Page 43 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Beatrice’s voice shook with emotion. “You’re cold and distant. You left me alone on our wedding night without a word. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?”
“I had an actual problem to attend to on our wedding night,” he countered, his tone defensive. “There was a leak in the west wing. But you wouldn’t understand that because you’ve been too busy defying me at every turn.”
Beatrice’s eyes narrowed, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I understand you had to attend to that matter. Still, you’ve been avoiding me on purpose since then. The only moments we have interacted, you’ve been bossing me around, acting like you own me. And aside from that one kiss, you haven’t touched me.”
Kenneth stepped closer, his imposing figure looming over her.
“I have to monitor your behavior because you’re too defiant,” he growled, his breath hot against her face.
Beatrice refused to back down, tilting her chin up defiantly.
“And what’s wrong with my behavior?” she challenged, her voice trembling with both anger and something else entirely.
Kenneth’s eyes darkened, a dangerous glint in their depths. “You’re disobedient and need to learn a lesson,” he said, his voice low and rough.
Before Beatrice could respond, his hand shot out, gripping the back of her neck as he pulled her to him. His lips crashed against hers in a bruising kiss, demanding and unyielding.
Beatrice stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught. But as Kenneth’s tongue swept into her mouth, tasting and teasing, she found herself melting into him, her own lips moving against his with a fervor that matched his own.
Kenneth’s other hand found her waist, pulling her flush against him. Beatrice could feel the hard planes of his body, the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of fabric that separated them.
A moan escaped her as Kenneth nipped her bottom lip, soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue.
Lost in the haze of sensation, Beatrice barely registered the fact that he was walking her backwards, not until her back hit the wall. He pinned her there with his body, his lips never leaving hers as his hands roamed over her sides, skimming over her curves with a possessiveness that made her shiver.
Just as his hand began to move up her dress, a footman’s voice broke through the haze of their passion.
“Y-Your Grace, dessert is served,” the footman stuttered, his face flushing with embarrassment.
Kenneth and Beatrice broke apart, both breathing heavily. Kenneth turned to the footman.
The footman looked down, clearly regretting his interruption. “I-I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t mean to intrude,” he stammered, looking like he was ready to bolt.
Kenneth’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain composed. “Thank you,” he said curtly. “We’ll be there shortly.”
The footman bowed hastily and backed out of the hall.
Kenneth turned back to Beatrice, his eyes still smoldering with desire. “This isn’t over,” he murmured.
Beatrice’s breath came in short gasps, her heart still racing from the kiss.
She watched him turn and stride back towards the dining hall, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She smoothed down her dress, trying to regain her composure before following him, the taste of his kiss lingering on her lips.
They regained their seats, the tension between them still simmering. Lady Bernmere watched them closely, a small smile playing on her lips.
Kenneth noticed and frowned. “Why are you smiling, Aunt Marjorie?”
Lady Bernmere’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, nothing, dear. Just enjoying the dessert.”
Beatrice forced herself to focus on her plate, her mind reeling from the kiss and the heated exchange.
The meal continued in strained silence, the atmosphere thick with unresolved tension.
As they exchanged glances, Beatrice felt a flicker of anticipation. It was clear that their evening was far from over.
Chapter Fourteen
Kenneth lay in his bed, staring at the ornate ceiling, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. The silence of the room was broken only by the occasional crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.
