going to do?
Chapter Eleven
“Did you sleep well?” Thomas tried to keep his voice even as he gazed at his new wife across the dining table. “Are your chambers to your liking?”
Catherine stopped eating, placing down her knife and fork and looking at him warily. She was a tad paler than usual, but she looked as beautiful as ever in a simple white muslin morning gown, her brown hair swept into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck.
It was only a day after their wedding. The day after their wedding night. A wedding night that had left Thomas teeming with frustration because she hadn’t let him touch her at all. After grappling with his intense desire, he respected her wishes. Only an oaf would try to force a woman when she had patently said no.
“They are very lovely,” she replied with a slight smile. “Very grand, indeed. Although it shall take me a little while to get used to them, of course.”
