Page 10 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
She seemed eager to end their agreement, and for some reason, Oliver wasn’t pleased.
“I believe I had mentioned my trepidation about divorce. It may ruin your reputation, Duchess. It will barely taint mine because it is already in tatters, but yours…” Oliver let the implication hang, watching her intently.
Alexandra’s eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to make eye contact. Even though she was evidently nervous about the new arrangement, Oliver could detect some defiance there.
Her emerald-green eyes flashed with annoyance. “I do not care for my reputation, Your Grace. I barely have family other thanmy cowardly father. I have no younger sisters whose marriage prospects will depend on my decisions,” she responded, her lips quivering. “And you? I doubt that your reputation is truly in tatters. This world is made for men to do as they please.”
“You may be surprised that it is not completely so, Duchess,” Oliver said, lifting his chin.
He was growing frustrated with the way they had to sit across from each other, but that had always been the norm.
Sitting apart. Sleeping in separate rooms.
“A divorced woman has options,” she argued, her eyes glazed, possibly imagining herself being granted complete freedom.
Oliver reminded himself that he should not even care about their situation. She was merely a young woman who had been foisted on him by her father.
It was pitiful, really, to be sacrificed by your own flesh and blood. He was more fortunate than her. His sister had ventured into a gambling hell to save him; he at least had Catherine.
“Some men see widows and divorcees as easy prey,” Oliver warned.
“By then, it would not be your concern,” Alexandra responded stubbornly.
Her husband would have believed the strong facade if not for her chewing on her lips. She didn’t seem excited about the possibility of men pursuing her after her divorce.
Somehow, that gave Oliver some satisfaction.
“Even so, I should not be here,” she murmured, again finding her teacup more fascinating than her husband.
“I see you’re enjoying the honey cake,” Oliver commented as she fastidiously cut into her slice.
He noticed how graceful her fingers were, as if they were made for making music. He faintly remembered something about her mother playing the pianoforte and her father boasting about her musical talents.
As if just playing the piano could make a woman a good wife.
It was then that Alexandra looked him right in the eyes. She was blushing, the pink on her cheeks turning bright red. But it was more than that. She kept staring at him, and Oliver felt something strange in his belly.
It wasn’t lust, like with the other women, but a strangely pleasant sinking sensation.
His pulse quickened as her gaze lingered. He was having trouble taking his eyes off her and did not like it.
Not one bit.
He clenched his jaw and looked down at the remnants of his breakfast on his plate.
Why?
Why was it difficult to tear his gaze away from her?
She was beautiful, yes, but Oliver had seen many beautiful women in his life. Most of them would gladly become his lovers. Even with courtesans, fallen debutantes, and divorcees, he had never held their gazes unless to give them a knowing look. A challenge. The haze of lust usually got rid of all the details.
He was slightly annoyed—only slightly. Women usually agreed with him quickly, but his wife didn’t seem in a rush to take his side. She was obstinate, nothing like he had expected her to be.
What had he expected?
The woman licking away the crumbs of honey cake on her lips looked tame and innocent enough, but she wasn’t as obedient as he thought she was.
For some reason, he wanted her to look at him a little differently. Perhaps as a friend? He absentmindedly nodded at that. A lover?
